Chapter 1: The Bitterness of Touch

My brother once ask me, after person cheat, you still dey get feelings for your wife?

I think am well that day.

How I wan talk am?

To say I no dey feel anything—abeg, that one no true. We don dey as family for long now.

But to say I still love her like before? That one self, e no pure.

I think say I don see through wetin marriage really mean.

Until one day for street,

I see am dey smile for another man.

The way her teeth flash and her eyes just light up, my chest catch one kain. I grip my car key tight, dey tap leg for ground, dey bone face like Lagos tout. I feel small heat for my head, like fever dey come. For that brief second, jealousy just bitter my mouth like ogbono wey no done. I no even expect am—after all this time, something still fit shake my heart like that.

1

For balcony, I just dey blow smoke ring, dey reason Musa question when my phone ring.

Na my wife, Morayo.

"How far, Morayo?"

My voice soft.

She just burst laugh before she talk. "Hahaha, honey, when you dey come house? Junior fit do backflip now! Abeg come see am!"

I laugh join.

"No wahala, I go reach house soon. Make I bring puff-puff for you?"

"Yes o!"

"Today, na the one from Mama Kemi you want or from Alhaja Fatima?"

"Alhaja Fatima own."

We end call, still dey laugh.

As I turn back, Musa just dey look me, e face dey somehow lost.

I just raise mouth corner. I no surprise.

Him just finish divorce wahala between him wife and side-chick, e no easy for am, now the two women don turn enemy.

But me and Morayo?

We be that couple wey everybody dey envy—sweet, dey show love. Four years of marriage, and instead of wahala, our love just dey grow.

To talk true, I always treat her well. Even after I mess up, I begin treat her better.

By any standard, she be woman wey anybody go want.

Sometimes, I dey look Morayo as blessing wey fall for me from heaven. Neighbours dey hail us: "Una dey always dey together!" Old mama for compound go tap her for back, "My daughter, you dey try." Even my mama go sometimes call, dey pray for her, say make God keep her for me. Everybody dey reason say I dey lucky, but only me know say e get things wey heart dey hide.

Musa squeeze face, press me.

"You never answer my question."

I shake head, tap my cigarette ash, ask am, "Make I ask you: you dey feel anything when you touch your own hand?"

"Which kind feeling I suppose feel?"

I take drag, dey squint for the dusty street far. "Na so I dey feel for Morayo now. When I touch am, e be like say I dey touch my own hand. But if that hand wound, I go feel the pain too. But if that hand ever leave me, na my whole body go feel am."

Musa blink. "Na why you dey with Halima?"

I turn face am, voice serious. "Halima na woman wey get pride. Abeg, no ever talk that kind thing for her front."

As I talk am, my voice low. I no want anybody hear gist wey no concern dem. For this Lagos, story dey waka fast. I just look Musa, make e get sense.