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Naija, Ibadan (2025)

27/06/2025

Our Japa Experience: A Nigerian Family’s UK Journey

Have you ever dreamed of leaving everything behind to start a new life abroad?
For many Nigerians, “japa” is the dream—but is it really as easy or rosy as it looks on Instagram?

Join us on a real-life journey as we share the raw, unfiltered story of one Nigerian family who sold their house, quit their jobs, and took a leap of faith to the United Kingdom.
From the excitement of a visa approval to the culture shock of cold mornings and the struggle to find a job, this series will show you the highs and the lows of relocating to a new country.
Ready? Let’s begin.

EPISODE 1: The Dream That Changed Everything
Have you ever stared at your ceiling at 2 a.m., wondering if there’s more to life than the daily hustle? That was me—a regular Nigerian guy, living in Lagos, married with two kids, and tired of the “suffer head” routine.

My wife, Amaka, and I would talk about japa whenever the power went out or the cost of garri doubled overnight. At first, it was just a joke—something to laugh about when things got tough. But as the months passed and opportunities seemed to shrink, the idea grew louder.

One evening, after another long day at work (with barely enough pay to see us through the month), Amaka asked, “What if we really tried? What if we left everything and started again in the UK?”

I laughed. I told her, “It’s not that easy. Do you know how many people are struggling just to get a visa? People sell land, cars—some even lose everything and still don’t make it. How do we do it with two kids?”

But that question stuck in my mind. The more I tried to ignore it, the more restless I became. At night, I would lie awake, thinking about a future where my children didn’t have to grow up with constant “no light,” “no water,” and the daily struggle to survive.

Days turned into weeks. We began researching the study route: tuition fees, maintenance funds, the endless documents, the IELTS exams. The more we found out, the scarier it got. The price tag alone was enough to give anyone hypertension!

Then came the toughest decision—we had to sell our house. The only home our kids had ever known. I was scared, Amaka was scared, but we both knew that if we didn’t try, we might regret it forever.

Quitting my job was another mountain. My boss called me “mad.” Friends said we would suffer. My mother almost cried when I told her. But we stood our ground. We sold the house, resigned from our jobs, and decided to give our dream a shot.

Was it the right decision? Only time would tell. But as we packed up our lives into suitcases, I felt a strange mix of fear and hope.

This was the beginning of our japa experience—a leap into the unknown.

What’s the craziest risk you’ve ever taken for your family?
Would you ever sell everything and start again in a foreign land?
Drop your thoughts in the comments!

Follow 9jaHustler for Episode 2—our visa application battle and the long nights of waiting. You don’t want to miss it!

13/06/2025

My Father’s Other Wife Is My Best Friend’s Mum
Episode 8: Torn Apart

The air in the Okonkwo household had changed. Once filled with laughter and familiar routines, it now echoed with silences so loud they rang in every corner. And at the center of the chaos stood Nneka, the woman who had given her whole life to her family, now torn between love and betrayal.

The day after the party, she made her decision.

“I will not stay in this marriage if that woman continues to exist in your life,” she told Chief Okonkwo, her voice cold and steady. “You either end this disgrace completely, or I file for divorce.”

He stood speechless in the middle of their bedroom, tie still loose around his neck, as if her words had frozen him mid-motion.

“Nneka, be reasonable—”

“Reasonable?” she cut in, laughing bitterly. “I have been reasonable for twenty-four years! While you kept another woman, another daughter, a whole second life behind my back!”

“She’s not just any woman—”

“And that’s the problem!” Nneka screamed, her composure finally snapping. “She was never ‘just any woman,’ was she? She was the one you gave everything to… everything you denied me emotionally, even while I stood by you, bore your children, and protected your name!”

Chief Okonkwo tried to reach for her hand, but she pulled away.

“I want a decision by the end of the week,” she said. “And make no mistake—I will not share my husband.”

Word of their argument filtered through the house like smoke. Adaeze, though numb with everything that had happened, overheard enough to know that her parents were hanging on by a thread.

Her younger siblings, too young to fully grasp the details, began to feel the cracks in their home. Ebuka stopped sitting with their father in the evenings. Chizzy avoided their mother altogether, scared of her sharp moods and quiet tears.

The once-united Okonkwo children began to form silent alliances—loyalties shaped by confusion and hurt.

