marriage

Blog, Creative Essays, Writers

Toxic Ghost by Peace Habila-Okwoli

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When it happened, I didn’t have the courage to lift my head for fear of becoming the meat on bloggers’ tables on social media. Picturing myself on each blogger’s page with captions like ‘Proposal Gone South’ and how they would add what didn’t happen to spice things up as well as attract the gullible kept me still. I would rather remain in this position: one knee down, eyes fixed on the ground and tears flowing like a river till the mockery-induced laughter and smirks fade away. I blame myself more than I blame Adunni who propelled me into this mess. I was too foolish to forget how she had jinxed great opportunities for me in the past. I hate her guts yet enjoy her company. She is my only friend and because we function like the negative and positive forces of the universe, I had held onto our friendship like life. On the day she got engaged, she couldn’t hide her displeasure over my inability to get Dayo to man up and put a ring on my finger. I recall how we sat on the floor like two hopeless birds mourning the death of the wind before she snatched us back to reality with “What if you propose to Dayo? It is the 21st century, girl” “Come on, my ancestors will disown me’’, I added as quickly as I could before her words settled in my bones. Days turned to weeks and I began to rationalize her suggestion. Dayo was beginning to act sweet. He was the sweetest shade of himself. Then the demon possessed me. ”Hello Dayo, do you have a minute to spare?”, I asked over the phone with the words quaking through my vocal cords due to fear. ”Sure, shoot babe’’, he replied swiftly. ”I want us to do dinner tonight’’, I added almost immediately. “Ok, I will pick you up after work. Our usual spot, right?”, He asked. “No! Dayo, I will send the address to you and I will find my way there, don’t worry”, I replied. ”Ok”, he said before dropping the call. Fear welled up from my tummy racing for my throat to choke life out of me. I wondered why he didn’t add the usual “I love you” closing. It got me anxious but the thought of wasting 10 years of my life and the possibility of another 10 gave me faint hope. I rushed to the makeup studio to fix myself. The red gown was perfect for the day because it was Valentine. When I was ready to step out, I loved what I saw in the mirror- I was intimidating to the eyes yet soft on the heart. Dinner was beautiful but the thought of what was ahead made me uneasy. Thankfully, he didn’t notice it. ”Dayo, I love you so much’’, I said as I let my feet enjoy the freedom of stretching. Like a robot, I walked to his side and knelt on one knee. ”Please, marry me’’, I said. ”Get up, you are embarrassing me”, he said. I asked again and again till my voice lost discretion and got people around clapping. Guess he really couldn’t take it as he hurried out, leaving me to my fate. I felt empty yet determined to salvage what was left of my self esteem. I stayed there for a while, enduring the arrows of shame and mockery that were directed at me. When my romance with fear was over, I started counting the feet of people leaving the restaurant. The restaurant was almost quiet when someone tapped my shoulders. I lifted my head to a cute young man urging me to get up. ”You have punished yourself enough’’, he said. He wondered why I allowed them to take pictures of me. His indirect speech confirmed my fears. The only available consolation was the hope that none of them got my face. I am Samson but you can call me Sam, he said as he disrupted the silence that had engulfed the table we sat at. One thing led to another and I found myself in love with Sam barely six weeks after meeting him. He wasn’t the conventional Abuja guy. I enjoyed his pranks and the air of mystery around him; it kept me longing for more. My mum was excited the day I told her about Sam’s proposal. I was over 40. That explained the over 1000 congratulatory messages that glazed my social media timeline. However, the low key wedding was disappointing to a lot of people. They expected us to throw a big party. My mother concluded that I was overprotective of Sam. “E no easy to see husband”‘was all I had the courage to say in response to her question. She had so many issues with Sam and how he couldn’t get his people to show up for the wedding but what doused her fears was that he was working on his papers to relocate to Canada. It was only decent to rush the wedding and process our documents as a couple. That explanation calmed a lot of wagging tongues. After the wedding, he moved in with me. I wasn’t comfortable with the idea of joining him in a hotel where he had spent about 5 months plus. Like they say, marriage is an eye opener but in my case, it opened my eyes to the beauty of love. I enjoyed waking up to his bright eyes jealously watching over me. I felt so much in love and wished Dayo could get to see this in addition to knowing that I got married two months after he walked out on me. He was my world and I threw myself helplessly into his net of love. All was going well until this same Adunni called to register her concerns. ”I think your husband is a narcissist’’, she exclaimed. ”You are in his web o!” “Do you feel fulfilled?” “Are you truly happy?” “Can’t you see he has

