{"id":5287,"date":"2025-09-07T08:26:01","date_gmt":"2025-09-07T07:26:01","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/time.amazingstory.blog\/?p=5287"},"modified":"2025-09-07T08:26:03","modified_gmt":"2025-09-07T07:26:03","slug":"city-wife","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/time.amazingstory.blog\/?p=5287","title":{"rendered":"CITY WIFE"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
\"\"<\/figure>\n\n\n\n

I always knew that bringing Ada to the village would be tricky. Not because of her, but because of my mother.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ada was born and raised in the city. A true city girl.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Smart, eloquent, well-mannered, and down-to-earth. But she was unfamiliar with village customs. She had never fetched water from a stream, nor pounded yams, nor knelt to greet elders.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But she had won my heart. And that was all that mattered to me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We arrived that Friday evening, just before sunset. My father was outside, sipping palm wine from his gourd. As soon as he saw us, he jumped up, beaming with joy. \u201cMy son! Hey, hey! You\u2019ve brought us a wife!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He hugged her as if he had known her all his life. \u201cNo problem, my daughter. Any woman who can make this stubborn boy smile like that must be special.\u201d Ada laughed shyly, greeted him respectfully, and tried to fit in.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Inside, my mother greeted us as well, smiling at first. But when Ada introduced herself and mentioned that she was from Lagos, her smile faded. Something changed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That evening, Ada helped in the kitchen. She asked where the spices were, helped chop the vegetables, and even offered to stir the soup. She was trying her best. But my mother barely acknowledged her efforts.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The next morning, the situation had worsened.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mom started \u201ctesting\u201d her. She asked her to pound the yams herself. She told her to fetch water from the stream in a gourd. She told her to pick bitter leaves without breaking them. Ada did what she could, but I could see the silent mockery behind my mother\u2019s instructions. And when Ada stepped away, she muttered, \u201cCity girls know how to paint their eyelashes, but not how to serve a man.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I tried to stay silent. Until I found Ada crying silently that night in our room. \u201cI don\u2019t think she likes me,\u201d she whispered. \u201cI\u2019ve tried, but I feel like I\u2019m failing at everything.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I wiped her tears away. \u201cShe doesn\u2019t decide who I marry,\u201d I said. \u201cI do. And I choose you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The next day, I took my mother aside. We sat under the avocado tree, the same spot where she used to feed me roasted corn when I was little.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMom, why are you doing this?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cShe\u2019s not one of us,\u201d she said curtly. \u201cShe doesn\u2019t know anything about our way of life. It won\u2019t last. You\u2019ll suffer.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMom, being from the village doesn\u2019t guarantee a good marriage. Ada respects me. She\u2019s smart. She\u2019s willing to learn. That\u2019s more than enough.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cShe doesn\u2019t know how to cook our food,\u201d she argued.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYesterday she was right next to you, asking you questions about ofe akwu. You pushed her away. How will she learn if you don\u2019t teach her?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She fell silent. Then she sighed. \u201cI just don\u2019t want you to end up with someone who will leave at the first sign of trouble.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI won\u2019t,\u201d I said gently. \u201cBut even if I do, let me find out for myself.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Later that afternoon, I saw her call Ada over to sit beside her. She started talking; small talk at first. She asked where she worked, what she liked to cook.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then they laughed. And by evening, she let Ada help her stir the soup.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It wasn\u2019t a full embrace. But it was a start.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When we were packing to leave two days later, Mom gave Ada a small woven bag. Inside was a hand-carved comb and a bottle of palm oil.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cFor your cooking,\u201d she said. \u201cYou\u2019ll need it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And then she hugged her. Tight. Like someone letting go.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

CITY \u200b\u200bWIFE
Episode 2<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I used to count the months. At first, with hope. Then, with anxiety. And finally, with a silent shame.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Four years. Four long years of marriage, love, prayer, and effort, and still no child in my arms. In the first year, everyone told us to relax, to enjoy ourselves. \u201cIt will happen when it\u2019s meant to,\u201d they said.
The second year, the comments started. Subtle glances. Aunties who shifted uncomfortably when I entered the room.
By the third year, I couldn\u2019t go to weddings or baby showers without someone whispering behind my back.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And now, the fourth year. People had stopped asking when. They had started asking why not.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But what they didn\u2019t know\u2014what even I struggled to accept\u2014was that we had done everything. Every test. Every hospital. Every herbal remedy.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Blood tests, scans, X-rays, hormone tests. From one state to another. And every result was the same: We were both fine. Healthy. Fertile.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And yet\u2026 I still didn\u2019t have a child.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I started to think that maybe \u201cfine\u201d wasn\u2019t enough. Maybe fate was laughing at me behind the curtain of science. Maybe my womb held secrets that even machines couldn\u2019t read.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And just when I thought I had found a way to live with the silence in our house, my mother arrived.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She didn\u2019t even give us any warning. She just appeared one afternoon: her suitcase neatly packed, her face as stern as stone. \u201cI came to see how you\u2019re doing,\u201d she said, entering and surveying the room like an inspector.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I froze.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

I always knew that bringing Ada to the village would be tricky. Not because of her, but because of my mother. Ada was born and […]<\/a><\/p>\n<\/div>","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":5288,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-5287","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-uncategorised"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/time.amazingstory.blog\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5287","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/time.amazingstory.blog\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/time.amazingstory.blog\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/time.amazingstory.blog\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/time.amazingstory.blog\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=5287"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/time.amazingstory.blog\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5287\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":5289,"href":"https:\/\/time.amazingstory.blog\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5287\/revisions\/5289"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/time.amazingstory.blog\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/5288"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/time.amazingstory.blog\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=5287"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/time.amazingstory.blog\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=5287"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/time.amazingstory.blog\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=5287"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}