Ebuka, hurt by their father’s betrayal, refused to speak to him. “How could he do that to Mum?” he’d asked Adaeze. “How could he have another family and pretend we were enough?”

But Chizzy, the baby of the house, surprised everyone when she said, “Maybe we should forgive him. Maybe Amaka didn’t ask for any of this either.”

The house, once a haven, now felt like a war zone.

Adaeze tried to stay neutral, but the pressure was building like steam in a kettle.

Every day, she received calls and messages she didn’t want to answer—Amaka, her father, even Chinelo once tried to reach her. But she shut down. She couldn’t handle more truth, more emotion. The weight of everyone’s pain was too much.

And then one afternoon, her world went black.

She had been alone at home, trying to study for her job aptitude test. Her mother was out visiting her sister. Her father had gone to the office. She had barely eaten. Her thoughts swirled in chaos—broken family, destroyed friendship, shattered trust.

A sudden, intense pain shot through her chest. Her vision blurred. The next thing she knew, she was on the floor.

When she woke up, white walls surrounded her. Machines beeped. A drip was attached to her hand.

She was in the hospital.

“Mama…” she whispered.

Nneka rushed to her side, eyes red from crying. “You fainted, Adaeze. From exhaustion. Stress. The doctor said your blood pressure dropped suddenly.”

“Amaka…” Adaeze murmured.

Nneka paused. “She came. She was here. She cried when she saw you. But she left.”

Tears rolled down Adaeze’s cheeks.

“What is happening to us?” she whispered. “What happened to our home?”

Nneka sat beside her, gently brushing her daughter’s hair away from her face. “Life happened, my baby. Secrets happened. And now we’re all drowning in them.”

Adaeze stared at the ceiling. “I just wanted peace. I just wanted my family… and my best friend.”

Nneka squeezed her hand. “We’ll survive this. One way or another, we’ll survive.”

But even she didn’t sound convinced.

Meanwhile, back at the house, Chief Okonkwo sat in the living room with his head in his hands. The hospital had shaken him. He blamed himself—for everything.

He wanted to run to Chinelo for comfort, but the thought of losing Nneka and the children anchored him. Yet cutting off Chinelo and Amaka felt like throwing his own blood into the fire.

How had everything come to this?

Two women he loved. Two daughters he cherished. One life in ruins.

And now, the daughter who had always been the glue of his family lay weak in a hospital bed because of the weight they had all placed on her shoulders.

When Adaeze was discharged days later, the house didn’t feel like home anymore. No one spoke much. The dinner table sat empty most nights. Nneka barely acknowledged her husband. The children tiptoed around conversations. And Adaeze, though physically healing, carried a heart so bruised it ached with every breath.

They were all torn apart.

👉 When families break, is love enough to piece them back together? Or are some truths too painful to forgive?
👉 If you found this story powerful, share it and follow our page ‘Naija’ for more heartfelt episodes like this one!

13/06/2025

Episode 8: Confrontation and Collapse
The wedding reception was in full swing, the hotel banquet hall aglow with gold drapes, fairy lights, and the hum of satisfied guests. Music played in the background as friends, family, and well-wishers danced, laughed, and posed for photos with the newlyweds.

At the center of it all sat Uche and Amara, side by side on the sweetheart table, a large “Mr. & Mrs.” banner behind them.

But despite the glamour, Uche’s smile was thin. His mind was restless. He had spent the entire day revisiting old memories, moments that now seemed twisted, broken. Something inside him wouldn’t rest. Something about Amara felt… wrong.

She noticed his mood and leaned in. “Smile, love. People are watching,” she whispered, her voice sugar-sweet but firm.

Before Uche could respond, a loud crash echoed from the entrance of the hall.

The doors swung open violently.

All eyes turned.

There she stood.

Chiamaka.

Disheveled, pale, her hair in a messy bun, but her eyes were blazing with fire. The entire hall froze. Gasps rippled through the room like a wave.

Amara’s champagne glass slipped from her hand and shattered on the floor.

“Jesus!” someone whispered.

Uche stood up slowly, his heart thudding in his chest. “Chia… Chiamaka?”

Chiamaka stepped forward, her voice echoing over the sudden silence. “You want a show, right? Here it is. Let the truth be known!”

Murmurs erupted. Some guests reached for their phones. The band stopped playing. All attention was now fixed on the woman who wasn’t supposed to exist.

