Chapter 3: Hope Fade Like Old Wrapper

I force myself forget the wahala for my mind and the comments for my eye, try calm Ikenna heat.

My body dey on autopilot, as I rub his back small, whisper things to steady his breathing. Na so dem dey teach us for women's fellowship—"support your man," dem go say, even if e dey pain you.

Tired, as I dey doze off, I remember wetyn the comments talk:

[Just dey wait, when real wife show, small scent go calm the main man down.]

The voice just dey echo for my head, as sleep dey pull me. I hug pillow tight, dey pray make this heat pass quick. For night, even fan no fit chase the hotness wey dey my skin.

Truth be say, I never really care about compatibility. I just wan live peacefully with Ikenna.

I never reason all these scent matter deep before. For my mind, love fit cover many things. I just wan dey by his side, dey cook for am, dey make him laugh—even if na once in a year.

But now, all my hope don scatter because of those comments.

Their words dey fly for my mind like owl for village roof at night, making me question myself. The pain no be small.

Next morning as I wake, Ikenna wey don pass the worst of heat, don turn him normal cold self.

His face blank, voice even colder than generator for first start. He just move about, no look my side too much. I sabi this version of him—work and duty.

The guy na workaholic. As I still dey sleep, he don bath, dress finish.

He dey shine shoe, check wristwatch, everything methodical. I know say as soon as he ready, na straight to office.

I feel something soft touch my lips, catch small cool bitterleaf scent—na him scent be that.

He bend low, plant one quick kiss, scent hang for air like small breeze after rainfall. My mind rest small, even if na for only that moment.

After we spend night together, him bitterleaf scent mix with my own sweet, ordinary guava smell.

That blend na reminder of who we be. The bitter and the sweet, ordinary and special, all join for this marriage.

Yes, as low grade omega, my scent na just guava—ordinary, soft, like the fruit wey dey fall for backyard when breeze blow.

Sometimes, I dey wish say e for be mango or pineapple, but life no dey give everybody the same. Guava get him own sweetness too, even if e humble.

I breathe am in, sleep catch me again. When I wake, na afternoon already.

Sun dey high, room hot, curtains dey flap small for window. I rub my eyes, realize say I dey alone.

House empty. Ikenna never come back; na only the house girl dey move about, dey clean.

She dey sing gospel tune, her broom dey sweep floor like say she dey chase devil. I smile small, but my heart still dey heavy.

But comments just dey roll for my front:

[Ahhhh, main man finally meet our real wife!]

[Omo, first time them meet, real wife mistakenly release small scent, main man enter heat again!]

[Chei, na so e suppose be! One hundred percent compatibility, perfect match.]

I dey try ignore, but the words dey bite my mind. Like say everybody dey wait for my downfall, ready to clap when e happen.

I catch the main point: Ikenna don enter heat again.

That one mean wahala, because e fit lose control or land for hospital. My heart start dey beat quick.

Once man dey in heat, e go dey vex, everything go dey irritate am.

Anything fit provoke am—noise, smell, even small wahala for work. I dey worry, dey imagine wetin fit dey happen now.

I worry, rush call am to check if he dey okay.

My hands dey shake, phone dey slip. I dial his number, heart dey pound like talking drum.

But phone just dey ring, nobody answer.

My worry dey grow, as I listen to the endless ring. I even dey pray make e pick.

I try again—still nothing.

No response. My mind dey race, I dey imagine all kinds of bad things. Tears prick my eyes.

Comments still dey celebrate:

[They don carry real wife and main man go hospital. Main man go soon find out say real wife na one hundred percent match!]

[Good, supporting wife go soon commot, make main man and real wife start their sweet love!]

I hold the quiet phone, my chest just dey tight, dey look the comments for my face.

The screen dey blur with my tears, but the pain for my chest clear pass ever. Is this how my story go end? As extra?

Na evening before Ikenna assistant call.

I almost throw phone, thinking say na him. When I hear the assistant voice, my hope fall small.

I pick quick. "Hello, abeg, my husband—"

Assistant cut in, voice dey rush and dey sorry: "Madam, Oga Ikenna talk say he no go come house tonight. No need wait for am."

Her voice soft, as if she dey pity me. I gree, even though my heart dey burn.

I grip the phone, answer with small voice, "...Okay."

My voice barely dey come out. I sit for chair, just dey stare phone like say e fit talk back to me.

My head dey spin. The comments still dey talk, but I no get energy read am.

All my plans for day scatter. I close my eyes, wish say I fit disappear.

I look the house, everywhere just remind me of life I share with Ikenna.

Every chair, every photo for wall dey remind me of moments wey don pass. Na this kind memory dey break person.

Three years of secret love, three years of marriage.

Six years wey I dey carry this man for heart—now e be like say na dream I dey wake from.

Six years, na tonight I finally see am clear:

Just 9% compatibility.

Even if I try reach heaven, the number no go change. Reality just dey clear my eye.

Me and Ikenna, truly, no dey meant to be.

I gree. Sometimes, life no dey favour everybody. I sigh, small tears roll down my cheek, but I wipe am quick—make house girl no see.