Kojovi Agbedefu stood few meters away from where he packed his car. He was panting heavily. Sweat rained down his fore-head to his chest. He had just driven on a speed on 120mm the past five minutes and nearly crushed a mountain of sand besides the road.
It was 10:15pm when he drove to Akuvi’s residence to picked her up. They had planned to visit the pub that night and make merry. Unfortunately for Kojovi, his wife and mother of their four children stood in the dark waiting, a few meters away from Akuvi’s gate.
Mamavi had heard rumours about her husband cheating with Akuvi for weeks. Mrs Agbedefu was a hardworking woman. She engages in diverse trade to support her mechanic husband. She currently sells Kenkey and fish to her neighbours to help her family.
They are neither poor nor rich.
Mamavi was neither dark or light skinned. In fact, she was a shade of both complexions. She was slender, tall, curvy and pretty. Her long dark her was the admiration of many men in her neighbourhood. But she was a faithful married woman unlike her husband.
Many wonder in bewilderment when she talks of her age. They asked how can thirty-years-old mother of four, who spends most of her hours behind a hot pot be the epitome of unblemished beauty. Mamavi, however never carried herself in pride.
It was on this note that she could not fathom why Kojovi could cheat on her.
When she first heard the story, she was utterly emotionally broken because Akuvi was her cousin. So Mamavi decided to make investigations herself before taking “legal” action. She had prearranged how to deal with the imbecile herself.
Immediately Akuvi sat in the passenger seat of Kojovi’s car, Mamavi grabbed her hair through the car window so hard that when Kojovi tried to speed away, Akuvi’s hair was left like that of a cancerous patient.
Mamavi was satisfied. The scream, agony and pile of Akuvi’ hair in her hands were enough to make her stay away from her husband.
Kojovi turned to look where she sat, still sobbing in pain. He walked over and apologized and promised to cater for her health bill the next day.
Kojovi drove to a nearby guest house that day with Akuvi. They both retired to bed without a word to each other.
He drove home late the next day. He had spent his whole day at his mechanic shop and delayed going home.
Mamavi served his dinner when he sat and asked how his day was. He was shocked. Was this not the woman who cursed his and shouted at him the night before when she saw him with another woman?
He was expecting the worst now that he was home but it’s the other way round. He felt embarrassed and cringed to his wife as she placed the cup of water on the table set before him.
“I do not want to hear of it, please eat your dinner”
Kojovi knew saying a word about the incident again would not be overlooked. He heard himself murmur “I am sorry” again as Mamavi walked to the kitchen. He could not eat but he had no intention of rekindling his wife’s anger.
He ate in silence until he heard a familiar voice shouting outside his compound. It was Akuvi!
Fear caged him as his wife came out of the kitchen, heading towards the compound with a stool is her left hand.
“A stool”? Kojovi murmured to himself as he hastily stood up out of his sitting place, jolting after his wife.