Chapter 5: Wahala No Dey Finish

Ifeoma really dey try fix me up.

She dey send me WhatsApp profile of different girls every week. Even show me one lawyer babe for her office. I dey tire.

One weekend, she plan make we go barbecue for outskirts. She tell Musa to bring me, say single girls go dey.

She even organize DJ, arrange canopy, order small chops. Na so I dey look forward.

That afternoon, three of us drive go. For road, Musa and wife start quarrel—Ifeoma even cry.

The quarrel start from radio volume, then jump to food, then land for job matter. Before I know, everywhere hot.

Musa say, "Abeg, forget am, we no dey go again."

He vex, shift gear, slow down for junction. Ifeoma dey wipe tears, her nose red.

For next junction, he turn car, dey drive back house.

The silence for car thick, only AC dey blow. Even my phone I no fit touch.

Ifeoma shout, "If you turn back, I no go leave you!"

Her voice crack, but she dey determined. I dey pray make fight no escalate.

Musa say, "Make una go. I dey go house."

He bone face, focus for road. Na so we miss the barbecue. My mind just dey vex.

I just dey middle, no know wetin to do.

I dey look window, dey pray make ground open swallow me.

I try settle. "Sister-in-law, abeg no vex. I get something to do tonight, so I no fit stay long. Maybe make we cancel am."

I try use myself as excuse. Ifeoma just sigh, no talk.

Ifeoma just collapse for seat, dey cry.

She no even care if we dey look her. She just bend head, tears drop for lap.

Later, I hear say na work matter cause am.

Na neighbour yarn me for junction, say dem dey hear Ifeoma voice every evening. Na job stress dey cause am.

After he lose job, Musa dey send CV everywhere, nobody reply. Na one company for Port Harcourt offer am position.

Musa dey run around, dey call old contacts, but luck no shine for Lagos. Port Harcourt opportunity come as last hope.

He tell Ifeoma, but she no gree—she no want long distance, say make he find work for here.

For Naija, distance marriage na wahala. Ifeoma talk say she no wan turn single wife for Lagos.

I still advise am make he no go far, but he stubborn, say the pay and shares good. Max, two years.

He say e go come house every two weeks, but everybody know say e hard.

Last last, he go south take the job.

He pack bag, carry small Ghana-Must-Go, hug Ifeoma for gate. I dey there, e pain me.

Before he commot, Musa call me out, we go drink for roadside joint. He open up: "Bro, you think say I like am? My wife use all our money, even borrow, to save me. As man, I must provide. If I miss this chance, na wahala."

He sip orijin, eye dey red. For him mind, e dey feel like failure if he no provide.

I sigh. E get point.

I pat him back, try encourage am. For Naija, man wey no hustle, people go laugh.

Life be like that—sometimes you go think say you get choice, but you no get.

I reason my own struggle—how I dey manage my law practice, still dey survive.

He add, "Abeg help look my family. One mistake, thousand regrets."

He look me straight, voice low. I nod, promise am. Loyalty dey important for this life.

I ask, "Musa, talk true. You dey run from anybody?"

I look am well, dey search him eye. I dey suspect say him get babe wahala.

He quiet, drink, then talk, "One babe dey disturb me. E dey tire me. Abeg no tell Ifeoma."

He laugh small, shake head. Na so Naija men dey confess only when dem don tire.

I sigh. "Handle your own wahala."

I slap him back, smile. "No let Ifeoma catch you o, na that day you go know."

That moment, I pity Ifeoma. She dey always last to know—e too pain.

Her own na to carry all burden, dey hope say everything go better.