Chapter 2: Rented Spaces, Borrowed Peace

When we got married, the house we bought was still under construction.

Dem never lay all the tiles finish, scaffoldings still block window. Sometimes, rain go beat workers, we go dey pity dem—life no easy at all.

While we waited for our new home to be ready, we rented a place near Tunde Ayodele’s company. The area was nice, security was tight—and most importantly, it was just a stone’s throw from his office.

That place get one stubborn landlord. Everyday na new rule. But as e dey close to Tunde work, we just dey manage. I even sabi the security man, Baba Musa. He dey greet me, call me “Iyawo Chairman.”

Now, after getting used to this place, he suddenly said he didn’t want to move again.

E just burst my bubble one evening, say make we hold on. I just bone face—inside me, e pain me small.

I felt somehow pained.

E pain me reach bone. Wetin woman go do? I no fit quarrel anyhow, but my heart dey heavy.

After all, that was the home we both picked out carefully. For me, it was even more than that—it was my first real home, something I’d dreamed about for years.

I remember when we dey house-hunt, how I dey measure room with my eye, dey imagine Christmas with family and pounded yam for dining table. That house na my own prayer point.

My parents divorced when I was small. Both of them remarried and didn’t want to keep me, so I became a proper burden, moving from my paternal grandma’s house in Ibadan to my maternal grandma’s house in Ilorin, back and forth.

I still remember that Ibadan breeze wey dey slap person for morning, then Ilorin harmattan wey dry my lips. Even small, I sabi say na waka waka I dey do, no real home. Every year, I dey change school, dey start afresh.

For as long as I can remember, my biggest wish was just to have my own place—a small corner that truly belonged to me.

Some nights, I go pray make God just give me one room, even if na self-contain. Na so I dey value peace, my own kitchen, my own curtain.

But this rented flat, even though it was okay, came with so many landlord rules: we couldn’t change anything, not even hang a picture or move a chair without her permission.

That woman go waka for corridor, dey wear wrapper, dey ask who dey boil beans—her wahala no dey finish. I remember the day I try use nail hang family photo, she shout say I wan spoil her wall. Ehn, who do us this thing?

Deep inside, it felt like I was still living in someone else’s house.

If I fry fish, neighbour go knock say the smell too much. No privacy, nothing. Sometimes, I dey feel like house girl, not wife.

But Tunde insisted his work was too demanding, with plenty overtime, and that living close to the office made him much happier.

That man—work dey run his blood. Even Sunday, na office gist. If dem call am for emergency, na so e go disappear, come back tired like soldier wey trek from Maiduguri.

He really does work hard. At the start of the year, he took on a big project at work, got promoted, and now the local chairman rates him highly.

E try o. When promotion come, we do small jollof for house. All the neighbours chop, people dey hail me say I be lucky wife.

So, even though I was disappointed, I agreed.

Wetin woman go do? I just tell myself, "No wahala, Amaka. E go soon reach your turn."

Then, out of the blue, Tunde changed his mind.

That one shock me. Na one Sunday after church, he say make we move. E just clear for im eye, as if Holy Spirit whisper to am.

He said a friend invited him for a housewarming at their new place, and it made him realise something about the meaning of home.

After that party, e come dey talk about how everybody get space for their house. E dey remember how suya dey taste better when you chop am for your own parlour.

He said, “Having your own house is always best. Only your own place can really feel like home, with warmth and that sense of belonging and happiness.”

“Na our own house go carry our blessing, not another person roof,” he add. I just smile; e sweet me.

“It’s my fault. I was only thinking of myself and forgot about how you felt.”

He even dey beg me small. Tunde no too dey show emotion, so that day e shock me. I see am, e mean am.

He put his arm round my waist and kissed my forehead gently.

That forehead kiss carry weight. Na the kind affection wey dey make woman bone melt. Neighbours fit even dey peep, but I no send.

“This is our first real home. We should take care of it.”

I nod, my heart dey sing. I tell myself, "Na so e suppose be."

As I dey fold my Ankara, the smell of camphor from my old box dey remind me of grandma house for Ibadan. Something dey tell me say, no matter wetin happen, I go always find my own corner.