My name is Beauty.
And I have never been the apple of any man’s eyes.
Maybe except for Adam.
The first time I met Adam, he said my parents only gave me that name because they felt pity for me. I didn’t know what that meant but I knew I had been called worse.
Adam was a co-founder of a struggling start-up and club manager of 855, a club that opened its doors at 8:55pm for people with curfew.
When I first showed my friends his picture, they asked if I was depressed and had low self-esteem. I told them he was sexy but they thought I meant eczema.
If anything, as he always reminded me, I should be grateful such a “potential” Elon Musk and Obi Cubana like him had eyes for me.
He often said his type was a woman that could sing and was skinny and beautiful like Ayra Starr with a sprinkle of big booty like Tems. The kind of woman that every man was proud to show off to his friends. But I was the kind of girl that always had to book two seats on the bus and was kicked out of my secondary school’s choir audition the moment I hit the first note.
But I didn’t care, because Adam was the first man… of my heart.
And oh, he was a feminist. He believed in women’s empowerment. In fact, he said women should be breadwinners. That I should be the breadwinner of our future family. After all, his mama was a breadwinner too.
Jackpot has entered my kitchen. At least I was not going to marry a man that wanted to dim my light.
But I was going to marry a man that sucked my pockets more than my breasts.
“Imade,” he called me one warm Saturday afternoon. He always called me by tribal name because he believed Beauty didn’t fit me.
We were standing inside a Swarovski jewellery store in Jabi Lake Mall when he called my name as the shop attendant passed him their newest diamond ring from the glass display in front of us.
“Yes, daddy.” I responded hastily, standing close to him, my heart ready to burst. It’s about to happen. He is about to propose!
“I have warned you to stop calling me daddy. It makes me feel old.” Says the man that was 7 years older than me.
“Sorry da—I mean, Adam.”
I could barely concentrate as he turned to me with the ring at the tip of his fingers. He lifted the oval-shaped diamond ring before me, the exact same ring DK proposed to Normani! Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh! I could feel myself shaking in excitement.
All my life, I had fantasized about being proposed to in grand style with those giant heart-shaped rose petals that had “Will You Marry Me?” sign while my friends and family were screaming “Say yes! Say yes!” and I would be crying like one Christmas goat.
But it didn’t matter anymore.
I was getting proposed to and that was all that mattered. Adam had found me worthy. Ya girl was finally getting the ring! I’m about to be off the marke—
He dropped the ring back on the table and let out a deep sigh.
My heart dropped. Daddy?
“I would have proposed to you now,” he said, staring at the ring hopelessly. “but I’ve spent all my last savings on the business.”
I felt my world crashing down. Before I could respond, Adam reached for my shoulder and looked at me.
“But if you pay for it, you will be my fiancée.”
My mouth flew open. Enh?
I shut my mouth immediately and gathered myself. He had warned me to stop letting my face disrespect him in public. Especially now that I could feel the shop attendant’s wide eyes burning through him.
Adam picked up the ring and reached for my hand. He slid the shining, light-binding, eyes-blinding ring onto my ring finger, the size so perfect against my thick fingers, like it was made for me. I looked up at him, lost for words.
“Imade, this could be the beginning of our forever. Look, if you pay for this ring now, we can get married before the end of this year like you always wanted. I will pay you back all the money when the business booms. I swear. No one will have to know that you paid for this ring, they will be too distracted by their celebrations when you’re flashing it around.”
I was too stunned to speak. But all I could think about was how I was going to show it off to my non-existing Instagram haters and amebo aunties who told me that no man would marry me because of my weight. Here was a man, the first of my firsts, pleading with me to marry him. I had won, hadn’t I? Paying for a ring should be the least of my worries, after all, my 500k Easter allowance from Chevron just dropped two days ago.
So all that was left for me to say was,
“Pass me the POS.”
***
“We have a wedding to plan!!!” Lolade and Shalewa screamed at the top of their lungs when I Facetimed that night.