Blog, Creative Essays, Writers

In Search of My Better Half: A short fiction by Chukwuemeka Oluka

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Photo credit: freepik How the Durex Mutual Climax found its way to the ground in the full glare of introspective eyes is what beats my wildest imagination. Using his Instagram page, Aproko Doctor would preach against putting condoms inside wallets. He also discourages men from putting their wallets in their back pockets and then sitting on it. However, I would just laugh over his sermons and consider it all cruise. I love to put stuff in my back pocket notwithstanding. Especially my handkerchief. Though this would teach me a lesson I would never forget in a hurry. The moment I dragged the handkerchief’s tip to clean the sweat bubbles having a swell time on my face, the condom pack followed through immediately, like a child who would give the dad close marking to monitor when he goes out. I was still spreading the hanky generously on my face when an instinct beckoned on me to take a pause. I saw pairs of eyes locked on the condom. Their jaws dropped freely and their mouths went ajar. If I did not die that day in the mall, I might never die again. Shocking! I melted. I wish I could disappear. Many weird situations I have witnessed in life, but none came close to this. The other day, it was bedbugs. Yes, bedbugs! That day, I donned an immaculate white shirt with its crimson red buttons opened to the chest level. My pants looked sharp; razor sharp. The belt gripping my waist matched with the pair of shoes I wore. I also wore the costliest cologne in my wardrobe. I was giving fine boy vibes. However, all these meant nothing to bedbugs. Did I tell you I was heading for a date? She was already seated at the reservation. I joined her, ready to wear my heart on my sleeves. “Nothing will make this date go the path of the previous ones,” I said to myself. I was ready to hold this relationship so gently and tightly. It wasn’t going to slip off my fingers. The previous relationship before this didn’t last longer than an orgasm. It came crashing like a pack of cards because of the weirdest of reasons. She accused me of pressing the toothpaste from the middle and not from the bottom. Well, as we sat holding down discussions and waiting for our orders to be served, her eyes spotted two tiny creatures crawling out from under my collar. It was a white shirt, and this meant that spotting their movement was effortless. They moved haphazardly like male and female in a frenzy. They looked like tiny cockroaches. You would reckon the male was giving the female a last-minute chase for a mating session. The female stretches the companion to the limit to ensure the mating right is earned. Her attention was divided, but her eyes focused on something. We lost eye contact. I became worried. “Baby, what is it? You look so troubled.” “Oh… It’s fine” she responded. At that moment, Romeo and Juliet had found their way back under the collar. They were having a swell time with their relationship. Unknown to them, they were the village people sent to destroy mine. She wore red lipstick and the heart shape her mouth took while she sipped her drink kept me gazing at her with relish. Her face was moisturized and bright. I was making some mental pictures of how beautiful my children would look. One of her palms was placed on the table. I put mine over them and ran quick massages. Then I stretched my neck, ready to sink a kiss on her forehead, when she exclaimed; “Again? What are those things that keep crawling from under your shirt?” This time, they were three. There is no telling me it wasn’t kpakpangolo game they were playing. “Bedbug! Jesus! How come?” The moment she heard ‘bedbug,’ she froze. The glass wine she held, found its way joyously to the ground. “You nurse bedbugs?” “Babe, I don’t understand what you mean. Don’t say that,” I responded. She got up, dabbed her mouth with tissue paper to ensure the red colour on her lips was still within circumference and then she took a walk. I was gobsmacked. I couldn’t muster the ounce of energy to beg her to stay. It was our first outing and it ended in an embarrassment, not just for me, but also for her. As soon as I found my senses again, I dashed to the restroom, took off my shirt and closely observed it. I found a red coloured stain on the back of the neck. I had also seen a similar stain on the headrest of the bolt ride I booked. However, it didn’t catch my attention, as I was consumed by the wild thoughts of how the date would go. It dawned on me that the padded cushions of the bolt ride were infested with bedbugs. I might have snuffed life out of one of them when I rested my head on the seat. The shock and shame the incident caused me will never leave my subconscious mind. That was why when the Durex condom fell to the ground, it felt like a déjàvu. Another embarrassment. I felt like speaking to the ground to let it swallow me. Did I tell you I was carrying a bible? Maybe I should have rejected the condoms. Valentine’s Day celebration was counting down to hours, and that day, the NGO distributed free condoms as part of their enlightenment campaign for safe sex. After the 4:00 pm fellowship, I was heading for the mall when they foisted one pack on me; the way some kingdom preachers would foist gospel pamphlets on passersby. *** I resumed cleaning my face with the hanky, confused about the next step to take. Then, someone touched me gently on the back. “Have it” she encouraged me. I ran a quick scan of the faces of onlookers and summoned the courage. Everyone burst into laughter — hysteric

