By Bunmi Sofola

It is believed the thunder seldom strikes twice at a spot but an adage warned that once you’ve witnesses its horror, you would show Shango (the god of thunder) more reverence.  Anyone who has been through the rigours of divorce, battered, bruised and raw, will agree that it is a painfully traumatic experience. 

Apart from losing your marriage, you have to seek the services of lawyers, fire-brand ones at that, and they don’t come cheap.  Legal Aid is alright if you can get to where it is, but when it comes to pricing mega-bucks from the clenched fists of a reluctant and vindictive husband, you need more than charitable services.  You need a lawyer who is not only sympathetic to your case, but who wouldn’t let ‘male bonding’ transfer some of that sympathy to your ex!

Divorce in this part of the world is two-pronged.  If you’re married under native law and customs, what you get at the end of the marriage is so minimal, some wives don’t even bother.  On top of which you get to keep only the infant children while the grown-up ones go with their fathers.  If you get married under the statute, at the end of it, the statute book lists all you can get but you have to fight tooth and nail to get it. 

Years back, wives used to grumble that they never get that much of a justice when most of the judges hearing their divorce cases were not only men, but were probably guilty of the cited grounds themselves.  It was the reason why most wives resorted to their do-it-yourself alimony.  Tami, one of such wives, waited till her husband was away on a business trip to strike.  The marriage was virtually over as far as she was concerned.  It was now on injury time; time she needed to consolidate her grand exit.

There were five kids in the household.  Two of them were hers while the other three were kids her husband had fathered from three other women.  “The last child that got me really resentful was from a mere illiterate but rich trader,” fumed Tami.  ‘An Alhaja who had given up hope of ever having a child, but who, thanks to my super stud husband finally had a child.  He’d always told me he wanted all his children to live under one roof and I agreed – never suspecting the frequency with which it would happen. 

When he brought in this child after only twelve years of marriage, I realized we would eventually be running a hostel for his mistresses’ children.  So, when I met this widower shortly after, I knew my luck was about to change for the better.  He was a gentleman and strictly a one-woman man and we courted for almost two years.  I had no qualms sleeping with my lover while I was still married to my husband – he was never faithful to me and I owed him no loyalty.  Anyway, what I was having was a meaningful relationship – not a cheap fling.

“It was my lover that suggested I moved into a flat first before we got married, so people wouldn’t cotton on to the fact I was cheating under my husband’s roof.  He used his influence to get me a good one and when my ‘area-husband’ went on this fateful trip, the last of my plans was carried out.  I brought some vehicles to cart away household things that could fit nicely into my new flat.  The house we lived in was huge and boasted of three furnished living rooms.  I simply helped myself to the furniture and household gadgets that I needed. 

This time around, I sent the driver with his three other children to him, giving him a terse note to give to my husband – I then drove off with my own children in the car I recently bought for myself.  The expensive one he gave me for my fortieth birthday I sold to prevent its being repossessed.  I also sold a couple of his gold wrist watches so I could have some ready cash.  I was on my annual leave when he came back.  People from my office nearly choked on their laughter when they told me how apoplectic he was when he came to see the MD.  He’d come spoiling for a show-down never suspecting I wouldn’t be around.

“He regaled staff with tales of how I’d come into the marriage with just two small suitcases only to be seen by neighbours driving off with lorry-loads of his belongings!  I sent words to him that if he wanted a fight, I would give him a good one in the press – it would certainly make interesting  reading listening to the type of women that had kids for him… .”

“The type of wives we have are nothing but heartless and vindictive creatures,” fumed Kenny, a twice-divorced engineer.  ‘My first wife left me  because  she  didn’t  want to come back with me to Nigeria.  When I wanted to remarry, I made sure it was to a woman with her roots well grounded in the country.  Luckily, my second wife’s family was an enlightened one.

“It was later I realised she was a lousy cook and a bad house-keeper.  Her mother was always employing help for us.  I urged her to learn how to cook, showed her a few of the culinary skills I’d acquired in the kitchen when I was a bachelor.  She told me snootily that she saw no reason why she should cook when we could easily afford a good cook.  When the cook eventually left to attend the funeral of his mother, there was virtually nothing to eat in the house except take-away meals, she’d put in the micro-wave.  I told her I was sick and tired of junk food and she said since I usually came in before her, it wouldn’t hurt if I showed the cooking skills I was always bragging about.  That we both had highly challenging jobs and she saw no reason why she should be the one to make all the sacrifices.  The two children of the marriage lived with her parents during the week and spent only the weekends with us.  So, exactly what sacrifice was she referring to?

“The more I nagged her, the more indifferent she became.  We were having one of our usual arguments when she told me she’d had enough – she was leaving!  She’d moved some of her things to her parents already, so if I needed her, I knew where to find her.  I was numb with shock!  After she left, I just stayed in the living room and must have dozed off as it was morning when I woke up.  I had a shower, reached for my clothes in the wardrobe and gasped.  She’d pulled all my good Italian suits out of the wardrobe and I noticed the horrible marks at the bottom, she must have poured acid on them because they looked well eroded. 

My lovely shoes were disfigured with angry knife-marks running all over them.  Why would she do a vindictive thing like this.  I wept bitterly?  All I wanted was a nice decent wife.  Was it too much to ask?  Why did I always end up with wives who cared only about themselves?  She got herself a hot shot lawyer, thanks to her dad’s influence, but I’m going to fight things to death with that family.  She’d already taken all she wanted from the house and if she wanted me to cough up money for kids I seldom see, and who she took away without my consent, she should be ready for a good rofo-rofo fight!”