I barely did the talking, the ring did. They gassed me like never before. But they gassed Adam more.
“Your daddy get eyes o. I knew he will come correct! Fine man, fine ring.” They celebrated. The same girls that said he looked like eczema.
There was just something about proposals and weddings that made men more attractive than they had always been. These are the same men you would not bat an eye for on a normal day, but when he became a groom, he magically became that savoury forbidden fruit they told you not to eat. Lolade and Shalewa praised Adam like he was the one who came to die for my sins. Just being proposed to gave him an overnight admiration and respect like never before.
After the call ended, my heart sank like my body did on my bed.
He did not earn that praise. I did. I was the one that paid for the ring.
But even the walls did not have eyes to see it.
***
It was one thing for Adam to bill me, it was another thing for him to bring his entire animal kingdom into my bank.
From his mother and sisters’ asoebi, to his wedding suit, to his groomsmen’s suits, to paying for his lost and found brother’s flight from Canada because “he cannot miss his only brother’s wedding”, to paying for the hall, to renting our apartment, to paying salary to his backend developer who threatened to hack into all their clients’ emails if he did not get his salary, to renting our matrimonial apartment, to furnishing the apartment… all the bills fell on my laps.
Adam’s excuse? He would pay me back when the business booms.
I could not even tell my family that I had taken a loan of 50 million naira from the bank for this wedding. And every money that entered my account went directly to Adam’s account. Adam could not take loan because he was already owing the bank for his start-up.
And guess who got the praise for all of the wedding preparations?
Adam.
But a part of me was proud. To keep his head high like the man he was.
In fact, every receipt, every document had to be in his name. That was the only way to protect his pride and dignity.
It was a sacrifice I had to make for our future family. The other day on TikTok, I saw a video of a wife saying she was graced to iron her husband’s side chicks’ clothes. I had that same grace. But for Adam’s financial burdens. It was my calling. I was to be the provider. It was why God brought us together, his financial weakness was my strength.
All of this was the true test of my loyalty. And I must not fail.
Who knows, all this could be a test from Adam himself. To see if I was a real wife material like his mother. And when all this was said and done, I would wake up to another ring and surprise proposal like Jux did for that Priscy girl, and a whooping sum of 100 million naira would magically appear into my account on our wedding day. Oh, how I will dance on that day, Poco Lee will be shaking on the dancefloor.
The one time I was flat ass broke, like my ass, and I asked Adam for money for data, he called me insensitive. He said that I did not care that he was fighting for his life financially.
He was so angry with me that he threatened to call off our engagement. But I knelt on my knees and begged him for forgiveness. The ring was my pride. My self-worth. The only piece of me to show off to family and friends that I was worthy of being a man’s attention— even if it meant paying my way for a place in his life. Taking the ring away from me was like taking my lifeline.
And for being so “insensitive”, my punishment that month was to submit my entire next salary to him.
And like the submissive obedient bride I was, I did.
I starved for the first half of that month to the point that I was diagnosed with ulcer. I had to borrow money from Lolade for my ulcer treatment and when I told Adam about my condition, he said that all of this was God’s punishment for my past gluttony.
“Your parents called you Beauty but you decided to eat like one animal and scatter the name. You will suffer for it.”
His words stung more than the ulcer.
No matter how hurt I felt, how envious I was of other girls who were pampered and spoilt, it was so hard for me to leave, yet so hard for me to stay. I felt imprisoned by the bounds of all the investments I had made on Adam, chained by the ring clutched around my finger. But I knew all my sacrifices and hard work would pay off. Someday.
“I hope none of those your fat friends, Sharon and Lola, are matching for your wedding? My sisters are going to be your bridesmaids.”
My wedding. My wedding. It was never our wedding.
“Shalewa and Lolade.” I corrected, flustered by his demands. “But they are my only bridesmaids. There is no way your sisters can be my bridesmaids, I barely know them. My friends have already paid for their dresses.” The one thing I didn’t have to pay for.
