I Know Who The Real Father is But I can’t Tell Her Husband
The first time they came in here, the man called me and asked me to help with something they dropped because they all had their hands full. It was a box that fell on the path leading to their gate. I pick it up and followed them to their house.
They were our new neighbors. A man, his wife, and a boy who looked five years old. I lived in the storey building next to their building. When I stand in the corridor in front of my room, I could see inside of their walled compound.
I wasn’t watching or spying on them but it looked like subconsciously my mind picked the activities that went on in the house of my new neighbors.
Each morning, the man would leave the house around 6:30am with his white Camry. Later in the morning, the wife would also drive out of the house with their son, send him to school and return to the house some few hours later.
It looked like the woman wasn’t working—a housewife, maybe.
One afternoon, I looked into their compound and saw a grey pickup parked in front of their house. I didn’t give it much care. Another time, I saw the car again, at the same time, parked at the same spot.
One evening, the grey pickup came to the house, and later that evening I saw the man laughing and interacting with the owner of the grey pickup. That was the first time I saw his face from inside of my corridor. This pickup came around often and I took notice, especially when the man had gone to work. I was always in the house, minding my own business and thinking about my frustrating life as an unemployed graduate.
One day, the grey pickup came early. Immediately the woman entered the house with her blue Hyundai, the grey pickup also followed. I was seated in the corridor washing my clothes.
The woman was already waiting in front of the door when the man got out of his car. She smiled heartily and the man ran to her, tapped her shoulder and when the woman turned to enter the door, the man tapped her ass, bam!
I was like, “What’s happening here? You can tap the ass of your friend’s wife like that?” The gossip in me arose. I wanted to know the full extent of what was going on so instead of following them passively as I was doing, I became an active follower of their story.
Each morning, immediately the woman returns from dropping his kid at school, I would come and sit in the corridor waiting for the cometh of the man with the grey pickup. Sometimes, he came, and sometimes he didn’t.
One afternoon when he came around, the woman met him at the door wearing a straight dress. When he was leaving the house, the woman came out with him, having on a piece of cloth around her waist. I concluded, “These two guys are having an affair.
Knowing what I knew made me pity the husband of the woman. He walks around innocently thinking he has a wife he could trust. Thinking he has a friend who has no eyes for his wife but while he was out there working the field to bring food home, his wife would be warming their bed with his friend.
At some point, I stopped following them. It’s their life and they could live it the way they please. One evening, I saw the grey pickup inside the house. The man was there. I could hear their screams of joy as they shouted about something that felt like football.
When they came out in the open, I saw how this innocent man was happy chatting and tapping the hands of his friend—the grey pickup guy. May God open our eyes to see the intentions of those we call friends.
A few months later, I saw the woman walking out of her car with a bulging belly. She was pregnant. And that set me into deep thinking; so who could be the owner of this pregnancy? Does the woman know who it’s for? So her husband has assumed automatic responsibility because he’s the husband?
So many questions but no answer.
The guy stopped coming there for a while. Each time he came around, he came when the husband was around. They’ll shout about football, and happily talk about other things leaving the important discussion out because one of them doesn’t know the truth.
One day, I saw them raising tents in front of their house. I knew what the occasion was. The woman had given birth and they were going to perform the naming ceremony. Guess whose car I saw parked on the outside of the house…the grey pickup guy. He too came to the naming ceremony. Did he come as the father of the kid or he came as a well-wisher? After the program, everyone left except him. It was later in the night that I saw the man walking him to his grey car.
Somedays I wanted to walk up to the man and tell him the truth but then the little voice in my head comes out and says, “What if you are wrong about the whole thing? Chop your house matter.” So I give up and go on with my jobless life.
In January this year, I couldn’t renew my rent. My dad refused to help. They asked me to come home and live with them until I get a job and be able to pay for my own rent. I felt bad about going back to live with my parents but I was happy I was leaving that dark story behind me.
No more temptation to blow the whistle on them.
However their story turns out, I hope the truth comes out one day so each and everyone gets what they deserve.