“I was locked in a hotel room for two days,” Chiamaka said, her voice steady despite the tears threatening to spill. “I woke up confused, dizzy, with no phone, no clothes—just a nightshirt. I missed my own wedding because my own blood, my sister… took my place.”

All heads turned to Amara.

She stood up quickly. “She’s lying! She’s just jealous and trying to ruin my day.”

“Your day?” Chiamaka laughed bitterly. “That dress you’re wearing was meant for me. That man beside you proposed to me. You drugged me, Amara. You had me locked up like a criminal.”

“That’s not true!” Amara shouted, her voice cracking.

But her hands trembled.

Uche looked from one sister to the other, his face contorted with confusion and disbelief. “Wait… what is going on?”

Chiamaka turned to him. “Uche, look me in the eyes. You proposed to me, not her. The woman who stood with you at the altar isn’t the woman you loved.”

Uche staggered back, grabbing the edge of the table for support.

Amara stepped forward, pleading. “Uche, don’t listen to her. She’s just—”

“Don’t lie anymore!” Chiamaka shouted. “Tell them the truth!”

By now, their mother, Mama Okoye, had pushed through the stunned crowd, her hands trembling. “What are you saying, Chiamaka?”

“Ask Amara,” Chiamaka said, her voice softer now. “Ask her where I’ve been since the night before the wedding.”

Mama Okoye turned to Amara, her face pale.

“Amara?”

Amara shook her head desperately. “Mummy, I didn’t mean for it to go this far…”

The gasp that followed was louder this time. Someone dropped a plate. Another guest began to cry.

“You… you did this?” their mother whispered, swaying on her feet.

“Mummy, please—”

But Mama Okoye had already collapsed to the floor.

Screams erupted.

“Nurse! Get water!”

Guests rushed forward, trying to help. Chairs scraped against the marble floor as people scattered in shock and confusion. Some tried to shield the elderly from the chaos. Others recorded with their phones, stunned by the Nollywood-level drama unfolding before them.

Uche stood still as stone, staring at Amara. “Tell me it’s not true,” he said quietly. “Tell me you didn’t deceive me.”

Amara’s lips trembled. “I did it for love…”

“Love?” he spat. “You lied. You manipulated everyone. You stole someone’s life!”

Amara tried to reach for him, but he backed away. “Don’t touch me.”

Chiamaka knelt beside her mother, who was slowly regaining consciousness. She held her hand, tears now flowing freely. “I’m so sorry, Mama. I should’ve seen this coming.”

The hall was in complete disarray. Half the guests had already left. The cake sat untouched. The music had died.

And so had the joy.

Amara stood alone now, at the center of the stage she had fought so hard to claim.

But the spotlight didn’t bring admiration anymore.

Only shame.

To be continued...

If you found this episode gripping, share it with someone who loves unforgettable stories and follow our page Naija for more Nollywood-style drama!
Now that the secret is out, do you think Amara deserves forgiveness—or should she face the full consequences of her actions? Let’s talk in the comments!

13/06/2025

Episode 8: A Son and a Secret
The morning sun filtered through the cracked window of the small village house, casting a soft glow over Ngozi as she cradled her newborn son. Somto sat nearby, quiet and unsure, watching them like a stranger trying to find his place in a room that once belonged to him.

“Have you named him?” Somto finally asked.

Ngozi didn’t look up. “Chizaram,” she said. “It means God answered me.”

Somto nodded, the name stabbing at his conscience. “It’s beautiful… just like him.”

She didn’t smile.

He moved closer, lowering his voice. “Can I hold him?”

Ngozi hesitated, then gently handed the baby over. Somto’s arms trembled as he took the small bundle. The moment he held his son, something shifted in him. The weight. The warmth. The responsibility. The guilt.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, looking into the baby’s tiny face. “I wasn’t there when you came into the world… but I promise you, I’ll never leave again.”

He looked at Ngozi, eyes glassy. “And I’m sorry, Ngozi. For everything. For trusting my mother. For not checking on you. For leaving you to suffer alone. I thought I was protecting you, but I failed.”

Ngozi’s eyes flicked toward him, then back to the floor.

“You hurt me, Somto,” she said. “Not just me—our child too. I carried him through shame, poverty, sickness… and every time I needed you, I heard nothing. You disappeared like I didn’t matter.”