“Don’t embarrass me. Getting married to you is already embarrassing enough and you want your friends to turn the altar into a den of elephants?”
I wanted to cry. He was looking for a fight. I could feel it.
“Stop with the insults, Adam! You’re being abusive.”
He scoffed. “If I were truly abusive, would I be so supportive of your career? You’re just ungrateful, like all women who think they’re oppressed.”
I gasped.
Then it dawned on me. Why I had waited all along. Why I had held onto him so tight.
Adam was a feminist. That was the problem. Not a good feminist. A manipulative feminist. No, a manipulative man.
Men—they only supported women’s rights when it was convenient to them.
“I’m pulling my money out of the hall,” I threatened. This was getting too far. All of it. “You will pay for the hall. That’s the least decent thing you can do right now.”
He threw his head back in laughter.
“It’s like you’re not ready for marriage.”
“Are you? Because last I checked, I was your sugar mummy.”
He froze, looking at me dead in the eyes, his jaw clenching.
“Give me that ring.”
My heart stopped. This again.
“Return that ring, Imade! Since you have decided to degrade me to a gigolo, there is no point in marrying you.”
Ah. I put my hands behind my back, shaking my head frantically. “Adam, please.”
“I said—” he pushed forward to get the ring off me, but I covered it with my other hand, blocking his hands from it.
We tussled like that for a moment and before I knew it, a hand flew over my face.
My eyes widened in shock, my hand pressing against my cheek. A-Adam slapped me?
There was no guilt, no empathy, just upright condescension in his eyes.
He stepped closer to take the ring, and like a jolt of lightening, I slapped him back, the back of my hand flying so hard on his face the ring scratched the under of his eye.
He held his scratched face, a streak of blood appearing on his fingers as he looked at me in disbelief.
A sudden guilt hit me and before I could apologize, he yelled, “Let’s see the foolish man that will marry you,” he stepped back and hissed, “ugly bitch.”
He walked out and slammed the door.
My world fell around me.
For the rest of the day, I cried. But worse, I was losing my mind.
This could not be happening. Adam cannot just walk out of my life like that. No! I refuse it.
For the following days, I tried to reach Adam but he did not respond to my texts and calls. And emails. I sent countless voice notes of apologies and wrote long epistles explaining my repentance of becoming a quiet, submissive, obedient wife for him. I told him not to worry about paying me back a dime in future, he should just come back to me.
I didn’t want to be alone. I didn’t want to face the shame of not being able to keep a man. A husband.
None of his friends and family members were responsive either. As if he had warned them against me.
It was just a week left to the wedding and Adam had not gotten back to me. My parents and relatives were coming into town from Edo next week, but I hadn’t even told them that our engagement had been called off.
I tried Adam’s number again, but he was not reachable. Even my texts were not delivering.
He blocked me.
Ah. There was fire on the mountain.
I cannot sit like this.
I had to do something.
I grabbed my car keys and drove a whole one-hour to Gwags to find my vanished ribs. To let him know that my love for him knew no bounds, kept no record of cash flow and I would make sure to spend the remaining years of my working life to keep us afloat. He wouldn’t have to worry about paying a single bill ever in his life again. All he needed to do was be mine.
As I got to his house gate, a convoy of six black cars began driving out of the compound. Confused, I parked by the roadside and rushed to the gate.
What was happening? Did someone die?
I gasped. Did something happen to my Adam?
“Where is Adam?” I frantically asked the gateman as he began closing the gate. “Where is your oga?!”
“Follow those cars, Madam.” he shut the gate in my face.
Hurriedly, I rushed to my car and sped behind the last car before it got to the end of the street.
The drive behind the convoy felt like 100 years. My blood pressure was rising with every second, palms sweaty, head banging, heart pounding, sanity slowly disappearing.
I thought of all the worst possible scenarios that could have happened to Adam. Did the scratch from my ring give him an incurable infection and cause him to die? Did my slap give him a migraine that he could not wake up the next morning? Was his heart so broken that it stopped beating?
If anything happened to him, it was all my fault!
