Chapter 1: No Be Only Rain Dey Fall

The Abuja rain that night no dey hear word—zinc roof dey vibrate, but my body dey shake for another reason. My wife, Amara, don reach seven months belle. That night, as I dey work late, I mess up with Halima, my office junior.

Rain dey drum for roof, my mind dey race. I suppose go house early to Amara, call keke or brave the storm with my car. Instead, I let myself slip.

I tell myself say na just one small weakness.

Maybe I even whisper, “God abeg, make this thing end here.” But truth be say, once you cross line, e no dey move back.

But these kind things—if you start, na wahala. Either you no start at all, or you no fit stop.

Na so e dey be for man. Once you taste the thing, to spit am out dey hard. Conscience fit dey shout, but flesh get him own power.

I manage hold myself for three days before I mess up again…

I swear, even small pikin get pass me for willpower. For three days I dey form holy, dodge Halima like say she be fire, but e hook me for chest. Before I know, I fall again—this time, no resistance at all.

From that moment, na downhill I enter. Any small chance, I dey find way to jam Halima again.

Lunch hour, late work, fake excuse to lock office—restlessness catch me. Sometimes, I go look mirror, dey ask myself, “How you turn this kind person?”

Even when chance no dey, I dey create am. I dey invent meetings, run fake errands—just to see her face. My colleagues dey raise eyebrow, but as dem dey respect manager post, nobody talk.

Because Halima—this babe na wah.

Her presence dey scatter my head—one smile and my brain go reset. Her body, her laugh, the way she waka like say nobody fit move her. I no go lie, the thing dey craze me.

Not only she fine, she no send whether I get wife or not.

Halima—her name sef dey sweet for mouth. She go tie scarf well, but her eyes dey sharp. She never ask me about my wife. For Abuja, everybody dey hustle, nobody holy pass.

Anything Amara dey dodge, Halima dey deliver sharp-sharp.

Where Amara go talk say she dey tired or get headache, Halima go just smile, pull me close. No drama. The contrast dey sweet me.

But wetin really catch me be her personality.

She no dey form. She dey talk true, dey laugh, dey do her own. No be like those girls wey dey pretend.

After the third time we knack, she drop the whole gist.

That night, as we dey catch breath for my office, Halima just look me straight, her wrapper loose for chest. She no dey shake, no dey shy—she just start to yarn.

She say the reason she move to me na two things: one, as department manager, her attendance, performance and benefit dey my hand.

She no sugarcoat am. “Oga Musa, if I no follow you reason, you fit spoil my p for work. I dey realistic,” she talk, eyes no blink.

Two, she hear say I no be ordinary manager—I get connection with company chairman, na his nephew. She reason say if she follow me, she go rise with me.

“Dem say you be oga pikin for here. As I dey see am, better to dey follow person wey get leg,” she add, like say na market talk.

To tell the truth, after she finish, I feel like I find gold.

Her frankness surprise me. No forming, no fake love. I relax—this na woman wey sabi road. I no go fear say she dey drag main wife position.

The reason clear: I don reach thirty-two, and for the past two years, my body don change.

My neck don thick, my belly dey push shirt. Amara dey laugh say I dey resemble her uncle. But for Abuja, if you get money, belle must show.

At this point, if small girl in her twenties come dey say, “Uncle, I just like you for who you be”—who go believe that yarn?

My old secondary school guys dey always talk: "O boy, shine your eye o, Abuja girls dey hustle." Nobody believe say young babe dey follow mature man for love. Na so beer parlour gist dey go.

So Halima’s straight talk no disappoint me. E give me peace.

For this Abuja, person wey dey talk true, na rare breed. Her own clear—at least, I sabi wetin I dey enter. No story.

Babe wey reason straight like this no get time to dey fight for main wife.

She no get wahala for drama. Her own be chop your own, I chop my own, everybody dey okay. My mind rest.

As long as I dey sharp, Amara no go ever know.

I dey use burner phone, clear chat logs, dey buy small gift to cover tracks. Even my in-law never suspect. Abuja life na coded.

But that good feeling no last. Emptiness start dey enter my heart.

Sometimes, when I dey alone for night, the thing hit me like harmattan breeze—empty, cold. All the sweet finish quick, na silence remain.