Blog, Creative Essays, Writers

Husband Ghost by Daniel Ogba

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image credit: Unsplash Try as I might to deny it, some part of me knew Tobi was not real. It was a strong knowledge, couldn’t shake it off, no matter how many times I coaxed my mind with pep talks about not allowing the trauma of my past relationships ruin the one good thing I had going for me. No matter how many times I confronted him about it — how little I knew about him despite how long we’d been together, about how I feared that one morning I would awake to find straightened sheets in place of the slender, solid weight of his frame, and his palms would no longer slide into mine as it had every morning for the past nine months. He had laughed when I told him. His laughter, carried as if from a hollow, came to my ears, encircled them, slithered down the corridors with warmth so intense, powerful and complete with an assurance I could almost touch when he said in his sing-song baritone: “I will never abandon you, Ifem. You have nothing to worry about.” My previous partner had said the exact phrase to me. I will never abandon you, my light. I’d be directionless like the wind. But he’d carried his big head to go and die in a road accident while traveling from Enugu to Lagos, for what he said was a business trip. And at his requiem in his hometown(one of his coworkers, a friend, had taken me), I was bone-shocked to discover that the woman sitting behind the condolence table, garbed in white all-through was his wife, and that the three young boys surrounding her like soldiers, were his children. The trip he’d died making was in return to his real family for his wife’s PhD convocation at the university of Lagos. I had been enraged then, walked stiffly behind my friend in a queue leading up to the table. I contemplated telling the woman as I shook her hand that her husband was a cheat, and that he deserved to have died in such horrible manner. The line proceeded slowly, I fiddled the promise ring he’d fitted on my middle finger after a wild round in my house, the one he paid for in full with his money, finally taking it off, slipping it inside my purse before my friend left the table and it was my turn to offer condolence. I told her I knew her husband well, that we worked very closely. “I don’t recognize you. What’s your name?” A hint of suspicion danced in her tired, tear-reddened eyes. “Ifechukwu.” “Richard never spoke about you. I know all his close associates.” I wanted to say maybe it was because her husband thought telling her about me was like delivering arsenal into the enemy’s camp. He thought it best to leave me out of their conversations, smart, big-headed man that he was. He also never mentioned his family to me. He’d been good to me. It would’ve been senseless to ignite chaos. “I am deeply sorry for your loss, ma. Your husband was a seasoned professional at his job.” I discarded the ring as our vehicle sped past the undulating hills of Nike, folded up all the promises he’d taught my heart to believe. In my room that night, in the bed that had bore his weight, I thrashed madly about mourning something that wasn’t mine to mourn. * Tobi’s words buoyed me out of the morass I’d been wallowing in since he appeared in my life, held my arms and led me over the ledge, as I crossed from a world of skepticism into one where he was possible, where his presence was real as real can be — like the black mole on the arch beneath his right eye which I caressed on Saturday mornings that I usually woke up before he did, when he lay asleep undisturbed, as if in death, until it was noon. He was as real as the sweat that poured in rivulets down his back, denying me a firm grip of skin while he worked his weight above me; like the grunts and hot breaths that clung to my wet throat while we kissed, as my thighs vibrated from the ecstasy his hardness harnessed from my body. That, too, was real, in fact, I don’t think anything can be realer than an orgasm. Yet, the knowledge of his un-realness was a ghost that retreated into the shadows, because I commanded it to, never rearing its head for the longest time. But its presence was still apparent, lurking about. He owned only three shirts, three jeans trousers, a black tux, and a pair of canvas. When he moved in finally, two weeks after I asked him to, a month after we met at Ballroom, he came with just a carry-on slung over his shoulder. Nothing else. I thought he wanted to make it easier for himself to be able to leave me. Less load, quicker disappearance. I kept expecting to find more of his luggage occupying space in the wardrobe we shared. I kept expecting to wake up one morning, or return home from work one evening and not find the carry-on in the corner where he’d securely fit it on the top wardrobe shelf. But that never happened. And even now, I can see the bag, black and new, unmoved from its position. He’s no longer here, yet what belongs to him still is. I realize he’d taken to owning little not for himself, not because he was cunning and calculative of his plan to disappear after he tired of me. It was for me, to make it easier to forget him, to get rid of any physical memory that he was ever here. More bags, clothes, shoes, meant it’d be tasking to move him out of my space after he was gone. He’d left a note tucked in the side pocket of the carry-on, the white edge of the

Blog, Diaspora Diary., FEATURES

Diaspora Diary: Why Honesty Is Your Best Path To Migration.

