Chapter 2: Transaction or True Love?

The reason for my disappointment dey simple.

Enjoyment finish, Halima go just bounce. No time to gist, no play. Na sharp-sharp movement.

Every time we finish, Halima go dress up and waka—no linger, no wahala.

Na so she arrange herself, smile, “Good night, oga.” Sometimes, I dey look am like say I just pay one runs babe for quick waka.

As she dey go, I dey wonder—na lover I get or I just dey hire runs girl?

The question dey disturb my chest. Sometimes, I dey vex. Which kind wahala be this? Na love or na business?

If na only money hold us, wetin remain? Sometimes, her perfume go still dey my office, but space go cold like ice block.

Her always turning away dey make me wan conquer her more.

Na the chase dey sweet me pass. Man like challenge; when she dey hard, my mind dey push me go.

That’s when divorce first enter my mind—sneak in like rat for midnight. I go dey reason—if I free myself, maybe she go open up.

One time, I no fit hold am. As she dey dress, I ask, “We don do this plenty times. You never get any feelings for me?”

My voice shake small. She pause, zip up, look me with that kain sad eye.

She give small bitter smile. “Oga Musa, you get family. Your wife belle big. If I fall for you, na only shame go remain.”

The room quiet like Good Friday church. I feel small for inside.

Her words show me say na my family be the real wahala.

I no fit give her anything real. I be married man, my wife belle big—who go dey hope for my matter?

So I start dey think divorce.

For Abuja, men dey divorce steady. But my own no go easy. The thought dey chase me every night.

Plenty nights, I dey wonder: if I really do am, she go drop her guard, love me true?

Sometimes, as NEPA take light, I dey watch ceiling fan spin for inverter, dey imagine—if I free Amara, Halima go love me?

But na only thought e remain.

I no get liver. I dey fear.

I no fit divorce Amara.

No be just because she get three months before delivery—if I lose her, my career go finish.

The fear choke me. Na my bread and butter dey there.

My job with ten million naira salary na her uncle arrange am.

For my estate, people dey hail me, but na my wife family hold my destiny. No be today.

Half of Halima gist true: I relate to company chairman.

Yes, na family connect, but no be pure blood—na husband of his niece.

If Amara no dey, na struggle remain. I no fit lose this soft life.

Because of this, I no just fear to divorce Amara, I dey act perfect husband for her front.

Na acting be my real job. I dey smile, but my heart dey far.

For example, just now, I finish wash her feet—swollen like yam—she ask me to listen to the baby heartbeat.

Basin dey her leg, dettol smell everywhere. Feet swell, skin dey shine. I dey force smile.

Looking at her big, round belle, stretch marks like palm fronds, I just dey act excited, press ear to stomach.

I close eye, try hear heartbeat, but na my own dey beat pass. Mind dey run far.

I no understand. This na the same Amara wey be campus queen? Seven months belle and everything don change. Her body don change, no be the Amara I remember from campus.

The transformation shock me. Sometimes, I dey pity am, but attraction don waka.

Wetin dey pain me pass be her foolish bedtime question: “Honey, I never let you touch me for long. You dey uncomfortable?”

I dey vex, but I just smile, dey find excuse for phone.

Every time, I wan shout: You dey think say I wan touch you? Even if you beg, I no fit. This your body, even those mama put aunties dey more attractive.

But I swallow my words. Na only my mind dey shout. If I talk am, wahala go burst.

Of course, I no fit say that out. I go put serious face: “For the baby’s health, wetin be small discomfort?”

I go nod, touch her cheek, form caring husband. "My love, e no reach. Wetin man go do for pikin sake?"

After small kiss, she go smile, close eye, snore. Her snore dey like gen wey no get fuel.

Before, as she start snore, I go plug earphone, play Fela or Asa. But tonight, my mind no gree rest.

Tonight different. As she sleep, I dey rush to message Halima under blanket.

My hand dey shake, heart dey race. [Who be the guy wey pick you after work today?]

I type am sharp, delete chat history. Man must sharp for Abuja.