How To Find A Husband In Abuja
Scrolling through Instagram, one of the first posts I came across was by an online friend. It read: I’ve always liked the Idea of having a fairy tale wedding. I will invite lots of my friends; especially those from UNILAG.
I scrolled to look at her pictures and my laughter must have distracted Shola, my colleague, sitting at the opposite desk. She raised her head from the document in her hand and glared at me.
I rolled my eyes and returned them to the screen of my
Apple iPhone X . Something else caught my attention as I scrolled through my Instagram feed. It was Yeyedu. She had just posted her proposal pictures online. I couldn’t believe my eyes as I zoomed in on her middle finger to be sure that a silver ring sat on it.
“Shola, Shola o. Abeg! Help me check if na engagement ring this babe wear,” I passed my phone to her. She was the only colleague I shared office space with at Princel Audit Firm, Asokoro, Abuja. She was Accountant II, while I was the Chief Accountant of this reputable organization.
Shola and I aren’t friends but at least, we try to be good colleagues to each other. I didn’t know if she was envious about my lifestyle or something, but the thing is, I wasn’t envious of a woman who gets beaten by her husband almost every day.
“Yes. It’s an engagement ring,” She replied and passed the phone back to me.
“Wha…” I almost screamed. Not out of joy or excitement…naah. I wasn’t happy for her. How could I be happy for our neighbour’s last child who was just 23 and getting married? What is this world turning into?
“What? Are you not happy for her?” Shola frowned. Oh, I am used to her. The lady never smiles, perhaps her situation must have imprinted a stoic look on her face.
“Well, clearly I’m not. She’s 23 and getting married,” I shrugged and continued zooming on her dress. I made a mental note to get the kind of dress she had worn. It was an A-shape skater pinafore/button detail & white collar inner . I knew the dress would fit my hourglass figure and so I didn’t hesitate to switch to my Chrome browser and typed in jumia.com.
“Your point exactly?”
I looked up to see Shola still scowling at me. Wait oh. Are we not done with this conversation? I thought, then dropped my phone on the table and turned to faced her.
“My point is, she should have waited for…”
“For what age? 35? Before she gets married to her heartthrob? Why are you so bent on making everyone be like you sef?”
My hand flew to my crystal heart necklace . Okay, wait. I wasn’t expecting that outburst. It was obvious Shola was looking for who to pour her frustration on. But I needed to make my point clear.
“Shola can you calm down and let me talk? I know you are trying to insult me to my face but I don’t care. The thing is, she ought to have waited until at least, 25 years of age, so she wouldn’t end up with a man who beats and rapes her at the slightest provocation.”
I almost gave the air chop knuckle at my comeback. I had successfully lashed back, and she knew I was referring to her terrible situation. But instead of replying, she returned to typing furiously on the Apple MacBook before her.
“Make sure you type that work well o. When I’m back from break we have other documents to type,” I mocked and picked up my car key. Lately, I’ve been having lunch at eateries. It wasn’t as if we had no cafeteria at my workplace.
We had an exquisite cafeteria but I had a reason for going out to eat and at the end of the month, I knew I was going to achieve that goal. I tagged it, project get a husband.
You wouldn’t understand the need for my push to get a husband. My name is Rita Ejike; an Igbo lady by tribe. I could possibly pass for a Rita Dominic, facially, and an Omotola Palace, body wise. I am exceptionally beautiful and I would agree with anyone who said my beauty got into my head. Maybe that’s the reasons I’ve remained unmarried, even at age 35.
I exited the office building and made my way to the parking lot. I opened the door of my Toyota Corolla and slipped in. I re-fixed my makeup and combed the curly strands of my human hair . To be candid, I was tired of my singlehood. I am rich. I am running a brilliant side business, and there are huge investments that I put my money into. I am comfortable and I am currently working on my character but still, no man.
“Hmm. Soon,” I thought as I made my way to the driveway of an eatery that had the inscription ‘ IYA AMALA FOOD JOINT’. It is a popular joint located at the heart of Abuja. I am not a fan of Amala. In fact, I rarely eat it. But I had marked down this joint in my book recently. Having done my research, a lot of ‘Yoruba demons’ patronize the restaurant. And of course, I had gone through the stress of wearing a bow sleeve midi dress to match with my open toe stiletto . I was hoping to get at least 6 guys to ask me out. That was my major target.