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If you do not tell the truth about yourself you cannot tell it about other people.~ Virginia Woolf In his younger years, Okoro was your normal guy man. Smart, suave and sophisticated. He found his way to Europe after graduating from the University and joined friends who made money the usual way: thru deals! He enjoyed the fast lane and soon married an upscale lady. It didn’t take long for that union to crash. The collapse of his marriage rang the first alarm that man shall not live by bread alone. It was becoming clear that his lifestyle as a bachelor won’t cut it if he wants to be a responsible family man like his dad before him. Some things must be ditched. Okoro decided to do real business. He will ship goods back home to Nigeria and sell them for profit. The business progressed and soon enough he was introduced to a beautiful working-class lady in Lagos. Their relationship blossomed and was enough to pull him back home for good or so he thought, after all, he already has a growing business. Our man flew back home, had an elaborate wedding and started building a family with a child coming the following year. However, as the years flew by, the economy continued on a downward slope. Once again the thought of relocation resurfaced and having discussed this with his wife they agreed that being an American citizen, she will move first with their kid and he will join them later. She moved and filed the necessary papers for him. After a couple of visits to the embassy, the visa officer invited Okoro into the inner room for further discussion. As he was led through a hallway, his heartbeat felt like an Uber driver ploughing around a parking lot in an endless search for a free space. He didn’t know what to expect but something didn’t feel right. In a small room with scanty furniture Okoro sat with palms on knees. He just didn’t feel comfortable. The months that passed since his family left suddenly paled in comparison to the infinite seconds that ticked by. His confidence was at the nadir since his embassy sojourn as the young Afrasian officer started the conversation. “Your application has been approved”, he said pointedly. “Thank God!” the exclamation escaped Okoro’s breath before he could hold back. “But… there is a caveat. You must prove your genuine identity before the visa will be granted”, said the visa officer in a flat tone to his chagrin. Our man was perplexed. He didn’t seem to understand what that meant. He had supplied all the required documents to prove his eligibility. Hesitantly he stuttered, “Sir, but sir please can you explain….” The visa officer cut him short. “Mr Kojo Abotsi” Okoro froze! With a sardonic smile, the visa officer said, “Our investigation revealed that you have multiple identities. You have to prove that you are either Okoro Uzondu, Kojo Abotsi or any of the other aliases you took up. Consider yourself lucky to have been accorded this privilege. I see you have a young family that needs you. It is now up to you to convince us that you also need them. Have a good day” Those stark words will remain vivid in Okoro’s memory for the rest of his life. He didn’t know how he left the embassy. The drive back home to Lekki also didn’t register in his mind. All he could remember was waking up in the evening to see several missed calls from his Missus. When he called back, it was well worth it as the soothing words of encouragement from her reignited his hope that it will just be a matter of time. His visa is only being delayed not denied. Thus the wearisome journey to prove that he is Okoro Uzondu began. Firstly, he will travel to Aba to gather the necessary documents. And each was to be verified by a notary public approved by the Embassy. Luckily his birth cert, baptismal cert and FSLC were all in his mother’s possession. The old lady had carefully filed all the original documents for each of her children. Okoro had them notarized and sent to the embassy. After 2 tortuous months, he got a reply. They needed notarized originals of his WASC and degree certificates too. He was also requested to get reference letters from his teachers attesting to his good character. In addition, he should include any other document that will support his proof of identity. He didn’t have his original WASC so he had submitted his secondary school testimonial, statement of result and a sworn affidavit. How the hell were all those inadequate? Another trip to Aba was inevitable. On reaching Aba, Okoro was informed that the WAEC branch office moved to Umuahia ages ago. Good Lawd! Knowing the frustration that comes with public services in Nigeria he anticipated that his stay will be extended by God knows how long. The next day he was in Umuahia and was shocked to learn that WAEC had his records intact. After a small fee, a certified true copy of his WASC was handed to him. To fulfill all righteousness he also paid for a copy to be dispatched directly to the Embassy via courier. He managed to get the addresses of his former teachers. One was retired to his nearby village in Ukwa West Local Government Area while the other, a gracious old lady still ran a nursery school in Umungasi. Both wrote in long-form confirming that he was an obedient and promising young lad. He also took pictures with them as advised by his friend in the US and gave them envelopes as tokens. By the 3rd day, he was back in Lagos, got copies of his first degree and WASC notarized and then mailed the parcel of documents along with old pictures of school activities with classmates, siblings and friends. His sigh of relief was laced with “America here I

Creative Essays, Diaspora Diary., Essays, Writers

Diaspora Diary: Three Words To Sum Up Life.

