I pace the room in anger mixed with worry, occasionally looking at Ebuka as he rolls around on his sleeping mat and mumble to himself. I bring out my phone to check the time. 10:53 it reads and my wife is yet to be home.
Two days ago she had done the same thing, coming home at 1 a.m. I had been beside myself with worry, only to be told when she got back that she had gone clubbing to celebrate Valentine’s Day.
What sort of woman would go clubbing without her husband? I reckon she’s cheating on me and if I had the balls I would confront her and send her packing from my house.
“What house?” I imagine she’ll say. “You call this a house? This tattered room with the bare mattress, floor and walls?” She’ll definitely relish taunting me.
“Papa Ebuka!” My neighbor’s voice breaks into my thoughts. “Papa Ebuka!” the voice calls more urgently.
“Mr. Lawal. What is the matter?”
“Come! Come! It’s your wife.” He says, hurriedly.
“My wife? What happened to her?” I ask, following him as he walked briskly into the compound next door.
“Just come with me.” He says, leading me to a room at the extreme end of the compound.
“What’s going on?” I ask again, glancing into the room.
I see two young men fanning a woman furiously and a third splashing little spurts of water on her face. I stare in shock at the naked body of the woman, who looks too much like my wife. My wife couldn’t possibly be lying naked on another man’s bed. Or could she?
I stare at the birthmark just above her left breast and my senses take leave of me. My head hurts and it seems like it is from a distance that someone is telling me she had passed out for more than 15minutes.