DAYO: The Choices You Don't Make

I have never been one of those people who avoid complications, those who want life to move in one straight road – no unexpected twists and no road-blocks. In my case, if I do not encounter troubles, I wondered if something was right. I can’t say it has anything to do with a morbid past. My childhood was pretty much as joyous as they come, that I remember. My dad had only one wife. He and my mom were sufficiently affectionate for my sisters and I to never worry that a break-up lurked in the future. If dad kept mistresses, we weren’t aware of it either. Our home was as ‘normal’ as any could be. Mom was a home-keeper and the enforcer of discipline. She kept our house – a five bedroom duplex in what used to be an isolated area in Iyana-Ipaja, Lagos – spick and span with an army of helpers who came and went. When she wasn’t ordering everyone around, she was watering her trees and flowers that were almost swallowing up the house. Dad was the breadwinner; he went to work first thing in the mornings and came home before 6 PM, and then stayed locked in his library until it was time for the nine o’clock news and dinner after wards. He didn’t speak much, but he kept us adequately provided. International education for all three of his kids, up to our Masters. We were not as rich as Folake’s parents, but we were spared the complexity that sometimes came with too much affluence. Maybe that was why I had an aversion for simplicity. I had had too much of it. Trouble kept you on your toes, sharpened your mind, kept you alert. That was until trouble took to smashing your wares and when it looked more than likely that trouble actually slashed your tires. That’s when it dawns on you that the simple life has a lot of appeal.

It came to me as I watched a doleful Titi stare at her tires. When after her reading at the Maureen’s funeral, Titi whispered to me that she saw someone that might be Folake, I hadn’t believed her. Why would I? For one thing, Folake was in the US. Another: except for Dolapo’s concert, the two of them had never crossed paths. But then, coming outside and meeting our cars vandalized, I had no doubt in my mind who was responsible. What was it my mother used to say? A witch cried in the night, and by morning the child dies. Whatever loyalty I felt towards Folake died right there. Though it had greatly pissed me off coming to a house in riot, I was prepared to take whatever Folake dished in strides. I would have told myself that I was dealing with an angry wife. She needed to let off steam, and since I had hurt her, I had it coming. But tampering with Titi? That was where she pushed it. To start with, that was the sort of thing you saw happen on TV, for Pete’s sake! They were included for their entertainment value. They are not to be copied as the model of behavior. Besides, a dignified woman knew when to draw the line in reality. Yet Folake, with all her airs and gra-gra, missed out on that. Titi would never act like that. And for all intents and purposes, she had held out her own. And I was entirely to be blamed. I put her in this situation. Despite that, she’s shown the strength of character beyond any level I could envision. And she loved me, in her words and in her actions. For the first time ever, I honestly saw that my mistake wasn’t in falling for a woman who wasn’t my wife, but in marrying the woman I did.

“Dayo. Are you with us?”

I looked up from blankly regarding the projector screen to smile at Mr. Summers, the team leader.

“Sure, Blake. Just got distracted for a second there. Sorry about that.”

“Right. Just grant us some of your attention after you’re done daydreaming about the missus.” Blake attempted a joke, chuckling. “I’m guessing she’s in town. So, that’s why there’s been a content look on your face all day.”

The rest of the fourteen members of our operation review team chuckled with him. That was the way it was. Blake says things that aren’t funny, and we lots are obligated to make him feel good about himself by giving our best belly-ache laughter. I most certainly have no recollection of ever mentioning the living pattern Folake and I had – better make that former pattern – with anyone at work. Even though I resented thinking that it could be an open secret, I grinned as brightly as my gums would allow. By the way, what content face was Blake yakking about?

“Okay people, I’m aware these weekly meetings can be boring, but a little interest won’t hurt. If we can wrap it up, you all can go have a nice weekend free of calls from me. Okay. Dayo, you’ve got a presentation?”

“It’s not quite ready, sorry.” I tried to inject as much remorse into the sentence as I could, but I doubt it was much of a success.

“Okay.” His voice said it wasn’t, but what was he going to do? Drag it out of me? “Someone else?”

“Yes sir, I have,” said Luther, my drinking buddy during the few nights I went to pubs, and Blake’s biggest kiss-ass during the day.

