My Young Wife And I (Intro)

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What is it like to be a polygamist in modern-day Nigeria? Find out in this story, in which Nowa, the narrator, marries a young, second wife in middle age...

In a few months time, I will be 65 years old. At this stage in my life, one would expect that I would be free of such relationship issues like heartache, betrayal, lack of trust and other matters of the heart that lots of people face in life. 

 But it's not so. A few months ago, I was stabbed in the back, betrayed by someone I loved with all my heart and soul and invested so much in. 
 The traitorous person, the snake who has caused me so much pain is none other than my wife, Timi. Timi was my life, my sunshine, the one who made me wake up with a smile on my face each morning. I believed she loved me too and would be by my side for the rest of my days. How wrong and naive I was!
  
 Looking back now, perhaps I should have known this would happen considering the differences between us especially the age gap. You see, I met Timi when I was close to 60; that was eight years ago. She was very young then, about 23, just fresh from school and as pretty as one of those models one sees in those glossy magazines. How did a young girl like that with so much going for her, end up with a man like me, that was old enough to be her father? Who already had a wife and children?

 It's a long story and I think I should start from the beginning...

We met when I was still working, before my retirement. It was in a government parastatal and I had been posted to our office in Port-Harcourt a few years before. I was a very senior staff then, the second in command at the office. There was a day I had gone out of the office to see someone and on my return, I had met the receptionist having an argument with a lady. She was dressed in the white and khaki uniform of the NYSC (National Youth Service Corps).

"Madam, I've told you several times, but you've refused to accept it. My boss said we don't have any vacancies here. We have enough youth corpers serving here and we don't need more. So, please go!" she ordered. 
"Please, aunty, try to help me. All the other places I've been to rejected me. Where do I..." the young lady was saying when I intervened.

"What's going on here?" I queried.
They both turned in my direction, the receptionist quickly standing up on recognizing me.
"Welcome, sir!" she greeted cheerfully.
I looked at the lady, then turned to the receptionist, who was called Vero.
"Is there any problem?" I asked again.

 Join us later today for the continuation of Nowa's story

To be continued...

Names have been changed to protect the identity of the narrator and other individuals in the story.


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