Few years ago my wife and I called a family member we felt was struggling financially and we wanted to settle him once and for all. We offered to sponsor his japa to UK or Canada, all expenses and the efforts on us. He is a civil servant but his salary is small.
The guy took time to think about it and said the most important thing to him is marriage, he wants to get married first. It sounded weird to me that anyone will chose marriage over free japa offer. We gave him some time and reconfirm from him again, his answer remains steady, marriage is the goal.
So we made it clear to him that, if we supported him for the marriage, that will be the end of our support to him, he said he agreed.
He requested for help to rent an apartment because his fiance insisted he should have a house before they get married.
We gave him N2M for 1 year rent and agency. N1M to furnish the house. Like N2.5M to fund his wedding (he got support from other sources).
One year after, rent is due, even his annual salary cant pay for it, he now has a new baby, and things are not smooth for him at all financially.
Guess who is back asking for help to japa to any country now? Those little descions can shape your life permanently, becareful of your choices and set your priorities right.
During last week Sunday service in the church, the person on the alter asked any woman who bought a Christmas gift for her husband to stand up, only my wife stood up.
She looked at me and we both started laughing. Did she bought me a Christmas gift? Yes, but here is the catch.
This woman bought me a designer jacket, she said she love it so much. The jacket looks very cool and expensive too. I have not even worn the jacket, but she quickly rocked the jacket to church on that same Sunday. So she was wearing the same gift she claimed she bought for me. As we speak now, the jacket is in her closet. She said it fits her more.
That aside, I was really shocked that as big as that church is, no other woman thought it reasonable to get their husband a gift.
Guys, please take care of yourself as much as you take care of your family, men are the endangered species, people care about you only when you have something to offer them.
In about a year or two, we will be planning yours too.
“Ọlọ́hun á bá wa ṣe, mà.”
May God help us
She gave me one last look that said you can’t escape destiny. Then she turned to someone else.
Ooh, that means yours is around the corner àbí?
“Bẹ́ẹ̀ni mà,” I said, already praying the MC would yell my name for a dance offering or someone would trip over a chair for distraction.
She leaned in slightly. “Tí a bá fi ríi ọdún kan sí méjì, a máa bá ìwọ náà ṣe tì e.”
“Ìyàwó àti Ọmọ ń kó, àbí ìwọ kọ́ lo ṣe ìyàwó lọ́jọ́ sí?”
How are your wife and kid(s) or weren’t you the one who got married the other day?
My smile flickered. “Ààh, rárá mà, èmi kọ́.”
No, that was not me.
“Ahn ahn! Ó kù dí è fún ìwọ náà àbí?”
....civil and brief. “E kaasan ma.”
“Àbí it’s not you again?” she teased, drawing closer. “You’ve grown oh. Pẹ̀lẹ́ o. Báwo ni?”
“Mo wà dáadáa, mà. Ẹ ku ìnáwó.”
She nodded approvingly. Then came the twist, smooth, almost lyrical in delivery.
Firm handshake. Yoruba matriarch with a PhD in masking intrusive curiosity under the cloak of tradition. I turned to my right, looking for an escape. Too late.
“Ọmọ Lágbájá!” she beamed, like someone who just found the answer to a riddle.
I smiled, already calculating how....
That was exactly what I was trying to avoid.
But by 3 PM, I found myself under a blue and white canopy, dodging steaming jollof and praise-singing from the MC, who was clearly one more bottle away from calling every woman in attendance a queen.
Then I saw her, Mama Peju.
I hadn’t planned to attend the naming ceremony. My mother had insisted with a finality that doesn’t leave room for logic or excuses.
“It’s Mama Taye’s granddaughter o. You can’t just stay at home pressing phone,” she said. “Go and show face. People will be asking after you.”
🧵