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  • One woman’s reject is another woman’s prayer point
  • One woman’s reject is another woman’s prayer point

    One woman’s reject is another woman’s prayer point

    “LAGOS life has never held that much excitement for me”, said Kike, a 38-year-old mother of three.”  When I was admitted into a nursing school in Lagos after secondary school, I was ecstatic. But I soon saw Lagos for what it was – a city with a frenzied lifestyle that I could never catch up with.

    I’d been born and bred in a fairly big town but to protective parents.  When I came to Lagos, I stayed with an uncle, my mum’s elder brother, and was amazed at the freedom he gave his children, including me.

    My parents thought I would be safe staying with my uncle instead of the den of vice they thought the nurses’ hostel would be.  But in six months, I’d lost my virginity to a man who said he loved me.  The depth of his love became shallow as soon as he found another conquest.  After a few more sweet-mouthed tickle men, I was thoroughly disillusioned and cynical about love.

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    “When I finished at the nursing school, I worked for close to a year in one of the teaching hospitals before I snapped up the offer of work with another uncle who just opened an ultra-modern practice in our town.  I was glad to be back with my parents even though the hospital offered accommodation.  The salary was good and I soon got together with lost friends.  I was working nights some few months later when a man was brought in with a nasty gash on his leg.  He’d accidentally fallen into a ditch during the rainy season.  I tended his wounds and he wanted to know if I could come to his house the next day to dress his wounds.  He said he would make it worth my while if I came.  So I went.  He was much older of course, and a bit on the stocky side, but distinguished.

    “When I looked at the card he gave me, I discovered that Gbade was his first name and the address was the impressive factory that had just been opened on the outskirts of town.  The house address was one of the fancy houses that were recently sold by the state government at the town’s GRA. When I arrived, I was shown into a very posh living room, with leather sofas, a glass-top dining table, an impressive bar, and other knick-knacks.  As I dressed his wounds, we chatted, but you could see he was trying to find out all about me. I told him of the nasty experiences I’d had with men and that I was bidding my time in looking for a boyfriend.  He asked me to stay for lunch and the meal the cook prepared was like a feast.  When I was ready to leave, he gave me an envelope for my ‘trouble’ and asked the driver to drop me at the hospital in one of his posh cars.  My eyes nearly popped when I checked the envelope and saw how generous he was.  I went to dress his wounds a few more times and got to know him better.  He taught me how to have wine with my meals and it was during one of my tipsy moments that we kissed and made love.  Of course, he’d told me that he was married and that he used this beautiful house as his ‘base’ four days a week. The rest of the week he spent with his wife and two daughters.

    “Six months after I met him, I discovered I was pregnant.  It wasn’t planned.  He refused to use the condom because he said he couldn’t be bothered fiddling with the stuff at his age. My contraceptive must have failed and when I told him, he asked me to move into the house straight away.  I was aghast.  What would my parents say?  “I’ll deal with them”, he assured.  I was at work when he went to visit my parents.  My mum found time to call my mobile to tell me what to expect from my dad but she said he would come round in the end.  When I got home, dad really tore into me.  What example did I think I was setting for my siblings getting hitched to a married man?  Was a second wife the best I could be?  I wish I had the nerve to tell him the rotten treatment I’d been subjected to by former boyfriends, but my mum had warned me not to contradict him.

    “He took his time in giving his consent for me to move into Gbade’s house and he didn’t visit until Gbade had done the traditional wine-carrying. When he eventually visited, he admitted I’d really struck gold.  Gbade’s wife never came to the premises – I doubt if she knew of its existence as he had another flat at the factory.  Every weekday, his wife would call around 7.00 p.m. and that was it. Within eight years, I’d had three lovely boys.  I have since left my nursing job to be a full-time housewife.  My husband sees to it that I want for nothing.  The kids are well taken care of and he’s rebuilt my parent’s house and given them a car.  Just last year, on his 60th birthday, he transferred the ownership of the house to me and has been buying shares in the boys’ names.  He’d told me he didn’t want any embarrassment with his wife when he eventually dies, that I wouldn’t need to fight his family over any inheritance and he is true to his words.  Just last year, he opened an ultra-modern supermarket, the first of its kind in our town so I could have my own income for life.

    “Now that the children are not so young, I’m thinking of starting a business of my own to supplement the supermarket and he’s encouraged me to do that.  I pinch myself at times to believe my good luck.  Some of my friends are still struggling with their not-so-young husbands and a few are divorced.  The other woman? If this is what it’s all about, then I feel privileged and grateful to be one!”

    A Bit Over The Top?   (Humour)

    A man goes to the doctor complaining that since he has been taking Viagra, he always feels so tired.  After examining him, the doctor remarks: “Well, I can’t find anything wrong with you, perhaps you’d better tell me how you spend your days.” “Okay”, replied the man. “I usually wake up about 6.30, make love to the wife, doze off for a while, make love again and get up about 8 o’clock.   Then after breakfast, I usually make love to her again in the kitchen before going off to work.

    “At one o’clock, I drive the four miles home, made love to the wife, have lunch then go back to work.  I get home at six make love to the wife a couple of times, have supper, make love again, pop down the club for an hour then come back and make love on the sofa.  We go to bed at about 11.30, have lots more love and then go to sleep.  Quite often, we wake up a couple of times in the night and have more.” The doctor was dumbfounded. “Well, I think I can tell you what’s wrong,” he said.   “It’s too much shagging. It’s wearing you out.”  “Oh really”, replied the man.  “For a while, I thought it might be all the wanking I do in the office.”

    Vanguard News Nigeria

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