You see ehn… the day my husband embarrassed me in front of his family, I begged the ground to open and swallow me. But ground say “Lailai, collect your breakfast with your chest.”

That day, I died small. But I resurrected with sense. Nigerian woman sense. You know that version of you that’s quiet because she’s in love? I buried her that day and brought out my ancestors.

Let me gist you.

I was that “wife material” they write motivational quotes about. Always covering my husband in front of my people. Always defending him, carrying him like raw egg. Na me dey always say, “Baby is tired,” “Honey didn’t mean it,” “Please let’s not judge him.”

I used to beg my own parents to understand him.

Until one Sunday afternoon at his family compound I can never forget. It was supposed to be a simple lunch. I made efo riro, pounded yam and bush meat. I even helped bath his junior sister’s twins. Washed their plates. Joined his mum in the kitchen. Even gave his father money for his meds.

Next thing his elder brother started cracking a ****** joke about how I was “barren” and should focus more on producing children instead of seasoning meat. And do you know what my husband did?

He laughed.

Laughed o!
Not nervous laugh. I mean loud “my-brother-you’re-too-much” type of laugh. Like say dem just pop champagne.

He laughed and said, “You know say this one no dey hear word, always forming independent woman.”
His mum chuckled and said, “She needs deliverance. That’s how these Lagos girls behave.”
And his younger sister added pepper, “No be so we talk am before he marry am? She dey do pass herself.”

I looked at my husband. My eyes begged him to stop the disrespect. But instead, he turned to me and said, “Don’t take it personal na. We’re just playing.”

Playing??? On top my womb?! My dignity?!

From that moment, I changed.

I became HER. The version of me that removes wrapper, ties trousers and enters ring.

Gone was the soft babe. I returned his energy without blinking.

You come back home late? I no ask you anything. I sef dey enter 10pm with high heels and a sachet of shawarma.
He said I wasn’t cooking again? No wahala. I shifted the pots to one side and downloaded Jollof Plug on my phone.

He wanted war, I gave him military parade.

One night, he sat me down. Looking confused.
“Baby, what did I do wrong?”
I gave him the kind of stare that says, “Na today your eye clear?”

I said, “You did everything wrong. And your apology is ten guests late.”

Still he tried to gaslight me with puppy eyes. That day I turned to Odogwu the 1st of my father’s compound.
I told him straight:
“If you’re looking for a fool in love, go back to your village square. This one don graduate with certificate in war tactics.”

Next thing… his family began planning new wife for him.
Yes! They thought they could frustrate me to leave so they could bring in someone more “traditional”.
Even brought one slim girl to visit I gave her food laced with pure silence and sideways eyes.

You know when they saw I wasn’t moving? They started pretending to be nice. Fake “how are you?” and “hope you’re fine.”

Mtcheew. Who their fake care help?

His mother called one night to tell me, “My son is losing weight o. Is everything okay?”
I replied, “Maybe you should add more crayfish to his soup next time you call him to your house.”

But guess what? The tide turned.
My husband? He saw the light. The same family that laughed with him were now using his head to play ludo.
He realized I was the only one who ever truly cared.

He started begging.

“Please come back. Let’s start over.”
I said, “Oya rent house far from your family compound and let peace reign.”

And shockingly, he did it.
He relocated us. Got a job. Stood up to his family.

His mother visited without notice once… tried to raise her voice.

My husband looked her dead in the eye and said,
“Mummy, you can spend the night. But my wife is not your house girl. If you’re hungry, the kitchen is that way. Cook what you like. Or order online.”

The woman almost collapsed.

His siblings were speechless. I just stood, arms folded like Patience Ozokwor in a Nollywood finale.

LESSONS:

1. Don’t let love make you lose yourself.
2. In-laws can smell weakness. Be wise.
3. Respect in marriage is earned, not begged.
4. When you switch character, switch well.

If you’ve ever dealt with in-laws that thought you were soft, drop a comment.
Tag that your stubborn sister-in-law let her come and read wisdom


Abeg, if ground ever refuse to swallow you just

Who is playing this disco in my kitchen,

When a woman that is interested in you asks, "Do you live alone". This is the picture she wants to recreate with your shirts and polo.

Dear women, we love it! We love to come home to you, dressed like this. Wearing that lipgloss combo, a smiling face, nice perfume, neat and painted nails, and then the smell of our favorite dish from the kitchen.

We love to come home to peace.

Today, we turned our kitchen into a playground of creativity and crunch!

With my little chefs by my side, we crafted three delightful recipes using NASCO Whole Flaked Cornflakes. From crunchy NASCO candy to pancake sandwich and yummy parfait, every bite was filled with love and laughter.