“I was misled,” Somto said. “But I won’t defend myself. I came back to make it right. If you let me.”

She sighed. “It’s not that easy. This isn’t Lagos, where you can snap your fingers and fix things. This is real life. I nearly died, Somto. And I had to accept that you weren’t coming.”

He nodded slowly. “I know I have a lot to prove. I don’t expect you to forgive me today. But please… give me a chance to earn it.”

For the first time in weeks, a flicker of warmth crossed Ngozi’s face. Faint, but real.

Just then, her mother entered the room.

“Your friend from Lagos is here,” she said, looking at Somto.

“My friend?”

“She’s outside. Tall. Fair. Long nails. She said her name is Ifeoma.”

Ngozi’s spine stiffened.

Somto stood up sharply. “What is she doing here?”

He stepped out of the room, and there she was—Ifeoma, standing under the mango tree in designer jeans, oversized sunglasses, and a tense expression.

“Long time,” she said, arms folded.

“What do you want?” Somto asked.

“I didn’t come to fight,” she replied. “I came to talk.”

“Talk about what?”

She removed her sunglasses. Her eyes were red, but not from tears. From exhaustion.

“I’m pregnant.”

The air went still.

Somto blinked. “What?”

“You heard me. I found out three weeks ago. And before you ask—yes, it’s yours.”

Somto rubbed his forehead. “We broke up months ago. You said we were done.”

“We were,” she snapped. “But that doesn’t change biology.”

“You told me you were on birth control.”

“I was. Maybe it failed. I don’t know. I didn’t plan this, Somto.”

He looked away, then back at her. “So, what do you want from me?”

“I’m not here for money or a ring,” she said. “I just thought you should know. I may have acted out of anger back then, but I won’t hide your child from you.”

Somto let out a shaky breath. “This changes everything.”

“Does it?” she asked quietly. “You already married her, didn’t you?”

Somto didn’t answer.

Ifeoma nodded. “Thought so.”

She took a deep breath. “I’ll leave. I won’t bother your new family. But remember, you have two children now—not one.”

She turned and walked away.

Back inside, Ngozi stared at Somto as he re-entered the room, face pale.

“What did she want?” she asked.

He sat beside her. “She’s pregnant.”

Silence.

Ngozi blinked. “Yours?”

He nodded.

Tears welled in her eyes. “So, you gave her what you gave me. Promises… and a child.”

“No,” he said quickly. “It wasn’t like that. It happened before I left. Before you and I married.”

“But you didn’t mention it,” she said. “Even when you came back.”

“I didn’t know. I swear.”

Ngozi shook her head. “God… you have another child on the way, and I’m sitting here wondering if I should trust you again.”

Somto reached for her hand. “It doesn’t change how I feel about you. Or about our son. I want to be with you, Ngozi. You’re my wife.”

“But now I’m not the only one with your child,” she whispered. “I’ll always be the housemaid who married you in secret. And she’ll always be the woman who almost became your wife.”

Somto’s grip on her hand tightened. “You’re more than that. You’re my future. Don’t let this tear us apart.”

She didn’t answer.

But in her heart, a storm was brewing.

She had fought too hard, bled too long, and suffered too deeply to now share the man she nearly died for.

To be continued...

If this episode stirred something in you, share it and follow our page Naija to find out what happens in Episode 9.

💬 If you were Ngozi, would you walk away now that another woman is pregnant for your husband? Or stay and fight for your marriage? Let’s hear your thoughts below.

09/06/2025

Episode 7: A Letter from the Past

The house was unusually quiet.

Amaka lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling, arms folded beneath her head, eyes wide open but lost in thought. The birthday party was days ago, but the sting hadn’t left her chest. The words her mother had exchanged with Adaeze’s mother still echoed in her mind. But it was the look Adaeze had given her—full of pain, not anger—that haunted her the most.

They hadn't spoken since. And part of her didn’t want to. But a smaller part—a stubborn, aching part—missed her best friend more than she cared to admit.

Amaka had always believed her mother was her safe place. A strong, independent woman who didn’t need anyone—not even Amaka’s father. But now, everything was twisted.

Her mother had lied. Hidden things. Let her grow up fatherless while her father lived just across town.

That afternoon, Amaka decided to clean out the top shelf of their wardrobe—a shelf full of old files, forgotten fabric, and dusty photo albums. She wasn't sure why she reached for it. Maybe she just needed to move. Maybe she needed distraction. Maybe it was fate.

