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I declared war in my home; war I say. No more will I take what my man is dishing out to me. Why should I yield?
Calm down, I hear them say. But my heart kept raging with anger.
I looked my man in the eyes with all my pain. I removed my head gear and tied it around my waist.
All must be settled today.
I felt a gentle hand on my boiling skin. “Share your problem with us.” Uncle said.
Yes, I must tell what my man has done to me, Soul Sister.
Listen to the story of an angry wife.
I felt the joy of a woman married to a man of her dreams. The sparkle in my eyes radiated like the brightness of the sun. I married my man, Soul Sister.
The hope of a bright future for us brought smiles to my face. Nothing could ever go wrong with us.
Our hearts were joined in perfect love.
The responsibilities of a married woman did not bother me. It was for me and my man.
My first meal was egusi soup, garnished with beef, cow skin and roasted cat fish. I rolled my sleeves and pounded the eba just like my grandmother taught me.
I smiled with satisfaction at the finished work. I was ready to get into my man’s heart.
I served the food with great love and joy. My man looked at me with eyes filled with appreciation. He salivated as I uncovered our first meal as man and wife.
He took his first morsel and rolled it into a ball with his fingers. He kept smiling.
I wanted his compliment that was bound to follow his first swallow. After all, I had mastered the art of cooking over the years.
The smile froze on his face as he rolled the morsel in his mouth. His eyes bulged out in curiosity. He dipped his fingers in the plate of soup and placed it on the tip of the tongue.
He closed his eyes as he tasted the soup again.
When he opened his eyes again, I saw condemnation in them.
“What is wrong, Honey?” I asked, alarmed.
My man pushed the plate of soup away from him. “What seasoning did you use for the soup?” He asked in a chilled tone.
I looked at him in confusion. Seasoning? What was he talking about? He waited for my answer and I gave it.
“I used maggi.” I answered.
His eyes blazed with hot anger. He pushed away from the table. “Never use maggi to prepare my meal again. Always use knorr.” He barked at me and left the dining without eating the food.
Oh, the anger that filled me. After all my efforts? He couldn’t even caution me gently. I would not let this go, I resolved in my heart.
While he prepared for work the next day, I made breakfast: bread, egg sauce and tea. And you know what, Soul Sister, I used maggi.
Hahaha, my man must learn to appreciate me, appreciate my efforts.
He gave me a smile as he took his seat at the head of the table. I smiled too. I didn’t wait for him this time. I dived into my food.
I hid a smile when he spewed out the egg sauce. He shot daggers at me with his eyes.
“Did you use maggi again?”
I shrugged in response and continued with my food.
“What exactly is your problem? I can’t stand maggi. Please don’t use it again. Use Knorr.” He enunciated.
I lifted innocent eyes to him. “Why?” I asked.
“My mother never used maggi. It was always knorr, and we liked it. I can tell the taste of knorr in any meal.”
His explanation angered me the more. “Well, my mother never used knorr. I don’t like it. You can change now because I’ll keep using maggi.”
He glared at me. “Don’t be difficult. Just indulge me on this.”
I turned to him then. “You must indulge me too. I went to the bathroom this morning and found out you still press the toothpaste from the middle when I told you to always press it from the end.” I fired back at him.
My man threw his hands up in frustration. “What does it matter if I press the toothpaste from the middle or the end?”
“What does it matter if I use maggi or knorr?”I countered.
We stared down each other. The battle line was drawn: maggi or knorr, middle of the toothpaste or the end.
Soul Sister, I stuck to maggi, and he stuck to pressing the toothpaste from the middle.
He wouldn’t eat my food, and I wouldn’t use his toothpaste.
And then, he brought in a cook, without informing me or seeking my permission, to prepare his meals in our house.
The worst part, she brought her own ingredients, and I saw packets of knorr. My man threw out my maggi.
I would not take this. Oh no, my man must pay for this.
He listened to my ranting like the family members we invited to hear us out. He got up gently.
“It’s obvious this is not working. Let’s give each other a break.” He told me, his arms folded across his chest.
People around gasped in shock. My own gasp was louder.
“What?” I exclaimed I disbelief, like my ears were failing me.
“Let’s give each other a break and think if we should really continue.” He repeated in a bland tone.
Well, Soul Sister, I lost my cool. I looked him straight in the eyes and said with all pride. “Good riddance to bad rubbish.”
Hmm… It’s now two months since our break. My man has not come back, and I feel so terrible. How did we go from lovey dovey to fighting ninjas?
Did I go too far? Did we go too far?
Advise me, Soul Sister, what should I do?
The next issue on Dear Soul Sister will be on the blog next week Tuesday. Don’t miss it! (If Jesus tarries.)
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Design: Temitope Idowu