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  We are in a strange time. A period when a tiny microbe is changing our way of life. We are now left with books, tv, music, the internet and memories. I have a memorable story to share. You know that type of incident that sticks with you for a lifetime. My dream to relocate abroad looked to have come true when I met a young man from my town named Chuks. We met at a friend’s wedding reception during the Christmas celebration. He was visiting from London and I could tell by his dress and accent. We had a couple of dates and attended some other social functions together. We had a lot in common and started seeing each other more and more. We shared jokes, fun times and stories from our life experiences and we both had ambitions to become academics abroad. While he was already doing his master’s while I had plans with my mum to apply once I finish my national youth service. When he wanted to return to his base he asked me to accompany him to Lagos. That was when he surprised me and proposed the night before he boarded a flight back to London. I was already in love or so I believed and accepted on the condition that I will join him in London. Initially, he started giving excuses that the visa process will take a long time. But I shocked him by revealing that I had dual citizenship and needed no visa to migrate to the UK, all I needed to do was renew my passport. I first became suspicious when he started acting funny after I asked for some money to make up my flight ticket. He promised to give me some money but came up with one excuse after the other. I finally told him to forget about the money when my mum made up the balance. I told him I will be coming over during the summer after passing out from NYSC. He was happy— or so I believed —  and promised to refund the money when I come. When I arrived in London that summer I discovered that he was living with a friend instead of in his own flat as he said. Again I shook off my suspicion that something was not adding up. He lied that his flat was undergoing renovation and even arranged a visit to a property his friend was renovating. I was appeased and I became hopeful that we will move back in after some weeks. Weeks turned to months and he came up with a story about an expected insurance payment that was delayed. After some time he asked me to get a loan from my mum which will be repaid once the insurance firm pays in 3 months. I hesitated but I later agreed. After all, it is ‘our house’ and my mum will happily lend it to his future son-in-law. After discussing it with my mum, she raised about four thousand pounds for him. After several months during which he sometimes travelled for ‘school excursion’ and stayed out for days, I summoned the courage to ask him about ‘our flat’. It turned out to be another fairy tale about the complications of the insurance process and all that. By this time I was already pregnant. I informed him about it and he pretended to be excited only to leave the next day without returning for three nights. I couldn’t reach him, I was horrified and confused. To make matters worse on the second day after he left I woke up to discover that his flatmate was also gone. Was this a bad dream? This can’t be happening. It gradually started dawning on me that I could have been used. Pieces of events and stories started flashing back at my mind. Is it over? Could my dream have crumbled so in just a few weeks? Luckily I already had a care job through an old friend in a church rectory. So I was busy and was earning a little but that wasn’t the plan. All subsequent attempts to reach Chuks yielded nothing. Even his friends who I know had no idea of his whereabouts. I was almost devastated. Almost but not completely. Determined to have the baby, I told my mum the whole story. She prayed for me. One of the longest prayers in my life. She then advised me to go into self-isolation for the duration of the pregnancy so that I can focus on safe delivery. I did. I deleted all my social media profiles and maintained contact with only my family and a few close friends. I wasn’t much of a religious person but I started praying more and more. God knows I needed it then. The parish priest was wonderful. He asked me to move into the guest room at the rectory at no cost. His wife always brought hot food during the winter and sometimes she stayed back to help me with cleaning. I had Chioma in June. She weighed almost 4kg but I delivered her like a Hebrew woman. I didn’t even bother to search for her father because that will spoil the joy she brought. When I got a better job with a telecoms company I moved outside London. Today, I am married to a pastor and we are now a family of five. I am also an evangelist with two books to my name. When my mum visited last month we discussed my journey.  She asked if I ever heard from my dubious suitor and I told her that I have never bothered. When she asked why, my reply was, “I have forgiven and forgotten”. She then asked how I was able to move past all the trauma. I looked at her for a long while and then slowly replied. “Mummy, it was my daughter. She brought back life into my being with her cries and smiles. Through two years while living alone

Blog, Reverie

Two To Tango.

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And that’s marriage for you. It is simpler when you have common interests. When you encounter the attendant troubles of the planting season like stress, fatigue or disagreements you will easily overcome them because you know the harvest is just around the corner.

Blog, Reverie

A Brief One On Marriage.

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By all means, marry. If you get a good spouse, you’ll become happy; if you get a bad one, you’ll become a philosopher. ~ Socrates ‘improvised’ I remember one morning when my daughter woke up, came downstairs, and made breakfast. I watched her fry the pancake, spread the Nutella and topped it with a piece of strawberry fruit cut in half. I only asked her to punch it up with peanuts for extra calories to avoid collapsing in the gym! All done effortlessly with a headphone clasped over the ears as she hummed along to her playlist. My last daughter o, just to let you know. The joy of watching her while knowing that she may or may not be aware of the impact of her simple act was another delight on its own. For me, this is one of the numerous benefits of having a family. She is a fruit of my marriage and the bliss of such little blessings is better experienced than explained. So you can pardon my indignation when I hear that marriage is overhyped. In any case, it may be so for those who are not getting the satisfaction that should come from a marriage. I don’t have a perfect marriage, nobody has and I have seen people who wished they remained single. A wish which will always be alien to me because frankly if I come back a million times I will marry as many times. I even wish I married earlier because I would have now retired to spend more time on passion projects. The thing is that many commentators often generalise and put out an opinion informed by one or a few experiences. That is why we have many fluky relationship counselors obfuscating on social media platforms. Of course, it is better single than miserably accompanied but two good heads are better than one. Likewise, it is equally helpful to identify your shared interests before that walk down the aisle. In my case, a common love for tourism was identified early on and it has proven to be bonding and therapeutic. You see, besides companionship and procreation, there are countless benefits of marriage if you truly love and respect each other. And we must not take love lightly here. It comes with commitment, giving, taking and understanding. But yours truly will only tell you about one benefit from my little experience. The one that matters most even if it is ironically selfish. After all, aren’t humans selfish? There is a “feel-good feeling” that comes with marriage. It is psychological. It comes with that phrase “till death do us part”. I mean that feeling of “they ‘ll love to hear this” or “honey I’m home” after a good business trip. Or the belief that “they ‘ve got my back” that makes you long for home after a terrible day at work. It is just that simple but it is indeed an enormous feeling. So great that sometimes you unconsciously find yourself alone, thinking and giving thanks for having the best life ever. A friend had once asked me why I left all my businesses in Nigeria for “the abroad” and I replied “because I need ataraxis” Confused he said, “Cmoni you ‘ve come with all these your yeye vocab, which one is ataraxis again?” I beckoned for him to come closer. He did and I whispered “peace of mind!” I dated for many years and I ‘ve been married for 18 years now so I can tell you from my experience that the union can never be overhyped. The reverse is the case because I can’t seem to find enough words to qualify this beatitude. So go on, get married and enjoy the great benefits of the first institution created by God! But remember the caveat..if you truly love and respect each other. #HappySunday

Blog, Reverie

Much love to #WivesThatCook.

