Edna was hell. What kind of she devil did I bring into my house, bikonu? If I had known it would turn out like this, I wouldn’t have divorced Chioma. I would have managed her like that. Even the pounded yam Edna used to attract me, she doesn’t pound again. She has become a feminist. Edna has joined those women to make those disgusting pounded yam substitute, the powdery substance that they package and sell in the market these days.
“I did not marry you to be turned into your cook. Wife, not cook.” She would say.
“Ehn? You knew that and you didn’t say anything before I married you, abi?” I would ask angrily.
“Why should I?” She bristled with self-righteousness. “Do I look like I want to spend the rest of my life pounding yam for you?”
Then I would threaten that if she refused to change, I would find someone else who knew how to pound yam. After all, that was how I married her. And then, she would swell like a soured ofe egusi and threatened to cut off my manhood if she found out I had left it to wander.
That’s not all o. She became a monitoring spirit. I couldn’t sneeze outside without it being reported to her in a second. As if that was not annoying enough, she has turned into a self-appointed prayer warrior in my own home. She kept me awake every Friday night with her annoying prayers.
“Any marine spirit, any mammy water, any ogbanje in the form of side chicks buzzing like bees around my husband trying to break my marriage, I command you to die by fire in Jesus’ name!” She would scream in the middle of the night.
Any little thing, she would nag and nag. One time, I forgot my hand on her face when I couldn’t take her nagging. The next thing I knew, her four hefty brothers landed. By the time they finished beating me and forced me to finish ten big wraps of very hard pounded yam in a few minutes, I was ready to deny pounded yam like Peter did to Jesus. I couldn’t shit for three weeks.
I had three children from my previous marriage with Chioma. Edna added three more and she was pregnant with the fourth against my wishes. No problem. These women will not kill me. So, I made her breakfast in bed. Oh, the look on her face. She thought I was being romantic. She didn’t know I added abortion pills in her tea.
My family warned me to send her away. My friends begged me to leave. I knew I should listen to them. Edna isn’t the type of woman any responsible man wants in his home.
And yet I let her stay.
Everyone gave up on me. But one thing I heard suddenly removed the scales from my eyes. It was Edu. He whispered to me that his wife told him that Edna told her that she used to add her menstrual blood in my pounded yam.
WHAT! My heart pounded in my ears. My eyes dimmed with shock. And when I recovered, Edna was sprawled on the floor of our compound with her clothes and bags scattered around her as she screamed and begged while the neighbors held me back from killing her. She said it was the work of the devil. She said she knew how weak I was to easily fall for a woman who could pound yam. She said she loved me. She was afraid of losing me. She said it was for my own good that she added her menstrual blood in my food.
I was mad. I raved and shouted. I screamed that I would kill her if she ever stepped her disgusting foot in my house. Then I walked into the house and shut the door.
Finally, she left.
I thought I would be happy. I thought I would be free. I thought I could move on. But I couldn’t. I thought of Edna and her pounded yam all the time. Every day, Edna. Every night, Edna. Edna, Edna, Edna. She wouldn’t even let me have peace in my dream. She was always there, pounding and feeding me balls of the precious food. I went on different dates. I slept with different women with unparalleled skills in pounded yam. But none of them was Edna.
But I was a strong man. Is it not me again? Boniface Nwanjoku. The Oganigwe 1 of Umuetiti kingdom. The only man who changes women like he changes Nokia torch and they still smile and say thank you and walk away. No woman can make me fall mugu for her. It is impossicant.
It’s been seven years that Edna and I are back together. Oh, you think my marriage ended like that? It’s a lie. For better for worse. Even though she still adds her menstrual blood in my food, and she knows that I know. Even though, Chioma has since remarried and the thought of another man touching her in places that used to be reserved for me, pricks tiny pins in my heart and makes me want to strangle the lucky man. Even though Edna still keeps me awake with her fire brigade night vigils. Even though, she still nags the life out of me.
I let her stay.
Brethren, the saying is true. After God, fear women. I have finally fallen mugu for Edna. Her pounded yam is the best in the world. They say it’s the menstrual blood. I don’t care. Leave her for me. I will manage her like that.