This is a confession

Hello Chidi,


This is a confession, but I’m torn between accepting an advice and drenching myself in the animosity of the public.


My name is xxxx. I’m 42, been married for 8 years now, with 2 kids and a husband who is struggling with his life now in the hospital.


Having grown up in a family of teacher parents, and 4 siblings, I spent most part of my life under the tutelage of my family, working from home, doing a part time schooling and helping train my other siblings, life wasn’t all that rosy.

My parents would never, even at my age then, consent to my going out outside work or school, but always resonated my need to marry as I was getting older.


I saved up money and left Ngwo, Enugu to Ogui, to stay away from my parents and concentrate on my career and education. I had a boyfriend, he never mentioned marriage, so, I didn’t bother him about it, not until I found out that he was married, with kids who reside in Independence Layout in the same Enugu. I ended the relationship and focused more on my career.


Fast forward 3 years after, I met Fayemi, he works with a construction company as a field engineer and safety manager. After a few persuasions, I consented to dating him. It was all rosy and fun, he left the staff quarters and decided to move in with me. We rented another apartment and moved in. Marriage talks started maturating, I introduced him to my parents, they refused to bless the union because he isn’t Igbo. I pleaded with the help of my siblings and Aunt until they reluctantly agreed.

I bought my parents a car after our marriage and helped them buy a new apartment. My husband kicked against it, even though it was my money and I sought his opinion first.


I set up my own consulting agency and interior design firm and with the help of my husband, I secured bigger contracts and made more money. I also had enough time for my kids, made sure they got the best of my attention, as their father was always away from home.


On one fateful day, I decided to drive my husband’s car. He always drove bigger vehicles. He got this new Lexus 460 and hardly used it, so I drove it to my office, took a detour to SPAR to shop a little. A lady approached me as I was about leaving the mall and asked me where I got the car from. I thought it was a joke at first and laughed at her, only for her to drag me out of the car and with the help of her friend, almost beat me up. I still couldn’t understand what was going on until the fight was separated and she started calling me husband snatcher.


People who gathered enquired and she kept saying that her husband told her that he packed this car in the mechanic for some repairs, only for this woman (me) to be seen driving it proudly. I couldn’t believe my ears, eyes and mouth. I just stared in utter surprise. I toggled my phone and showed her a picture of my husband and she got even madder saying that I couldn’t get my own husband, only to get old and want to snatch hers.


I couldn’t bear the shame, I hurried away from the place, packed the car along and took a taxi home. I called my husband and told him that the car’s security was being problematic and I couldn’t drive it home, he raised his voice as usual and asked for the location of the car. I had already called my army friend and told him that someone tried to snatch my car away and gave them the location. They went their and luckily, my husband was their trying to get the car moving, before he could say jack! They had already beaten him to pulp and dumped him by the road side and called me to come pick my car.


I dunno how he got to the hospital, but I was called by the hospital to come identify him. On reaching there, I could barely recognise him, he was badly beaten. I didn’t know they will beat him up that much, break his bones and all that. I was just bitter and angry that a man I gave my love and attention would have another “wife” somewhere else, even in the same state. Why are some men this callous?


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Chidi Ejika

Business Writer. Line and Copy Editor. Content Developer. Language Skills Instructor.

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