As she shuffled through yellowed envelopes and birthday cards, one worn-out brown envelope caught her attention. It was old, folded at the edges, and sealed with clear tape. On it was her mother’s handwriting—neat and precise.

"To Obinna Okonkwo — read this with your heart, not your pride."

Her breath caught.

Obinna Okonkwo. Adaeze’s father. Her father.

Hands trembling, she opened it. Inside was a letter—three pages, handwritten, ink faded but legible.

“Dear Obinna,
I never imagined I would have to write this kind of letter to you.

When we married quietly in Port Harcourt, I knew it wasn’t ideal. I knew you had a family in Enugu, a wife and children. But you told me you were lonely. You told me you felt abandoned. You said I made you feel alive again.

And I believed you.

When I discovered I was pregnant, I prayed it would be the beginning of a real life together. I thought maybe—just maybe—you would embrace this second chapter. I hoped you’d bring me home, or at least give our daughter your name.

But instead, you disappeared into silence. You chose comfort over courage.

Obinna, I loved you. I still do. And that is why I made the hardest decision of my life.

I let you go.

I told you I would raise Amaka alone. I told you not to come around unless you were ready to be honest—with your wife, with your children, with yourself.

And yet… all these years, I’ve watched from afar as you built your perfect family. I’ve seen Adaeze grow—intelligent, beautiful, full of life. She reminds me so much of what I once dreamed for Amaka.

And that’s why I’m writing this letter.

For her sake.

Please, Obinna, acknowledge Amaka. Not publicly, if that will ruin your life—but in private. Let her know she is not unwanted. Let her know her father exists, even if only in whispers.

Don’t let her grow up believing she was born from shame.

She deserves more than that.

Sincerely,
Chinelo”

By the time she reached the end, Amaka’s face was soaked in tears. Her chest heaved with quiet sobs as she held the pages to her heart.

She had never seen her mother so vulnerable. So desperate.

All her life, Amaka thought her mother had chosen to raise her alone out of pride or anger. But now she saw it—Chinelo had done it out of sacrifice.

She had begged for acknowledgment. Not for herself, but for her daughter. For Amaka.

And Obinna had ignored it.

Suddenly, memories came rushing back:

Her mother crying silently one night when she thought Amaka was asleep.
Her mother’s long stares at family photos in newspapers.
The soft way she always smiled at Adaeze.

All of it made sense now.

Her mother wasn’t heartless. She was broken. And still, she had chosen dignity.

Later that evening, Amaka sat beside her mother in the sitting room. Chinelo was reading a novel, glasses perched on the tip of her nose.

“Mummy,” Amaka said softly.

Chinelo looked up. “Yes, baby?”

“I found your letter.”

Her mother froze.

Amaka reached into her pocket and gently handed over the pages. Chinelo looked at them like they were a ghost from a life she’d buried long ago.

“I didn’t want you to grow up hating him,” she said quietly. “Or feeling like you were born from something ugly.”

“I don’t hate you,” Amaka whispered. “I was angry… confused. But now I understand. You tried.”

Chinelo’s lips quivered. “I tried to protect you from pain. But maybe I caused more in the process.”

Amaka leaned on her shoulder. “You loved me. That’s all I needed.”

They sat like that for a while, mother and daughter, wrapped in shared sorrow and healing.

And for the first time since the truth came out, Amaka didn’t feel like a mistake.

She felt like someone deeply loved—by a woman who had carried a lifetime of silence so her child wouldn’t have to.

👉 Can understanding a parent’s sacrifice change the way we see betrayal? Or are some wounds too deep to heal?
👉 If you found this touching, share it and follow our page ‘Naija’ for more emotional stories like this one!

09/06/2025

Episode 7: The Truth Leaks
It was the sound of a key turning that stirred Chiamaka from her daze.

She had barely slept, barely eaten. Her eyes were sunken, her skin clammy, and her throat dry from crying and shouting. She lay on the carpet near the door, defeated and still wearing the rumpled nightshirt from the day before.

The key clicked again—slowly, cautiously.

She sat up, hope flaring in her chest.

The door creaked open, and a young woman in a cleaner’s uniform peeked in.

Their eyes met.

“Help me,” Chiamaka croaked, barely able to raise her voice. “Please... I need help.”