It could be from him that Blake knew about Folake. I don’t talk about her with Luther. But he’s a smart guy, he is quick with figuring things out. That meant that Blake probably also knew that Folake was definitely not in town. Not that I cared what Blake knew. Or where Folake was, at that. Actually, I was having a mountain of difficulty caring about anything these days. Okay, I cared that Titi was becoming distant. I cared quite a lot about that to have pleaded with her not to leave me. Jeez! I hadn’t known I was going to say those words until I did. And now I owe her something to hold on to – you don’t ask a woman to stay with you if you didn’t want to be with her. At least I don’t. Which brings us to the question: would I really dissolve my marriage? I mean, yes the head is ill-shaped and gives you only migraines, but to cut it off? I suppose if I must, I must. But has it really come to that?

Luther sat back next to me on his seat, and made a loud screeching noise with it in the process. I looked over my shoulder at him and shook my head, to say I objected to the interruption to my thoughts.

“What’s wrong with you, man?” Luther was Ivorian. His English had improved from the incomprehendable piece it was when he first joined us five year ago. What I didn’t get was his obsession with the word ‘man’ and why he needed to punctuate every casual sentence with it. “You’ve been like this all week long, man.” He smirked as he spoke, very pleased with himself. Blake had been impressed with his presentation. Then again, Blake was always impressed with everyone’s presentation. Seriously, what was the point of this meeting?

I ignored him, but addressed Blake instead. “If I could be excused for a moment, please. I need to use the loo.”

“That’s okay. We may be done by the time you are back though.”

Better. “I’m sure I’ll catch up.” Fat chance.

I left the conference room and went straight to my office. On my way there, I passed by Jean’s counter.

“Any messages?” I asked. On a good day, I would have found something to tease her about. It hasn’t been a good day for me for a while now.

“Nope,” She said, smiling. I wonder if she thought I was expecting a call from Folake. I wasn’t, but didn’t set her right on that. Jean thought romantic dinners, like the one she helped me with the other evening, equated everlasting love. Ha!

“Thanks.”

I entered the room and closed the door behind me. Sitting down at my desk, I noticed a light blinking on my instant messenger icon. For a second my heart skipped. At a time that seemed like a zillion years ago, Folake and I kept our relationship going through IMs. I looked forward to the end of the team meetings, because I was sure to see the beckoning flash of a message from her. This was the second week since things went south between us. The first one went uneventful, as I could expect. The many calls I put across to her which were all picked up by either an answering machine or a voicemail told me that I wouldn’t be hearing from her. Following Maureen funeral, I had delisted her. I nearly blocked her from contacting me, but thought it was a little too extreme. And now this! What could she want? A divorce? Reconciliation? I can’t say I was ready for either one.

It wasn’t her. It was a surprising someone else.

‘na wa, Tumi. Dis one you come remember me?’ I typed in response to her buzz that was only a minute ago. She must still be at hand to send a reply.

‘na who dey talk? between you and me, na who forget the other pass?

‘when was the last one you called me. Or even texted me?

‘even sef, ordinary flash I never see from u

‘daz my thank you for finding a beautiful wife for u, abi?

‘u dey try. Well done.’ She fired off series of entries.

‘abeg, no vex. Na work.’ I wrote back.

‘Story! jo, how is my friend? D 2 of una just fashied my side. I weak 4 una o. na so the marriage dey sweet reach? mek una remember us single ones in your kingdom o. lol.’

Folake must not have spoken to Tumi about our issues. I was wondering if that was a good thing or a bad thing. Well, it was a good that Tumi didn’t know, for anything brought to her knowledge gets to every other ear. But, women tended to talk to their friends. Hence, if Folake hadn’t confided in Tumi, what did it mean? That she was done with me and my family? That she was indecisive whether there was still a future for us? It seemed logical to me that Folake would have said something. After all, she and Tumi were somewhat close. Plus Tumi was very instrumental to us getting married. Not to mention that while preparing for our wedding, Tumi had played the role of my sister more than my cousin. She had taken care of the Nigerian end of the process, going with my mom to everywhere there needed going. Folake and I had talked about showing our gratitude to her in big way – a get-away gift for her and her bloke for the next valentine. I suppose I could still do that for her nevertheless. Hmmm. I couldn’t believe that I’d been married in less than a year, and already thoughts of divorce seemed to be floating around in my head.

‘how is our bobo? Hope he’s treatin u fine’ I typed, sweeping aside her reference to Folake.

‘he’s a darling. He popped the question, u know’

‘yes, I do. mom told me.

‘when is the date?’