Cooking with kids isn't just about the food, it's about the memories we create together.

Now, it's your turn to join the #NascoCrunchAndCreateMeal challenge! Visit @nascocornflakes for the criteria.

Let's spread joy, one crunchy bite at a time! Happy Children's Day from all of us.

Array of Meals prepared:
*Recipe 1 - Cornflakes candy
* NASCO Whole Flaked Cornflakes
* Sugar
* Sprinkles
Steps
1. Melt 1 cup of sugar in a pot
2. Pour 2 cups of NASCO Whole Flaked Cornflakes into a bowl
3. Pour in the melted sugar
4. Mix properly
5. Mould into rounds or any preferred shape
6. Coat with colourful sprinkles.

*Recipe 2 - Pancake Sandwich
* Mini pancakes
* Strawberry jam
* Banana
* NASCO Whole Flaked Cornflakes
* Strawberries
Steps
1. Spread the mini pancake with strawberry jam
2. Layer with sliced bananas and crushed NASCO Whole Flaked Cornflakes
3. Add another mini pancake
4. Garnish with sliced strawberries

*Recipe 3 - Parfait
* Sweetened yoghurt
* Apple
* Banana
* Strawberry
* NASCO Whole Flaked Cornflakes
Steps
1. Add 2 spoons of sweetened yoghurt into a cup
2. Layer with chopped apples, strawberries, bananas and crushed NASCO Whole Flaked Cornflakes.
3. Add in another 2 spoons of sweetened yoghurt
4. Repeat the process till the cup is almost full
5. Garnish with strawberries and crushed NASCO Whole Flaked Cornflakes.

#NascoCrunchAndCreateMealChallenge
#ChildrensDayWithNasco
#ChefMunaAndChefSomto

THE SECOND PROPOSAL
PART 4
The world slowed to a crawl as Emeka cradled Chioma’s limp body in his arms. Her skin was cold, her breathing shallow. The word she had whispered—"Poison"—echoed in his skull like a death knell.
"Chioma! Stay with me! Look at me!" He tapped her cheek, but her eyelids barely fluttered.
His mind raced. Did Nneka poison her? How? When?
Then he remembered—the cup of tea on the table when he walked in. Nneka had been holding it, offering it to Chioma with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
"You must be thirsty after all that talking," she had said.
Emeka grabbed his phone with shaking hands and dialed emergency services. The operator’s voice was calm, but every second felt like an eternity.
"We need an ambulance NOW! She’s not breathing properly—I think she’s been poisoned!"
He dragged Chioma to the couch, propping her head up. Her pulse was weak, her lips slightly blue. He remembered basic first aid from a company training—keep her awake, don’t let her sleep.
"Chioma, listen to me," he begged, gripping her hand. "You have to stay awake. Do you hear me? Stay with me!"
Her fingers twitched in his. A weak squeeze.
She’s still fighting.
While waiting for the ambulance, Emeka’s eyes darted around the room. The teacup—where was it?
Then he saw it.
On the side table, half-empty. Nneka must have taken it with her when she left. But there was still some liquid left.
Evidence.
He grabbed a plastic bag from the kitchen, carefully tipping the cup into it without touching the rim. *Fingerprints.* If Nneka had done this, he wasn’t letting her walk away.
The paramedics burst in minutes later, their uniforms crisp, faces grim. They took one look at Chioma and immediately strapped her to a gurney, hooking her up to an IV.
"What did she ingest?" one asked, checking her pupils.
"I think it was in her tea," Emeka said, handing over the plastic bag. "My ex-fiancée gave it to her. She just left—you have to find her!"
The paramedic’s expression darkened. "We’ll alert the police. You ride with us."
Lagos General Hospital was a blur of white walls and fluorescent lights. Emeka paced the waiting room, his mind replaying every horrible moment.
Chioma was pregnant. She lost their baby. And now… this.
Had Nneka known? Had she planned this all along?
His phone buzzed—a message from an unknown number.
Unknown: "You should have chosen better."
His blood turned to ice. Nneka.
Before he could respond, the doctor emerged from the emergency room.
"Mr. Emeka?"
He stood so fast his chair clattered to the floor. "Is she—?"
"She’s stable," the doctor said. "But it was close. We found traces of a fast-acting sedative mixed with something more dangerous. If she had drunk the whole cup…" He didn’t need to finish.
Emeka’s legs nearly gave out. "Can I see her?"
Chioma lay in the hospital bed, small under the thin blanket, an oxygen tube in her nose. But her eyes were open.
When she saw him, tears welled up.
"I’m sorry," she whispered.
Emeka sat beside her, gripping her hand. "You have nothing to apologize for."
"I should have told you… about the baby… about Nneka…"
"Shhh," he said softly. "Just rest."
But Chioma shook her head weakly. "No. You need to know… Nneka didn’t just break us up. She stalked you. After I left, she made sure no other woman got close. She paid people to warn them away."
Emeka’s stomach twisted. That time Ada suddenly ghosted him. The way Bisola had acted strangely after one date.
"She’s obsessed, Chioma whispered. "And now that she’s lost you… she won’t stop."
Two officers arrived, taking Emeka’s statement. They confirmed the tea was laced with a dangerous cocktail of drugs—enough to hospitalize, maybe even kill.
"We’ve issued an arrest warrant for Nneka," one said. "But she’s vanished. Her phone is off, her accounts emptied."
Emeka’s jaw clenched. "She’s not done."
As night fell, Emeka stepped outside to call Amaka. The hospital courtyard was quiet, the air thick with the scent of rain.
Then his phone buzzed again. Another message—this time with an attachment.
A photo.
Of Chioma’s hospital room. Taken minutes ago.
Unknown: "You can’t protect her forever."
Emeka sprinted back inside, heart hammering. Had Nneka been here? Was she watching them right now?
He burst into Chioma’s room, startling the nurse.
"We have to move her. Now."
Chioma’s eyes widened. "What’s wrong?"**
Emeka showed her the photo. Her face paled.
"She’s coming for me," she whispered.
Emeka gripped her hand. "Not if I stop her first."
TO BE CONTINUED...