The cleaner stepped back in shock, her hand flying to her chest. “Madam, what are you doing here? They said no one should enter this room.”

Chiamaka dragged herself to her feet. “My name is Chiamaka Okoye. I was kidnapped… or drugged—I don’t even know. Please, call someone. I need to get out of here.”

The cleaner hesitated. “But they said—”

“I’ll pay you. Anything you want,” Chiamaka said, desperation lacing her every word. “Please, my sister... she took my place at my wedding.”

That sentence alone was enough to make the cleaner blink in disbelief.

Within minutes, she helped Chiamaka freshen up, handed her a bottle of water and some crackers, and snuck her out through the service stairs.

As they exited through the back of the hotel, Chiamaka turned to the girl. “What’s your name?”

“Miriam,” she replied.

“Thank you, Miriam. You just saved my life.”

Chiamaka barely made it into a keke napep, her hands trembling as she gave her home address. Her thoughts were spinning, her body still weak from the poison or drug—or whatever it was that had kept her sedated.

She had no phone, no money, and no idea what she was walking into.

When she finally reached her street, she asked the keke driver to wait, promising to pay him once she got inside. But as she stepped onto her compound, the sounds of celebration filled the air.

Music. Laughter. Fireworks.

What was happening?

She reached her front door, opened it—and froze.

On the center table lay a magazine with a large photo of Uche and Amara kissing at the altar.

Her heart stopped.

She picked it up, hands shaking. The caption read:
"Sister Goals? Uche Maduka Marries the Mysterious Okoye Beauty in a Private Ceremony!"

She dropped it like it burned her.

Chiamaka stumbled back, rushed to the living room mirror, and stared at herself.

Pale. Hollow-eyed. Betrayed.

Her own sister.

Her blood.

Her bridesmaid.

She opened her laptop. Thankfully, it was still there—uncharged but usable. She plugged it in and waited.

As soon as it came on, dozens of notifications popped up. Messages. Emails. Missed Zoom links. But one stood out—Facebook.

She clicked on it.

The wedding was everywhere.

Photos. Videos. Congratulations from friends and family. Everyone praising the “beautiful bride” and her “graceful entrance.”

Chiamaka clicked through the photo album like a zombie. There was Amara, in her dress. Standing beside her groom. Cutting her cake. Throwing her bouquet.

There were even comments like, “Amara deserves all the happiness in the world!”

Her stomach turned.

She checked Instagram. More of the same.

was trending.

Except... she hadn’t been the one who walked down that aisle.

Her heart shattered anew.

For several minutes, she just sat there—silent. A single tear traced a line down her cheek.

Then she stood.

No more tears.

No more waiting.

She tied her hair into a rough bun, changed into a clean blouse and jeans, and picked up her phone charger.

The betrayal was too deep, too calculated to ignore.

Amara hadn’t just stolen her dress or her fiancé.

She had stolen her identity.

Her life.

Chiamaka was going to get it back.

At a nearby hotel, Amara lay in a silk robe, scrolling through the comments on their wedding photos. Uche was in the bathroom, silent for most of the morning.

He had barely spoken since their first night.

Amara didn’t care. She had everything now—her man, the fame, the admiration.

But a single comment made her freeze.

“This doesn’t look like Chiamaka to me… Something’s off.”

Another:
“Wait… is this not her younger sister? The maid of honor?”

Then, a message popped up on her screen.

It was from a mutual friend.

"I just spoke to Chiamaka’s cousin. She says Chiamaka’s been missing for two days. What’s going on??”

Amara’s hand shook.

The door to the bathroom opened, and Uche stepped out.

She quickly locked her phone and smiled. “Hey babe, want some tea?”

But Uche was staring at her differently now. Suspicious. Distant.

Like a man who had just begun to connect the dots.

Amara turned away before he could speak.

She knew something was coming.

And for the first time since the wedding…

She was afraid.

To be continued...

If you found this episode interesting, share it with someone who loves great stories and follow our page Naija for more gripping Nollywood drama!
If you were Chiamaka, what would you do next—confront your sister privately, or expose her publicly? Let’s talk in the comments!

09/06/2025

Episode 7: The Return of the Husband
Three months later.
The dusty air of Lagos hit Somto like a slap as he stepped out of the airport terminal.