‘soon. in fact, that’s why I came online today. mom says I should ask Folake to help me buy the wedding gown.’ Tumi called my mom ‘mom’ as well. When my sisters and I left Nigeria for universities overseas, Tumi became mom’s companion. Before then, she spent most holidays at our home. But with us gone, mom asked that she moved in.

‘have you called her number?’
‘I don’t have her new number’
‘what new number?’ Was today April Fools’ Day in Tumi-land?
‘what do you mean? is she using US number in UK?'
‘why would she do that?’ Suddenly, I felt like I was falling into a trap.
‘are u saying she still lives in atlanta?'
‘didn’t you know that?’
‘what!!!!!!!!!!!
‘how will I know? I said I’ve not really spoken 2 her since you people’s wedding. Just a few emails here and there. I just assumed she relocated.
‘come, why is she there? Are you people having problems?’
‘I don’t see how that’s any of your business’
‘abeg, abeg. don’t come and do oyinbo for me, right now jor.
‘what’s going on?’
‘nothing.’ The conversation was fast taking a dangerous turn. If there was one person that can be counted on for drama, it was Tumi.
And she delivered. ‘what do u mean?
‘this is serious o.
‘am telling mom’
‘don’t you dare!’ I was, of course, wasting my time.
‘too late. I’ve already sent her a text’

Depending on what was written in it, mom would be calling me in about a minute or less. I was irked, and wanted to show the full extent of it by typing in caps.

‘WHAT IS THE MATTER WITH YOU, TUMI? DON’T YOU KNOW TO RESPECT ONE’S PRIVACY?’
‘go and rest! you know my wahala with those of you living abroad?
‘you suddenly become more white than even the white people’

I couldn’t reason with Tumi, so I closed the instant messenger application and gave myself a moment to fume in private before my mother’s call came. I got only three minutes.

Exhaling, I answered my cell “Mommy, good morning,”
“Good morning to you too, Oladayo. What is this nonsense Tumi is saying? That you and your wife don’t live in the same country? Oladayo Adegboyega Maxwell Olatilewa, fetisile ko gbo mi dada – listen to me very well – bayi ko la se n fe iyawo n'idile wa, this is not the way we marry the wives in our family. Do you hear me?”

I expected an attack, but not to this magnitude.

“Oladayo, are you there?”
“Yes, mom.”
“And did you hear what I said?”
“Yes, mom, I did.” Then I had to lie. “Folake is only in the States temporarily. She’s working things out to move down here permanently.”
My mom was silent for a few minutes, probably considering whether to believe me. She must have decided I made sense. “Okay. When will that be?”
“We don’t know. It depends on her company. But soon, we hope.” I continued lying, I don’t know why. I guess it’s a little shameful to admit out loud that your marriage has failed.
“Okay. But, you people are not having issues, right?”
“Not at all, mom.” I noticed my intercom blinking – I put the phone on mute – Jean was calling. I chose to ignore it, because I couldn’t hang up on my mother. Besides, if I rushed her off, she could being to suspect that something was wrong between Folake and I.
“That’s fine. You remember what I said to both of you on your wedding day? If you have problems, solve it within yourselves. But if it’s becoming too much for the two of you, your father and I can step in. Sometimes, you young people get hot-headed and need the wisdom of your elders to calm down. Marriage is not easy; forget all these nonsense half-baked theory people are peddling these days. Marriage is not easy. So, when it is becoming too hard for you, you ask for help. Okay? Even if it means that you, your wife, your father and I, and your wife’s family have to sit down to trash it out, we will. Do you hear me?”
“Yes, mom.” Acquiesced without really hearing what she said. I was distracted – the intercom was blinking again. It could be Blake that had asked Jean to call me.
“It’s okay. Please, you people should try and live well and find a way to understand yourselves. Okay?”
“Yes, mom.”
“Alright. Let me go and do other things. Wait, before I go, when are you and Folake coming home to stay with us a little? Can’t you make it to Tumi’s wedding?”
The blinking started once more. Someone sure was impatient. “We’ll see about that. Mom, please I’m very sorry I have to go.”
“Oh, it’s okay. I’m sorry for keeping you. But come oh, this one your wife is not around; I hope you’re eating well. The last time I saw you, you looked skinny to me.”
“Mom!”
“Okay, okay, okay. Sorry, sorry, sorry. We’ll talk later.” She cut the call.
Immediately, I grabbed for the phone. “Hey, Jean.”
“Hey, Dayo,” The next words she said knocked me off balance. “Your wife is here.”


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