When we got to Garki, the convoy drove into a familiar compound that I had been with Adam.
Rainbow?
The same marquee hall Adam and I booked for our wedding?
Fleets of cars filled the compound, and a crowd of people dressed in green lace attire walked into the big marquee building in the middle of the compound.
Unlike the fancy dressed guests, I came out of my car in my two weeks old all-back braids, a Manchester United jersey (Adam’s fav club), black shorts and bathroom slippers. I lost a hold of the convoy that left Adam’s house, as the compound was crowded. I walked towards the entrance of the hall, all eyes looking at my outfit weirdly. Once I got to the door, the bodyguards stopped me.
“Show invite.” One demanded, staring at me strangely and completely undressed for the event.
“What invite? I came to see my fiancé. They told me he would be here.”
“Madam, move back!” One of the guests shouted at me from the front of the crowded entrance. “This is not your entrance. Can’t you see the waiters’ entrance is on the other side?”
Eh me? Waite—
I looked down at the invitation card in the guest’s hand, and my eyes almost burst out of my skull. I grabbed the card and on it was boldly written:
The Wedding Ceremony of Adam Obaseki and Oyinkansola S. Aderibigbe.
The world around me froze, like a bright light flashing before my eyes and taking away the senses out of my body.
The invitation card fell out of my hand. This must be a dream. This must be nothing but a mad joke. That was not my Adam. It cannot be.
I found myself walking away, trembling, to only God knows where, not caring about the insults that the same guest hurled at me for dropping their invitation card.
I could not think. I could not feel. I could barely breathe. If I was not careful, I might collapse and die on the floor right now.
Adam!!!
I found myself bumping into everyone and everything that came across my way. I searched for his face but could not find him. Until I found myself at the back of the marquee building, where the waiters and caterers gathered around the food for the guests.
“Sister, can I help you?” An older waiter asked me, looking at me up and down, “Do you work for Eden’s Catering too?”
“No, I—” Then I came to my senses. I looked at him with wide eyes. “Actually, I forgot my uniform at home, but madam said I should still join you people for work today.”
He looked at me strangely for a moment before nodding his head, “There is one extra shirt at the back of our van. Hurry and get to work.”
That was how I found myself waitressing because of man. After I changed into the blue Eden’s Catering polo shirt, I quickly followed some of the other waiters into the hall through the backdoor with a tray of food.
As I stepped towards the first table, the DJ blasted out Shallipopi’s Laho, almost bursting my ears through the speakers as the guests all rose to their feet, cheering the newest couple dancing in.
I stood at the back, stretching my neck to see the bride and groom through the small crowd around them.
And like a long paralyzing nightmare, I saw Adam, my Adam, dancing in with a white suit, his hands clutched around a petite caramel-skinned girl in a white wedding dress.
Time seemed to slow as I watched him dance and sing the song at the top of his lungs,
“Minister of enjoyment. Intercontinental, monumental, ah! We go live forever (Ever, ever)!”
And ever and ever and ever.
The echoing in my mind stopped when the waiter next to me screamed at me for dropping the tray on the ground, the guests around looking at me crazy as I stood frozen, staring at Adam with teary eyes.
All my love.
All my money.
Millions of naira. Borrowed and worked hard for.
All my sweat, tears and buckets of blood.
Was to sponsor another woman’s wedding.
No wonder Adam warned me never to post the ring or our pictures on the internet.
I was a fool.
He deceived me.
Adam worked hard in scheming me just to marry the love of his life—one I never knew existed till today. He played me for a fool. Pressed all the buttons of the stupidity left in me, making sure I never had any sense left because of the love I had for him.
But one thing was for sure.
My mumu button had an expiry date. And that expiry date was his real wedding day.
But when something was expired, there was only one inevitable outcome.
I grabbed the nearest wine bottle and broke it against the wall, turning to face Adam with the sharp remains in my hand.
Danger.
—
DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction. All characters, locations, organizations and incidents appearing in this blog are fictitious.
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