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The aim of having a gender equality law is a collective responsibility, but for reasons, I wrote about in an earlier piece the ladies are expected to drive this cause. Any right-thinking man should support it for the simple fact that we are all humans.

Essays, Writers

My View On Marriage by Oluremi Daniel.

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  Marriage is a wonderful thing. Union with one’s partner (and for the lucky ones, lover) for better for worse, in sickness and in good health. As a Nigerian woman, marriage also means more than just matrimony. It is a pact of submission, responsibility, tolerance and sacrifice. Oh, the sacrifice! Mothers never prepare you enough, fathers don’t even understand, and your in-laws expect a robot that will yield to their every command. To be honest, marriage isn’t a wonderful thing; at least, it wasn’t for me. My name is Olutade Adeola and a native of Ondo State. I was almost 6-feet tall, dark and moderately thin. I wasn’t looking bad, and even though I was beautiful, I was as smart as they come. At 28, I had my inaugural speech and became a professor of economics. My parents made a wonderful couple for as much as I can remember. Unfortunately, my dad died when I was 8, so you should take my judgement of their marriage with a pinch of salt. Unlike my educated father, my mom never got admitted to a higher institution, not because she wasn’t academically sound, but because her parents wanted her to get married quickly. She however never objected to their notion because she herself was a traditionalist to the core; I had to kneel fully when greeting her and my extended family until I was done with my Master’s degree. In fact, if not for wonderful Uncle Gbade and my impermeable doggedness, my mom never wanted me to do the Master’s program. She felt I would not get a man to propose to me, if I was too educated. I thought I had heard the end of it until my 29th birthday. As usual, my mom called me in the morning to pray for me and wish me a happy birthday. After about 30 minutes of prayer (trust me, it wasn’t exaggerated; I could have baked two cakes in that time), my mom started. “Adeola mi, when are you getting married?” she said with unusual seriousness. “Mom, we talked about this. I haven’t gotten any man…at least not one you will accept.” Remember I told you my mom was a traditionalist? Yes, she would not let me marry my ex-boyfriend, a talented surgeon and my first love, because Uche was Igbo! “You know those Igbo people can be very hostile” she said like she was about to gossip “Your in-laws would put you through a lot if he dies. Do you remember what happened to my nephew, Bola?” “That doesn’t mean it will happen to me, mom. I really….” “You better snap out of it! I will never give you my blessing if you try to marry Uche.” Yes! The parental blessing; another way they try to subtly hook you down. “You will soon be 30 o! You better know what you are doing.” I sighed and rolled by eyeballs. “Ok mom, I will do my best. Are you happy now? Thanks for ruining my birthday!” “I am doing this for your good ni. See you!” she hissed “Men are scarce these days, especially the good Yoruba ones. Up your game and stop behaving like a bookworm káà kiri! Me I want grandchildren soon o!” “And who told you I want to give birth?” I teased her. “Ah! You that I see my 5 little grandsons running around!” We both burst into laughter. “Màámi! I have to get to my office in the next hour. By the way, how is your chemotherapy going?” “Wòó, I am just trying my best. I am still at the clinic right now. There is nauseous and pain, but there is really nothing I can do about it.” There was a moment of silence and sadness for both of us. She was battling with stage III cancer. I sighed and then she continued. “Oh, how did it skip my mind! Do you remember Femi?” my mom asked with newly found enthusiasm. After about 30 seconds of thinking and countless descriptions by my mom, I remembered him. He was the son of one of my mom’s few friends. “He just got back from Germany after 10 years. He is a big business man now o. And he is a nice, fine, SINGLE, boy. So… I gave him your number and told him you will see him this weekend.” “MOM!!” I was so pissed! How could she do something like that! “My dear, my airtime is almost exhausted. I will send you iyán and èfó rírò in the evening. Bye!” she quickly squeezed in and chuckled before cutting the call. Frustrated as I was, there was nothing I could do. At least she didn’t marry me off when she had the chance too. Now, I had to start planning a date with a Femi; every Nigerian Twitter user knows that Femis are scum bags! I shrugged off the thought and got ready for work, and to my surprise, my birthday went very well. To prevent my mom from breaking down in tears and to try my luck at this dating thing, I met Femi. Even though we didn’t spend over two hours due to our busy schedule, I enjoyed myself. He was funny, good looking, brilliant and he had money. I was financially comfortable, but damn, he had money! “Maybe it is time to settle down?” I thought to myself. Besides, I was tired of getting unsolicited marital advice from the old women at my church. We had gone on a second, third and fourth date and were already getting fond of each other when I got a call from my mom’s doctor that she was dying. We hurried up to the hospital, and I saw my mom in a very bad state. We hoped for a miracle, but it was certain she was going to die soon. Even though she was in pain and was weak, my mom reached out for my hand and that of Femi. She then

Essays, Writers

What Happens When Like Poles Are Allowed To Attract by Ebube Ezeadum.