Join me in my kitchen you will love it

Mama Toto and the House Help from Instagram

One sunny afternoon in Dar es Salaam, Mama Toto was cleaning the house like a soldier at var. She was tired, sweating, and mumbling to herself, Haiya! I need a house girl or I’ll run away to the village!

Later that evening, her husband, Mzee Kito, came home smiling like he had just won the lottery.

Mama Toto, he shouted. Since you’ve been crying about needing a house help, guess what? I found one

Mama Toto rushed out, wiping her hands on her kitenge, ready to hug the new helper. But the moment she saw her everything changed.

The house help was a curvy lady in a tight yellow dress, high heels, full makeup, and carrying a suitcase that looked more expensive than Mama Toto’s entire kitchen.

Eeeeeh, Mama Toto screamed. Kito, are you mad? That’s not a house help, that’s an Instagram model

B-but… she said she can clean and cook, Mzee Kito stammered, already sweating like a goat at Eid.

Rudi na yeye. RUDI, Mama Toto shouted, chasing them with a slipper. I’ll wash, I’ll cook, I’ll even dig the garden, That one is not a maid that one is competition, PAP

As Mzee Kito ran back to the gate with the house help dragging her suitcase in confusion, the neighbors peeked over the fence laughing, and Mama Toto stood proudly at the door like a lioness protecting her territory.

Be careful when your husband offers to "help with house chores. You might end up with more drama than a Swahili telenovela

