EVERYONE IS MAD

off. It will scare him so much that the next day, he will call his family members for

rtment-a bedroom and a parlour, called self-contain by Lagos agen

abomination. His potbellied uncle, Buraimo, who always leers at your bosom will point at you and say, "Shebi I told him

t, will pretend to appeal to your shared womanhood. "Isi, as a woman myself, I know men can be difficult. But what you have done is terrible. No woman has done this thing in our family. In fact, it is a disgrace to womanhood to w

you before someone will tell her to calm down. You will stay silent as you planned. Till, your husband's older cousin, Mufu, the thief, will make you talk. "Mufu, please bring out Lukumon's

side-stool. He'll glare at you. You'll glare back and hope he gets the message that you'd no longer stand for him brazenly pilfering things anytime he visited, partly because Lukumon was scared to call him out. You'll look at Lukumon and wonder how you came to love such a sorry excuse for a man. You will remember when

rents-to elope, to get pregnant, to kill yourself. It was your first and only rebellion, and they were so confused by it, they let you have your way. "Isi, why did you threaten to kill my son?" Lukumon's mother's voice is soft, and her face impassive, as always. But you will remember she never liked or accepted you-she was just indifferent, and sometimes, it rankled more because you'd have preferred her to hate you. You will never say it, but you blame her and his five elder sisters for over pampering Lukum

lm your soul so you can tell your story. You used to sell roasted corn at the junction of Unilag. When corn was out of season, you sold boli and sauce. Your business was fairly successful because your location was strategic, and there was a lot of foot traffic. Also, because you were punctilious with your business-in sourcing the freshest corn and plantains, in selecting the best charcoal for roas

gre savings ran out. In those days, Lukumon sent you to ask Uncle Buraimo for money for food, and to get it, you endured the man bear-hugging you in greeting so he could crush your boobs against his chest. Eventually, you refused to go. It caused the first fight in your marriage, during which you flippantly said you'd rathe

ause you both agreed not to have another child until you were financially stable. The only thing you paid a premium for was Kitan's education. You'd insisted that she attend one of the best private schools in Yaba. Lukumon had argued that you were wasting money because Kitan could thrive in a public school and turn out well, just like he did. But you'd quietly said, "My child will never go to a public school in Nigeria as long as I'm alive." And he'd looked a

n and designer slippers) and an air of brusque determination stood him out. "Madam, your corn was so nice, I came all the way from Surulere to buy again." "Good afternoon, sir. Thanks for coming again." "Good afternoon, sir," Kitan said. As a rule your daughter greeted all your customers. He beamed at her. "Good afternoon. What's your name?" "Olaoluwakitan," she answered. "Nice name. What does it mean?" "God's wealth never ceases," you said. He st

ndays. But you did as he suggested and bought five dresses for Kitan: two new ones for church and outings, and three second-hand casuals for stay-at-home. She'd been wearing the same clothes for some years. And for the first time, impulsively, you bought her new clothes in her size. And when Lukumon, who you'd told about Ehi's generosity, asked why you didn't buy her new clothes two-to-three sizes bigger as you'd both alwa

e ex-wife in London. Over time, you told him about yourself-first daughter of three of an ex-soldier and a military nurse, married to your first love, now mother of one. You didn't tell him about Lukumon's unsuccessful job search till the day he asked what Lukumon did for a living. When you also told him, without prompting, that Kitan was always with you after school because Lukumon couldn't care for her while job-hunting, you realised it was untrue- Lukumon hadn't actively searched for a job in months, and spent his days idling at home. After you finished speaking, Ehi said, "If he doesn't mind, he can send me his CV through you, and I'll see what I can do. Let me know what he decides." "Oh, thank you,

to take her to school and pick her up every day." "So, you're going to do this business forever?" "God forbid." You looked away. Then, because you'd grown too comfortable with him, you shared a plan you hadn't even told Lukumon. "If I save enough money, I hope to open a grocery store to sell food items. There isn't one in my neighbourhood, so I should have an advantage. I can get good produce f

there for some business. Yes, this is a proposition. If you agree, you don't have to see me again after the weekend if you don't want to. If you reject my offer, I'll understand. But, I suggest you think about it first." How dare this man in

