03/08/2025
The Way Back To Ivie
A time ago
Sometime not far away
Efe would come home with the sun behind him, laughter in his voice and an ease around him. His key would jiggle in the lock of their bungalow on Independence Layout.
And Ivie!
His sweet Ivie!
Always barefoot, flower tucked in her hair and smelling of coconut and home, would run to meet him like they used to when they were still dating.
And he always comes home with flowers.
Never missed a day. Never thought he'd ever miss a day.
On quiet days, they'd cook dinner together. Efe liked to cook, so while Ivie was chopping onions, Tchella’s “Ife” would be playing in the background, and he would stir egusi with practised ease.
Occasionally, they'd twirl around seamlessly in a practised dance that's become their habit
On the days NEPA took light, they would deliberately not switch on their generator. They will light candles.
And dance in the dim glow, their shadows throwing long memories across the tiled floor.
There's love in their home and in their heart for each other. A real love. A not-so-flashy love, but still real. They make love in the mornings and still curl up into each other at night.
And for 15 years of their marriage. Efe and Ivie convinced everyone that love was real. Their world only existed when they were touching. They weren’t rich but with the life they built with their two kids, love filled all the empty corners.
Efe would look at her and think, “ this is my life”. And Ivie in those years remained a simple woman who tucked her braids behind her ear when she was focused. She still wears flowers in her hair. And her voice still radiates with softness when she calls his name.
And then came Velora.
Smart, savvy and a personality that didn't need to introduce itself. She walked like someone who knew she belonged where she was. Her smile too sure, her eyes too curious. She smelt of Oud. Still, she has this gentleness and innocence. Her's is not like Ivie’s gentle, open affection.
Her’s was loud. A mixture of wildness and innocence. And for the first time in 18 years. If you count 3 years of dating, Efe was hooked by a girl.
A girl who is barely 24.
And Efe found himself leaning in.
It was unplanned. Their meeting that is.
That day, at the bookshop. He was picking up books for Ivie. She loved and enjoyed reading.
And that chance meeting nearly…….. Oh well
And what kind of name is Velora? Which parents would name their daughter such an uncanny name? But it was part of the things that hooked him.
That and her mixture of youth.
The first time they spoke, she asked, “Are you always this serious?”
He laughed. And that laugh—it had been a while since he laughed like that.
And for the first time, Efe went home in 15 years of marriage without flowers for Ivie.
And so it began. Innocently at first. Phone calls about absolutely nothing and stretched into late-night chats about dreams. Afterwards, lunch meetings turned into shared drinks. Velora made him feel…seen. Not as an old man. Not as someone’s husband. Not as a responsible man who paid rent and changed lightbulbs. But as Efe. Just as Efe.
And it thrilled him. That rediscovery. That hunger. That he could be anything else. Someone else.
Perhaps, if he were honest with himself, life had been feeling a little gossamer.
6 months later. No more candlelit nights. No more the dances with the twirl.
Ivie noticed fast. Who wouldn't? But never made a fuss. Maybe because she hoped it was just a midlife crisis. And so she kept quiet. She stopped asking where he had been because also, she also didn’t want to hear the lies. She started sleeping on her side of the bed, and even when he reached out, she didn’t lean in like before.
A year later, he began to come home later. Sometimes with a ready excuse, sometimes with none. Her smell of coconut oil began to irritate him for reasons he couldn’t explain.
And then, during dinner one day, Ivie said, “You don’t look at me the way you used to.”
He kept chewing, eyes on his phone. “You’re imagining things.”
But she wasn’t.
One morning, as the sun filtered through the curtain, Ivie said quietly, “I hope she’s worth it.”
Efe didn’t deny it. He didn’t speak at all. He just got up, buttoned his shirt, and left.
He moved out.
He moved in with Velora.
Weeks into months.
And then one day, he'd overheard Velora on the phone.
“Don't mind the mumu man. He is heading to the bank today to transfer the 15 million for the shop. As soon as he does, I am leaving. Who wants to be with an old man?”
His car had broken down. And he came in without opening the gate that made noise. And at the door, he'd overheard her.
It dawned on him that he missed all the small things that didn’t matter. And had drifted from the one who mattered. The drift had become a distance. And love, once unbreakable, had begun to crumble with every small silence he chose over truth.
One Saturday afternoon, just after the rains had softened the red soil outside, Ivie stood in the kitchen, her hands elbow-deep in soaked beans. The generator buzzed faintly in the background. Efe walked in.
She looked at him and said
Sit down, let's talk.
It had been six months since she last saw him.
Her voice wasn’t angry. It was tired.
He sat.
Ivie turned off the tap, wiped her hands on her wrapper, and leaned against the counter.
“I have contacted the lawyer. It is obvious our marriage is dead.”
She said it like someone reporting the weather. Calm. Factual. Drenched in quiet pain.
“I’m sorry, it's my fault,” Efe said.
She nodded slowly, but her eyes glistened. “Then prove it.”
He looked up.
“Choose,” she said. “Her or me. Today. Right now. No dragging it out. No soft landing. You either fight for us or you let it die clean.”
Efe stared at her. This woman who knew his scars. Who had loved him before he had much to offer. Who had built a life out of little, laughed through disappointments, and turned their apartment into something sacred.
And suddenly, he realised: Velora was a disaster.
He stood up, walked across the kitchen, and touched her face. Her skin flinched, but didn’t pull away. Not yet.
“I am stupid. I don't deserve you. And I don’t deserve another chance. But if you’ll let me, I want to come back.”
Ivie studied him.
Then, slowly, she nodded. “One condition.”
“Anything.”
“No more half-love. If you will be back here, be all in.”
“I’m all in,” he said.
Healing didn’t come all at once. But by the next rainy season, they were dancing again during blackouts. Slower. Wiser. With scars between them, but hands still intertwined.