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    Back in school, our physics teacher used the principles of a magnet to hammered a point. He taught that the like poles of the magnet repel and the unlike ends attract. In English language, I was perturbed by the numerous exceptions to various laws — laws like the past tense of fight is fought but the past tense of light isn’t in the “-ought” family; it’s lit. Here, we the students argued with our teachers and we only got defeated with the phrase, “that is just how it is meant to be; some exceptions are accepted.” When the Pope made a declaration that same sex marriage should be approved, I realized that even some exceptions have an exception. In the year 2010, Cardinal Jorge Mario Bergoglio, who now bears the regnal name Francis, once spoke against the institution of same-sex marriage [1][2]. However, when he became Elected as Pope Francis, his ideation transformed from segregating homosexuals to accepting them as humans that they are. But there is more to this than what he thinks about making this endorsement. The holy father, Pope Francis stated that the LGBTQ Catholics should not be ostracized; he made it known that they are children of God. But the fact is that he didn’t stop at saying that the homosexuals should as well be loved and prayed for just like the straight, he publicly announced their full acceptance of their sexual orientation in the church. What does the bible say? Love your enemies and pray for them. Matthew 5:44 The Homosexuals are not our enemies — their ways are! The bible never said that we should accept their norms in the guise of “love and whole acceptance.” In Mark 2:13–17, it was recorded that Jesus dined with sinners. But he didn’t accept their ways in the name of trying to prove he had ‘‘love and acceptance’’ of them. His dining with them meant that he said ‘‘No’’ to discrimination and welcomes them despite their shortcomings in morality, but it ends there. If a woman, say Mrs. Dorcas, loves her husband so passionately yet she hated the fact that he sniffs in cocaine every night and smokes his life out at the corridor. Would Mrs. Dorcas make her husband change his ways by joining him or endorsing his actions by doing what he does too? Effect of This Endorsement On the Marriage of the Church My mother once told me something. She said, ‘‘If Mrs. Horse knocks on your door during a cold night and asks, ‘could I just put my head inside your house so it can be warm?’’ you would probably agree, saying it is only a little favor. And again she would ask for one of her legs in and then another, and soon, her whole body is suddenly in the house!’’ What I am trying to say is that when an endorsement like this is made, it would only lead to greater issues — we shouldn’t be surprised when some set of people start pleading to marry dogs and cow or even inanimate objects. In addition, the endorsement of the same sex marriage lucidly gives room for biblical disobedience. The bible, in Ephesians 5:31, unanimously states that a man would leave his parents and marry a woman he would call wife. The bible never said ‘‘a man would leave his parents to marry a person of the same sex. Contrasting even the life manual of Christians places a comma on such pronouncements made by Pope Francis. Endorsing same sex marriage can be likened to the endorsement of idol worship with pagans to show our ‘‘love and acceptance’’ of them. The institution of the Christian marriage is clearly threatened. When a particular action is legalized by the Pope, the bishops and priests are obliged to follow through and when they are licensed to do so, they would have more ‘‘candidates’’ who openly want to share vows with a same-sex spouse. The sad thing about this is that is not only promoting sin, it is also promoting a trend which other churches may soon start to follow leading a large number of Christians astray. One disastrous thing about a leader being wrong is that a lot of followers just follow — and the follower could be ridiculously large in number. This is similar to a case that happened during the COVID-19 outbreak. Many Americans died due to carelessness of their leader. Donald Trump, the then president of USA administered Chloroquine as a cure for the virus [3]. Although many people knew chloroquine as a drug for Malaria, they still took it anyway. Why? Because Mr. Trump is a leader and leaders are most often listened to. Way forward -Christians need to unitedly pray for the religious leaders to make the right decision. – Christians should set their priorities right — obedience to Jesus over religion. – Marriages in the church should solely remain as one man and one woman as instructed by our creator. – The church should make rules based on biblical doctrines and care should be taken to avoid contradiction of the word of God. – The church should adopt the preaching of love and care for all without endorsing non biblical standards as a buttressing point for doing so. Bad things happen when rules, set especially by God, are bent. It would only be viewed as abnormal when like poles are allowed to attract. The same-sex marriage is totally against the law of God. And its endorsement, no matter what, wrongly shows superiority in knowledge over God. This is a terrible start as God’s wrath could be a very bitter thing to invoke. And so, we should let the unlike poles attract and the like repel as God has designed them. If we are to love the homosexuals, it should be from our heart, and not made a general issue by incorporating their sexual orientation into the church. REFERENCES [1] Park Paul (2015) ‘Why Do Popes Change Their Names?’ Mental Floss (September 28, 2020). Retrieved at: https://www.mentalfloss.com/article/69072/why-do-popes-change-their-names (Assessed:

Essays, Writers

A Quantum Shift In The Wrong Direction by Folarin Oluwatimilehin.

