By Amusan Tolulope
“I had decided to elevate my relationship with Jessica. For over two years, I was meticulous with my spending, determined not to borrow money for our wedding, resorting instead to diligent savings.
It demanded great sacrifice, yet I never let it affect my fiancée’s monthly allowance. I had to cut back on contributions to my family because she insisted on an extravagant wedding—one with all the frills. We were to have a grand introduction in Lagos, followed by another in the village, then engagements in both locations. The sequence would culminate in a court wedding, church ceremony, reception, and even an after-party.
Once I amassed the 10.5 million naira, I called her to announce I was ready to get married. Jessica suggested we save the money in one of her dormant accounts. Despite my reservations, I agreed to make her happy.
She proposed a long-term plan for the wedding—six months. I considered it, but Tito, my colleague, advised me to keep half of the money elsewhere just in case. She warned that women could be unpredictable when it came to money. I paused the construction work on our family house to focus on the wedding.
Two months later, I noticed a change in Jessica’s behavior. She stopped answering my calls and, when she did, often hung up on me. Not wanting to upset her, I continued her allowance, along with the shopping and cash gifts for her parents.
One day, Tito came over and began recounting what happened to her brother. How his fiancee ran away with the money he inherited from his father’s. Unknown to her, Jessica was inside and overheard our conversation.
Suddenly, Jessica stormed out of the room, demanding that Tito leave. She accused me of infidelity, insisting that if I wasn’t involved with Tito, how did she know so much about our relationship?
I spent three weeks apologizing. Jessica even blocked me on all social media platforms. I met with her parents, who dismissed her behavior as natural pre-wedding stress.
We eventually reconciled, and I agreed to the budget she and her sister proposed, even though it required an additional 400k on top of the 10 million. I consented.
We attended vendor meetings together, and I was impressed by the plans. Then, out of the blue, the event planner said…
“We would be expecting the payment tomorrow. “
My babe had assured me that she had paid. She smiled at me, a picture of innocence.
“Honey, this is Nigeria. Anyone can scam anyone. Now that we’ve uncovered her plan, I can go ahead and send the money.”
I decided to get the planner’s number, but Jessica quickly intervened. She took the complimentary card and kept it. When I asked why she acted that way, she simply said she was securing her territory.
We successfully completed both the Lagos and village introductions. But on the eve of the Lagos engagement, her parents called, frantic—she had been missing for two days.
I had spoken to her that morning, and she said she was with her dance instructor. Anxiety gnawed at me. I reported her disappearance to the police, but she remained elusive. This threw my family into disarray.
I made her family’s house my base, constantly checking on her parents. One evening, while I was there with Tito, Nkechi rushed in with her phone.
“My mummy is calling!”
I saw the father’s face change as he snatched the phone from the girl and ended the call, sending her outside to play.
Tito typed a message on her phone and showed me.
“There’s something fishy here. Don’t worry, I know what to do.”
I smiled and urged the old folks to eat, asking Tito to bring them some suya on her way back.
A few minutes later, I got a WhatsApp message from Tito. I hesitated but opened it.
TITO: Do you know Jessica has a child?
It sounded absurd.
ME: No! She told me Nkechi was her deceased younger sister’s daughter.
TITO: Listen to this voice note:
“Aunty Jessy is my mummy. My daddy is a driver, but Grandpa didn’t like him.”
I nearly jumped out of my seat. What?
ME: Stop this nonsense. She said it’s her sister’s daughter. Maybe they told her that so she wouldn’t ask questions about her real mother.
TITO: Listen again:
Nkechi’s voice: “Aunty Ada is not my mummy. It’s Aunty Ada who invited my mummy to come to Canada. She called tonight before Grandpa ended the call. Aunty Tito, is Uncle Brian not marrying my mummy anymore?”
TITO: Why did you say that?
NKECHI: Grandpa always tells me not to tell Uncle Brian that my mummy traveled to Canada to meet Aunty Ada.
Hearing this, I stood up and walked out of their house without a word. I decided to call the planner using my other number, thanks to Tito who sent me the number.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Okorie. She told me you two were no longer dating. She said you impregnated her best friend and hid your daughter from her.”
At that moment, I felt utterly lost. I knew she had played me, and my money was gone.
This was the lady I loved even more than myself. I placed her needs before mine. I worshiped the ground she walked on. I could give my eyes for her if that will make her happy. With all of that, she still played me.
What Naija lady cannot do does not exist.
I had her parents arrested, but my mother pleaded on their behalf. I know posterity will judg£ them. They knew their daughter’s whereabout and yet still pretended as if she was lost.
Love is not for me, and no one should ever advise me to love again.
Tito, wherever you are, may God bless you.”
#Peoplesmind