hundred dollars?" "Yes." "Foolish rich man." "Yes." Lukumon stood, grabbed a rumpled t-shirt from the clothes hanger, and pulled it over his head. It was the sign he was going out to play draughts with some of the men in the neighbourhood. He paused by the door, "You're my woman. You will always be my woman no matter what. You understand?" "Yes," you said, even though you we

it. Earlier in the day, he had taken you with him on his business, viewing tobacco farms he was considering buying at the outskirts of the city. He asked you to sit with him through meetings with landowners and farmers, introduced you as his associate, asked for your opinion, and asked you to take over the last meeting. When yo

eque-two million, eight hundred thousand naira. "For your dream, and then some," he said softly. Though you were conflicted by it all and the extra money, you managed to retort, "For my soul, you mean?" "I know this is hard for you, Isioma. In another world, I believe we'd be perfect for each other. But we're in this world, and the best we can get is this-this glimpse of what we could have been." "I thought this was an offer. A

f his clothes and stepped into the walk-in shower. You smiled as you heard his off-key singing above the swish of the shower. He stopped singing when you slipped into the shower beside him, naked. Silent apart from the kisses and moans, you washed and massage each other first. You were both burning under the cold spray by the time you were through. Then, he pinned you against the wall, and you lifted a leg to welcome him as he slid into you. For the first moment, he stayed still, while you felt and sta

pushed them apart, cupped his balls, slurped his penis till he burst in your mouth and hand. Later, as you lay on his chest, you were fascinated by how fast his heart was beating. It was still beating fast on your last night together. "Stay with me," he whispered. You stopped your light drumming on

always wanted one. You will wonder if, in the circumstances, his pride will let him continue wearing it. He will look away from you as he straps it round his wrist. "What should I ask Lukumon?" "Ask your son why he made me sleep with another man for money," you will say quietly. Your words will suck out all the air from the room because nobody will breathe. Their eyebrows will raise, eyes widen, jaws go slack. Uncle Buraimo will put bot

ighbourhood. Why did you say yesterday that you don't think Kitan is your child?" You will take a deep breath and look at your mother-in-law dead in the eye. "One last thing-if Lukumon doesn't move out of this house, I will cut off his p

doesn't make me the best person to answer your question of why he keeps getting married? But if I was to guess, I'll say maybe he's looking for something he'll never find. Me, I don't know what it is sha. My own is just to organise the bachelor parties and turn up big time at the weddings. Why? Because he's my Day One guy, and because it's what I do for a living. I organise music festivals and events; and I own a lounge that turns into a nightclub at weekends. The party never stops for me. So, I'll throw a dozen bachelor parties for Iggy if he wants. But I swear, the biggest and best bachelor party I will throw will be for Seni. Who's Seni? You see that tall guy talking with Iggy? Ah, I'm glad you described him as handsome-you have good eyes. Yes, that's Seni. He's my guy and like my brother too. What's that? Seni has an aura of sadness around him? Hmm, I see you're perceptive. Why haven't I thrown a party for Seni? Because he's single. Yes, I mean single-single, never-been-married single. Hard to believe for such a correct guy, right? No, nothing is wrong with him. In fact, he's the best one of us, a gem of a man: any woman would be lucky to have him. So, why isn't Seni married? Hmm, it's a long story sha and truth be told, a part of it is Iggy's fault. What happened? Should I be telling you all this? You have a trustworthy face, and I'm a bit drunk, but still. Okay. Okay, stop begging. To tell that story, our story, we'll need a full night and plenty of alcohol. Luckily, we have both. It's an open bar, so grab yourself a drink. Enjoy the party a little. I need to go check on the chefs and the kitchen. I'll be back. 9:34 p.m. Hmm? I am sorry I didn't hear you. Oh, you heard Iggy is marrying Pamela tomorrow for her money? Yes, I've heard that before, and frankly, I can understand why people will say that. Yes, she's wealthy: rumours say she's worth thirty million euros, inherited from her late husband who was a mogul in the mining business. And there's the obvious, almost twenty-year age gap. Yes, I believe she's sixty. But Iggy insists he's not marrying her for money. He swears

