Chapter 1: The Money Nobody Saw Coming

I dated Ifedike for three years. It was only after we got married that I found out he was the heir to a wealthy family.

For three solid years, I thought I knew all there was to know about Ifedike—his laugh, his little habits, the way he never bought more than two pairs of shoes at a time. Who would have guessed, in this Port Harcourt, that the quiet boy who always said, “No money for flex,” was sitting on top of real generational wealth? See life. For this Port Harcourt, na who dey suspect quiet boy get money pass?

But all of Ifedike’s friends kept saying I was just after his money, and even encouraged him to control how I spent money.

You know how people from these big families dey behave. Everybody wants to protect their own. Instead make dem welcome me, dem dey look me with that their sharp eye, as if say I be armed robber wey dey target their family vault.

And Ifedike actually believed them.

Na that one pain me pass. You fit imagine? Person wey I call my own, wey suppose defend me, dey listen to gossip wey no even get head or tail. For my mind, I begin dey ask, ‘Shebi na so dem dey do for this kind marriage?’

After our wedding, not only did he stop me from working, he only gave me ₦20,000 every month.

He said it was enough.

And truly, on the surface, it was.

I had to learn how to manage the little. Every Sunday after church, I’d mentally calculate how to stretch that ₦20,000; from buying pepper and tomatoes at Mile One market to squeezing out change for my own body cream. The air for Mile One market dey smell of fresh fish, hot pepper, and sweat—na real hustle ground.

Not only did I go to the market every day, I even bought Caro White and Shea butter cream, package myself well.

I dey package well, dey keep face. Nobody for my street fit suspect say na only that small money I dey manage. I even dey buy correct soap and cream, carry bag wey go make other women eye dey red for junction.

He started getting suspicious and asked me where I was getting money from.

He eye don dey sharp. Any small thing, he go ask, “Ifunanya, this cream na foreign. You sure say na me give you money?” Sometimes, e go open my bag, dey scatter everything like NDLEA for checkpoint.

I looked at him with innocent eyes: “Husband, it’s the money you give me every month.”

My face strong like policewoman wey dey take statement for station. I no blink, I no smile. Just dey shine my teeth small.

He vexed. “I only give you ₦20,000 a month—what can you even buy with that?”

He voice rise like generator wey no get silencer. I just dey watch am, dey wonder why man go dey calculate money for wife like this.

So he knew that ₦20,000 a month no reach anything.

His voice don betray am. He sabi say na story, say the money no fit even last for person wey get taste.

But it didn’t bother me.

After all, I don see plenty. When you come from small beginnings, no condition dey surprise you again. I just dey look am as e dey rant. Na who no see pepper fit talk say life easy.

He gave me ₦20,000 every month.

His so-called good friends? Each of them dey send me one million every month.

Omo, this life! The people wey dey claim say na me dey find money, dem be the real money bag wey dey package me. Who dey zoo, who dey farm? Na who know road dey collect pass.