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  Redefining the institution of Christian marriage   It was a bright Saturday. Whether I knew the celebrant or not, I had no idea. But all I could remember was that I fell into a reverie. Possibly, and more accurately, it was an unperceived consternation. The syncopated sound of the trumpet saturated the atmosphere and captivated my heart.  The blissful melodic resonances suddenly took me away, and strangely, I set my eyes on two men: one dressed in a stunning black suit, while the other man was decorated in a red shining gown. Making a 45 degree turn to my younger brother, I could read the heavy lines around his eyes. We were both shocked by what we were seeing. A man marrying a man was the weirdest thing we have ever experienced. Thankfully, we were watching the wedding on the television, and it only cost me to press a button on the remote to save our eyes from the strange thing we saw. According to Merriam Webster’s student Dictionary, marriage is the legal relationship which a man and a woman enter for the purpose of making a home and often for raising a family. Usually, marriage can be described as an obligation between a man and a woman, stalwartly reinforced with love, support, care, togetherness, tolerance, and coherence. A family birthed from marriage represents a colossal of fused idiosyncrasies enduring the storms of life to create a better tomorrow for the coming generations. All of the highlighted explanations were all missing in the strange wedding we found ourselves watching on a Saturday morning. “… what you think is right isn’t the same as knowing what is right.”― E.A. Bucchianeri “Act11:26 – And when he had found him, he brought him unto Antioch. And it came to pass, that a whole year they assembled themselves with the church, and taught many people. And the disciples were called Christians first in Antioch” Undoubtedly, there are countless numbers of faith-based organizations in the world, and the religious disparity boils down to various individual beliefs that extensively have some attachments to the supernatural being which they put their faith in.  However, Christianity as it is widely well-known due to its origin can be traced back to Jesus Christ – a unique paranormal being that came to the world for the redemption of sin.  No doubt, Christianity is a respected religion that is soaked in the reality of Almighty God, who tremendously manifests as an omnipresent, omnipotent, and omniscient creature.   Being a young boy who grew up in a Christian home, homosexuality is one of the most prohibited acts widely talked about. Shockingly, Pope Francis’s endorsement for same-sex civil unions, which was first revealed from an interview in 2019, and was premiered in a broadcast on October 21st, 2020, has stolen the subject of discussion. The news came all of a sudden, graduated from a shock to a decision that seems to have come to stay. No one expected that such pronouncement will come from a reputable pope so much that the entire world, especially the Christian faith was thrown into discombobulation. Exasperatingly, Pope Francis who is vehemently aware of what is right decided to fall victim of beating around what he contemplates to be right due to pressure from the LGBTQ group. This has, however, questioned the much respect many people have for the Christian community. The decision to legalize same-sex civil union has harvested extensive media attention and robust antiphons if truly the legacy Jesus laid-down for the Christians has faded, or gradually overthrown by the pressure from some set of wealthy individuals. While some people have reiterated their outright rejection of the Pope’s decision, some still erroneously think the announcement vibrated profoundly the beginning of a mutually inclusive worship atmosphere for all. So sad that the world of the Christian faith seems to be tearing away from the intended purpose it was created. At the point, we need to understand that standing by what we truly know to be right should be undiluted! “Wrong does not cease to be wrong because the majority share in it.”― Leo Tolstoy “2 Timothy 3:16-17 – “All scripture is given by inspiration of God, and is profitable for doctrine, for reproof, for correction, for instruction in righteousness.” It is quite disheartening and paradoxical that Christianity has been immensely abused by the influx of corrupt minds using the religion as a means to fuel their selfish interest rather than upholding the truth embedded in the Holy Bible. Fundamentally, there are three key conceptions about marriage which include: procreation (having children), problem-solving, and purposeful unification. Yet, some set of people want these basic concepts about marriage to be defiled by endorsing the idea of same-sex civil union. This is not just abuse of the serenity of the Christian faith, but also, an obstruction to the strong possibilities of the expansion of human beings on the face of the earth. Can the union between the same gender lead to childbirth? Definitely, No! Within the perimeter of the church, Pope Francis has activated cruel reactions from the Catholics who are afraid that his steps might divide the church or even fragment it. After meticulously pillaging my environment, I found out that we have entered an era where ample numbers of people find pleasure in things that seem to be culturally erroneous. For the preservation of the future, we need to make it sink into our mind that “Wrong does not cease to be wrong because of the majority share in it.”   “Right is right even if no one is doing it; wrong is wrong even if everyone is doing it.” ― Saint Augustine “Gen2:23-24 – And Adam said, This is now bone of my bones, and flesh of my flesh: she shall be called Woman, because she was taken out of Man. Therefore shall a man leave his father and his mother, and shall cleave unto his wife: and they shall be one flesh.” Francis, who happens to be

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