By the time I settled down on one of their leather seats and my order was staring right at me, I knew that I had succeeded in bringing attention to me. All eyes,’ I repeat, ‘all eyes,’ were on me. I stared at the beautifully moulded Amala with green soup; which I presumed to be the famous Ewedu with stew on top and assorted meat, and ignored my admirers. I had to appear unconcerned. My first aim was to try the Ponmo. It looked fried and I intended checking to know just how tasty it was…
“Rita?”
I froze. Who could possibly know my name in this restaurant? Was this a sign from God himself that I was in the wrong place? Or, is this the right place?
O God, let whoever called be a fine working-class dude in a well-ironed suit. Of course, the good lord always answers my prayers. I looked up to see Kayode Williams march towards my seat with a tray of Amala and soup in his hands. He was grinning and suddenly I found my cheeks giving way too. He placed his tray on my table and took the opposite seat.
“It’s really been a long time I saw you. How are you?” he asked, already preparing to devour his plate of amala.
“I’m good. And yes, it’s been a long while,” I went ahead to pick my Ponmo and drop it in my mouth.
Dressed in a blue striped blazer, he looked way more exquisite. You may be surprised I know his name. Kayode is a popular guy in our industry. He works in a far better auditing firm in Gwarimpa and is one of the finest eligible bachelors that I know of. He is 6ft, has a cute face, caramel skin, and is a smooth talker. We’ve had a run-in with each other a few times during some executive conferences held in the state. A few other times though, I was made by my boss to help him with some company files and documentation, despite knowing he works in a different firm?
My eyes strayed to the wristwatch latched on his left hand. I almost gasped. It was an Invicta Chronograph green dial watch; quite expensive, unlike my Geneva executive.
“So what brought you here, Mr Williams?”
“Oh, please call me Kayode. This is my joint. Rita,” he laughed, “a normal African, Yoruba man would prefer this place anytime, any day. Come rain or sunshine.”
“Oh, that’s right. I’ve forgotten this place is mostly swamped by Yoruba guys,” she chuckled.
He chuckled too. “But I should be asking you. What are you doing here, Omo Ibo?”
I watched him swallow the third morsel of his Amala, only then did I realize that my food was getting cold. I forgot about my phobia for Yoruba stew, and staining my perfectly manicured nails, I delved into the Amala proper.
“I decided to change where I normally eat. I wanted to try something new. Besides, I like Amala too,” I swallowed back my lie with a morsel of Amala. But then, it was good, because Kayode bought into my lie.
“Wow, that’s great!” he took another swallow, “I’ve actually been looking for you.”
“Really? Why didn’t you just come to the company? How is work anyways?”
“I didn’t want to bring personal issues to your workplace. Please pardon me, but you should know I resigned from my workplace.”
I swallowed another morsel of Amala, this time, to hide my disappointment because his most eligible bachelor’s rating was dropping.
“Why did you resign?” I just had to ask.
“Well, God called me into ministry. And by God’s grace, I’ve started already.”
“Really? Wow! Where?”
“Grace Living Court. In Kubwa,” he smiled, revealing teeth stained with soup.
“You mean the same Kubwa where I live? How come I didn’t know there’s a new church in my area?”
“Kubwa is big, Rita. If I hadn’t told you, you wouldn’t know.”
I nodded in agreement. He had finished his food and was washing his hands now.
“I wanted to see you. First off, please, I need your number.”
“Oh, okay. No problem.”
He passed me his Samsung Galaxy S10 . I entered my digits and passed it back to him.
“Great. I’ve known you for quite some time now. I mean, I know we aren’t best buddies but I would like you to be my wife.”
“Wha…” the next thing I know, I was coughing like a fool. And then I was spitting out disgusting morsels of Amala that had already gone down my throat. The truth is, I just discovered that I didn’t only dislike the food, I couldn’t stomach it. I was only pretending to Kayode and well, look where my pretence got me now.
I sincerely wished I could roll my eyes, but the Yoruba pepper stew had screwed my brain senseless. I remembered Kayode driving me back to the office. Shola frowned when she saw him help me into our office. But I was in no mood to answer her silent questions.
I spied briefly at some of the documents on her table and I was glad her seriousness had made her finish up with our joint task for the day.
I was left wishing that the day would run fast so I could close and go home.
To be continued
