🇳🇬 | Chapter 005

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Your phone beeped at a few minutes past midnight. You glanced at it. The message read: He says he is leaving me. HELP!!!! It was from Flora.

You sighed softly, irritated because you'd asked that no one send a message past 10 p.m. But it was just like Flora, the twit, to disobey simple instructions. It crossed your mind that she may have been distressed when she sent the message, but you remembered she was a drama queen, and it was more likely she sent it while lolling in her jacuzzi.

Still, she'd asked for help, from you, and from the group. And as the head of the group, you were obligated to help.

You sighed again. Tapped your phone. Opened WhatsApp. Scrolled to the group titled, 'Virtuous Wives Guild' and typed: Emergency meeting at 2 p.m.

Then, you deleted Flora's message, slipped your phone into the pocket of your silk house robe. You walked down the imperial staircase to double-check if the foyer windows were locked.

Since the time, fifteen years ago, when armed robbers walked into your former house at Anthony Village because the gateman was careless, you'd gotten understandably paranoid.

Now, though you lived in Banana Island, arguably the most secure part of Lagos, and had a top private-security firm guarding your mansion, you were still paranoid.

So, every day, you double-checked all windows and doors, and didn't sleep until everyone was dozing. Check completed, you went back upstairs to your bedroom.

You settled into the white loveseat near the foot of your king-size bed. As usual, you sat there for about an hour, watched Biodun, your husband, as he snored softly on the bed. And as usual, you prayed silently, first for the strength to get in bed with Biodun.

Your other nightly prayers were not for God's protection or help, but more about repeating your neurosis to him. Your life's journey-from crippling childhood poverty in Maroko till after you graduated from LASU; to the years of joblessness and semi-regular prostitution on the Allen Avenue and Opebi axis; to when you met Biodun in church (actually, you met him after church, when many of the congregation spilled out to Costain Bus Stop, and he assumed you were one of them, and you never corrected him); to the early years after your marriage when you lived hand-to-mouth in Anthony Village where the robbers came; to when Biodun met Otunba, who became his benefactor and helped him become the billionaire he now was-was a remarkable one.

But because you were a secret worrier, you never quite fully enjoyed the now because you were always scared that somehow, you'd go back to being poor, or someone would expose your past.

Eventually, your prayers ended, you got in bed, but ensured you slept as far away as possible from your husband of twenty years. You woke at 5 a.m. as usual and went through your routine-prayed (this time, for God to protect your children from the craziness in America and your husband from himself), did a thirty-minute Tabata workout at the home gym downstairs, showered, then woke Biodun at 6:30 a.m. to start his day.

As usual, you had breakfast together. Akara and ogi for him; half an avocado, a boiled egg, and black unsweetened coffee for you.

As usual, breakfast was mostly quiet, interrupted by the soft beeps from Biodun's iPad Pro and the occasional small talk that came from the natural see-finish of two decades of marriage. "I'm going out by 1 p.m.," you said.

Biodun grunted his acknowledgement. "I have a meeting at church. I should be back by 3 p.m." There was no need to explain, or lie, but you did both anyway. Force of habit.

"I'm going out later in the afternoon. Some young hotshots who are trying to convince me to invest in their company, have somehow, blagged entry into the members section of the Yacht Club, and want us to have a lunch meeting there.

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