He hadn’t planned to return to Nigeria so soon, but something had been gnawing at him. A growing unease. For weeks, Ngozi hadn’t replied to his messages. At first, he thought she was busy with her baking business, or the mobile network was unstable.

But when the visa agent called to say they couldn’t reach her for the final processing documents, he knew something was wrong.

Terribly wrong.

Somto had trusted his mother to look after Ngozi until he returned. He had even wired money to Madam Adigwe to ensure the apartment rent was paid and Ngozi had everything she needed.

But when he tried calling his mother, she ignored his calls.

That wasn’t unusual.

But when she replied with a short, cold text—“She’s gone. You’re free now.”—Somto’s blood ran cold.

Now, standing under the hot Nigerian sun, he tightened his grip on his luggage and hailed a cab. First stop: the flat he had rented for Ngozi.

The flat was locked. The neighbors said the “pregnant lady” had left abruptly months ago, and that Madam Adigwe had stormed the place like a hurricane.

Somto’s heart pounded in his chest. “Did she say where she was going?” he asked a fruit seller nearby.

“No, oga. But the way she dey cry ehn… that girl suffer. Even her shop don close. She just vanish.”

Somto clenched his jaw. “Thank you.”

He called his mother immediately. This time, she picked.

“Yes?” she said, her tone sharp.

“Mum. What did you do to Ngozi?”

A pause. “I saved your future.”

“What?!”

“She was going to destroy everything. The family name, your opportunities, your marriage. I did what had to be done. You’ll thank me later.”

“Mum,” he said slowly, voice tight with rage, “she’s my wife. We were legally married. And she’s the mother of my child.”

“Child?” Madam Adigwe scoffed. “That child was a trap. You’re better off without it.”

Somto ended the call without another word.

He stood still for a moment, staring at the city that suddenly felt like a graveyard.

Then he made another call—to Ebuka.

“I need your help. We must find her.”

It took four days.

Ebuka contacted an old friend who worked in a small delivery company that used to send baking ingredients to Ngozi.

One of the drivers mentioned she had returned to her village—somewhere in Anambra.

Two days later, Somto stood in front of a dusty compound with peeling blue paint and a mango tree near the gate. The air was heavy with silence. His heart pounded.

He knocked.

A middle-aged woman opened the door. Her face was tired, but familiar—Mama Ogechi.

“Yes?”

Somto bowed his head slightly. “Good afternoon, ma. I’m looking for Ngozi.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You have nerve.”

“Please, ma… I’m her husband.”

“You were,” she snapped. “Before you left her to face pregnancy alone. Before your mother came and poured insults on her head.”

“I didn’t know,” Somto whispered. “I thought she was fine. I trusted my mother—”

“She nearly died, young man,” Mama Ogechi interrupted, her voice trembling. “She went into labor at midnight. No car. No phone. We had to carry her on a bike through three villages before we found a clinic.”

Somto staggered back.

“She bled so much, the nurse said if we had arrived ten minutes later, she’d have been gone.”

He covered his face with his hands. “Where is she now?”

“In the room. Sleeping. The child cried all night.”

Somto’s chest tightened.

“May I see her?”

Mama Ogechi hesitated. Then stepped aside.

He entered quietly.

The room was dimly lit. Ngozi lay on a mat, wrapped in a wrapper, her baby cradled in her arm. Her face looked pale. Her eyes—closed, with deep circles beneath.

She was thinner.

Worn.

But still… so beautiful.

He knelt beside her and whispered, “My love…”

Her eyes opened slowly. She blinked as if unsure if he was real.

“Somto?” she croaked.

Tears filled his eyes. “I’m here. I’m sorry. I should have come sooner.”

She looked away. “Why are you here now?”

“I didn’t know what my mother did,” he said, his voice breaking. “I left everything in Canada and came the moment I found out.”

She looked at her son. “We almost didn’t make it.”

Somto touched the baby’s tiny hand. “I’m here now. For both of you. I’m not leaving again.”

Ngozi said nothing.

Only silence hung in the room.

Not angry. Not forgiving. Just silence full of hurt.

And hope.

That night, Somto stayed. He helped rock the baby to sleep. He watched Ngozi eat the pepper soup her mother brought. He sat by her side like a repentant soldier—waiting for a second chance.

To be continued...

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💬 If you were Ngozi, would you forgive Somto for leaving? Or is some pain too deep to heal? Share your thoughts below.

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