ed. We ask: Dude, aren't you too young? Man said no. Okay. We ask: Which of your women? Man said: Odunola. We said: Who? We don't know this girl. Long story short, we got to meet her. Unlike the women Iggy liked to roll with at the time, she wasn't much of a looker. She was quiet, had no airs, preferred to blend into the background, but looked up to Iggy like he was God. We tried to figure out his angle, but he didn't say anything. He took her to meet my mum, who stood in for his mother (who'd passed on in his last year at uni). Even my mum wondered if he wasn't rushing things, but he said he knew what he was doing. I threw Iggy's first bachelor party. And I'll never forget it. Not because it was a great party, but because it gave me direction. I mean there was a moment in the middle of it, I stood in a corner watching everyone dancing and having a good time, and boom, I had an epiphany-I could start a business for partying and events. And that's what I did. But that's another story. Anyway, back to Iggy. So, they had a quiet wedding next day. Her parents gifted them a duplex in Parkview where they moved into. Six months later, they moved to the US together, and he gifted me the RAV4. He was there for five years and though we kept in touch, it wasn't quite the same. Anyway, after five years, Iggy came back alone, divorced. Seni and I asked: Dude, what happened? Man said nothing, they just drifted apart. What's that you asked? His angle for marrying Odunola? Well, he came back with an American passport sha, if that's what you're hinting at. Turns out she was an American citizen. Anyway, like I said, there aren't many random events in life. 10:45 p.m. Iggy's second marriage? Sure. I'll get to that. First, we put the band back together like The Blues Brothers. Iggy, Seni, and I. Some things stayed the same. Iggy and Seni started working together again, this time in their own fintech company which they co-founded. Their company developed payment processing platforms and solutions. Seni did the core tech and operations work, Iggy ran the marketing and business side. Their clients were mainly companies, and while they had some success and steady growth, I remember Iggy used to say they needed one big contract from the government to make a killing. And some things were different. We didn't live together: I'd recently opened a lounge and grill in an old bungalow and moved into the BQ behind the bungalow because of the late hours I worked and so I could monitor my business. Freshly divorced Iggy did the same thing, by living at the converted BQ behind the duplex in Ikoyi, where his and Seni's company operated from. Seni had retained the old apartment. Every day after work, they came to my lounge/grill to hang out, and we had dinner and drinks together. That was where we met Jamilah. One evening, she came in wearing jeans, Converse sneakers, and a hijab -then she ordered takeaway pork chops like a teen boy buying his first condom. I must have smiled as I took her order and passed it to the kitchen because she muttered: Don't judge me. And I said: I'm Catholic, it's Good Friday, and I've had both pork and lamb chops today. She smiled and said: Wow, you're going to hell. And I said: See you there. And we laughed. Turns out she worked at the ad agency down the street, had a weakness for the pork chops, and only came for the first time because the security man who usually bought them codedly for her wasn't around that day. I convinced her to join our table while she waited for her order. She ended up having dinner with us, and she fitted in comfortably like we were old friends. It quickly became a thing for her to join us for dinner twice or thrice a w

shouldn't throw a bachelor party? You're killing my dreams, woman, but okay. The Anointed Wife Do you think it is easy to be a pastor's wife? How can you know what it means to be the partner of a man with a divine calling, made of flesh but instructed to lead with the spirit? Any ordinary wife has their work cut out for them in loving their husbands, in serving them for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, but a pastor's wife has to help her husband maintain his holy anointing, and to do so with an invisible hand. "I didn't do it. Mummy, do you believe me?" How long has it been since I became the mummy of our organisation, the mother in our marriage? I can't remember. It feels like forever since I had the pleasure, the intimacy of hearing my own name fall from my husband's lips-my real name, not Mummy, sometimes followed by one of the children's names. I look at him now. His pleading eyes and downturned mouth. His hair is impeccably groomed, his salt and pepper beard neatly trimmed. We have been married for over twenty years. Our love has gone beyond compassion, beyond butterflies in the stomach and settled into a form of kinship. Tade and I are members of an elite, exclusive club, we couldn't be closer if we had shared some kind of blood covenant. "Of course, I believe you. I am working with Demilade from PR, my press release will be on our Facebook page within the hour." He smiles broadly, it reaches his eyes and brightens his aura. He takes two steps towards me and when he's close enough, reaches out and rubs my arms. Up and down. Three times. He stops when I pick up my n