Chapter 1: The House We Waited For

A year after we got married, our own house was finally ready.

E be like say na now my real journey as a wife dey start. As I dey look the house, I just dey smile like person wey win awoof raffle for church harvest. Even the scent of fresh paint dey give me joy, like say na ogiri for new pot of egusi soup—everybody go notice.

For the past year, we’d been managing inside a rented flat close to Tunde Ayodele’s office.

That compound dey always busy with Lagos noise—children dey run upandan, generator dey hum for background. Sometimes, I go just dey peep for window, dey imagine my own space where nobody go knock anyhow or come dey monitor our every move. I dey imagine say I fit fry fish anytime, no neighbour go complain.

My husband, Tunde Ayodele, is a very practical person. Back then, he said our own house was too far from work, and moving there would just make his life harder.

Tunde, my husband, always dey reason matter with clear head, no wahala. He dey calculate fuel, traffic, how many minutes e go take reach work. He dey count how many hours go waste for Third Mainland Bridge if hold-up start. Na proper Naija man, work and hustle na im first language.

But now, all of a sudden, he changed his mind.

One evening as PHCN bring light, e just talk say e dey ready make we move. Even me surprise, dey look am like person wey see miracle.

He said, “This is our first real home together. We’re supposed to cherish it.”

E talk am with this soft voice, hold my hand join. My heart just dey do im own drum for inside chest. I remember when my mama dey teach me say, "Home na where your people dey, not just where you sleep."

I was so happy, busy looking for ideas and choosing designs, until I mistakenly saw his chat with the designer.

Happiness carry me go Pinterest and Instagram, dey screenshot kitchen tiles, dey dream of how my parlour go set. But one day, as I dey look for invoice, my hand jam Tunde phone—see as my heart cut. My hand begin shake, phone nearly fall from my hand.

He wrote: “If you finish this big job for me, will you get promoted?”

I just pause. Wetin concern promotion for design work? Na there my mind begin dey reason plenty things. Na so story begin.

As I press exit, I tell myself—this chapter of my life don close. Make dem run their own.