My Peju Akande
Mywife died two years ago. Before then, she had been sick for a long time; the kind of sickness that drains everybody in the house. You know that saying: “The person caring for the sick is sometimes sicker than the sick person.” It’s true. It’s painfully true.
I won’t stand here and claim I did all the caring. Her children, our children, carried that burden with full chest. They were her hands, her legs and her nurses. But she was still mywife. I did what I could, in my own small way. I put all my manhood on hold and accepted it as destiny.
You know what I mean.
When she died, the house became quiet in a way that frightens even an old man. There used to be noise, you know, the good kind. People trooping in and out.
Neighbours, people from our mosque, alfas, children she helped, women she advised, men she encouraged.
Big tree
Mywife was a big tree. When she fell, the shade disappeared. People came for the burial, stayed for a while, then left one by one like leaves falling off a branch.
And I was alone.
My children begged me to come and stay with them, but grief is a stubborn companion. I said I wanted to be alone. I didn’t realise loneliness has teeth. Not that I feared ghosts, if mywife appeared, even as a ghost, she wouldn’t harm me. She would probably scold me for misplacing my glasses, or my phone or even money.
Eventually, my children arranged someone to cook and clean. I was turning 80; I needed help. Even if it was someone to quarrel with. That’s how I met this woman at the mosque.
The ‘eleha’ who hid her evil under a burqa. She was an eleha, fully covered, soft‑spoken, eyes lowered. But I was fooled in my old age!
I’m not saying women who wear hijab or burqa are evil. No.
But this particular one used that covering to hide her wickedness like a snake hiding under dry leaves.
She was 45 when we met. She said her husband left her with three children. At my age, I wasn’t looking for romance. I have 11 grandchildren. My prostate is enlarged — so that department is closed for renovation.
Companionship
All I wanted was companionship, you know, someone to talk to. Someone to sit with, someone to keep me warm in the evenings.
I told her clearly: “I will help you financially. But I cannot father your children. They cannot live with me.”
She agreed, or she pretended to.
We started “seeing” each other quietly. I didn’t introduce her to my children, they would never accept it. But I’m sure they suspected.
That woman entered my life like a thief in the night and she has been stealing me blind. She stole more than Shina Rambo!
Do you know Shina Rambo? Ah, you are young. Shina Rambo was the most notorious armed robber in Nigeria in the 80s and 90s.
This woman? She stole more than him, without gun, without knife, without breaking the door. She would take my money and claim I gave her myself. She lies like someone who practices lying as a profession. I would put money on top of the fridge, she would take it and swear I took it myself.
I don’t have an ATM card, so I withdraw large sums at once. Before I know what is happening, fiam! All the money is gone. I told her I would help her financially. I didn’t tell her to help herself to my money like a rat eating ‘breadi agege’.
She turned me into an ATM machine, and that is what I will not accept. So I told her not to come to my house again. And I will stand by it. Because as old as I am, I have learned one bitter truth: loneliness is not enough reason to invite madness into your home!
•Series, first published in thisislagos.ng, was written and edited by Peju Akande and based on true stories
The post My wife died two years ago, then grief opened door for madness appeared first on Vanguard News.