THE LAST PROMISE
FINALE
The knock on Mary’s door came just as the sun was setting, casting long shadows across her small living room. She knew who it was before she even looked through the peephole—Aunty Biola. The woman who had been like a second mother to her. The woman who had betrayed her.
Mary took a deep breath, her fingers tightening around the phone in her hand—the same phone that held the damning messages between Kelvin, Andre, and Aunty Biola. She had read them over and over, each word cutting deeper than the last.
She opened the door.
Aunty Biola stood there, her face pale, her hands clutching her handbag like a lifeline. She opened her mouth to speak, but Mary cut her off.
"Come inside," Mary said coldly. "We need to talk."
Aunty Biola stepped into the house, her eyes darting nervously around the room. She froze when she saw Andre tied to the chair, his face bruised, his clothes disheveled. His head hung low, but he looked up when he heard her gasp.
"Aunty Biola…" Andre whispered, his voice hoarse.
Mary ignored him. She turned to Aunty Biola, her eyes burning with fury.
"You knew," Mary said, her voice shaking. "You knew Kelvin paid Andre to pretend to love me. You were part of this… this scheme!"
Aunty Biola’s hands trembled. "Mary, my daughter, please—"
"DON’T CALL ME THAT!" Mary screamed, slamming her hand down on the table. "You are not my mother! A real mother would never do this to her child!"
Aunty Biola flinched, tears filling her eyes. "Mary, Kelvin was dying. He was desperate. He didn’t want you to be alone—"
"HE PAID A MAN TO LIE TO ME!" Mary roared. "AND YOU HELPED HIM!"
Aunty Biola swallowed hard. "I… I only agreed to check if you were happy. Kelvin gave me the money to give to Andre—only if I saw that you were truly smiling again. That’s all!"
Mary’s chest heaved. "And what about this*?" She grabbed Andre’s chin, forcing him to look at her. "Did Kelvin pay you to sleep with me too? Was that part of the deal?"
Aunty Biola gasped. "No! Mary, no! Kelvin would never—"
"But he did!" Mary pointed at Andre, her voice breaking. "He made me believe he loved me! He made me fall for him! And you knew!"
Aunty Biola fell to her knees, tears streaming down her face. "Forgive me, Mary. I never thought it would go this far. Kelvin just wanted you to be happy. He didn’t tell Andre to—to do that."
Mary turned away, her vision blurring. She couldn’t even look at them anymore.
After a long silence, Mary spoke again, her voice icy.
"Transfer the remaining 2.5 million to my account. Now."
Aunty Biola looked up, shocked. "What?"
"You heard me," Mary said. "That money was meant for my happiness, right? Then it’s mine. Transfer it. Now."
Aunty Biola hesitated, but the look in Mary’s eyes made her pull out her phone with shaking hands. A few taps later, Mary’s phone buzzed—a notification confirming the transfer.
Andre, still tied to the chair, lifted his head weakly. "Mary…"
She turned to him, her face unreadable.
"I know I was paid," he said, his voice raw."But somewhere along the way… I did fall in love with you. It wasn’t part of the plan, but it happened. I swear it."
Mary stared at him, her heart pounding. She wanted to believe him. She *wanted* to. But how could she? After everything?
"Get out," she whispered.
Andre blinked. "What?"
"I said GET OUT!" she screamed, grabbing a knife from the kitchen and cutting the ropes binding him. "BOTH OF YOU! GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!"
Aunty Biola scrambled to her feet, helping Andre stand. He swayed, his body bruised and weak, but he didn’t argue.
At the door, Aunty Biola turned back, her face pleading. "Mary, please—"
"GO!
The door slammed shut behind them.
Mary sank to the floor, her body shaking with sobs. The house was silent again. Empty. Just like her heart.
She had the money now. She had the truth.
But what did she really have?
A love that was bought. A trust that was broken. A future that was built on lies.
She wiped her tears, took a deep breath, and stood up.
She would find her own happiness. Real happiness.
And this time, no one would decide it for her.
If you were in Mary’s shoes, could you ever forgive Kelvin, Andre, and Aunty Biola?
- Kelvin thought he was helping, but he paid a man to manipulate her emotions.
- Andre claims he fell in love, but he lied to her for money first.
- Aunty Biola kept the secret, watching as Mary fell deeper into the lie.
Comment below—what would YOU do?
The End.

THE LAST PROMISE
PART 12
The knock on Mary’s door was loud, insistent. Boom. Boom. Boom. It vibrated through the small living room. Mary knew who it was before she looked through the peephole. Andre stood there, his face tight with anger and confusion. He looked rumpled, a small bandage stark white on his temple where she’d hit him.
For a moment, Mary froze, her hand trembling on the door chain. The image of those damning messages – "Pretend if you must," "5 million Naira," "I know my job" – flashed behind her eyes, hot and sharp. Then, a cold, hard calm settled over her. She took a deep breath, wiped any trace of emotion from her face, and opened the door.
"Andre," she said, her voice flat, devoid of warmth. "What do you want?"
"Why?" he demanded, pushing past her into the small sitting room without waiting for an invitation. He looked around, his gaze landing on Kelvin’s framed photo on the side table. "Why did you run out like that? Why didn’t you wake me? What happened?" He turned to face her, his eyes searching hers, still holding a flicker of the concern he’d perfected. "You scared me, Mary."
Mary closed the door slowly, the click echoing in the tense silence. She leaned against it for a second, gathering the storm inside her. "I needed air," she lied, her voice still unnervingly calm. She walked past him towards the small kitchen area, her movements deliberate. "Sit down, Andre."
He hesitated, watching her, a frown deepening the crease between his brows. Something was off. Her stillness was unnatural. But he sat heavily on her worn sofa, sinking into the faded Ankara fabric cushions. He ran a hand over his face, wincing slightly as he touched the bandage. "Mary, talk to me. What’s going on? Did I do something wrong?"
Mary didn’t answer immediately. She stood near the entrance to the tiny kitchen, her back to him. Her gaze fell on the heavy wooden pestle resting in its mortar on the counter. It was smooth, worn from years of pounding yam. It felt solid, heavy in her hand when she picked it up silently.
"I just..." Andre started again, shifting uncomfortably.
That was when Mary moved.
She spun around, a silent blur of fury. Andre barely had time to register her movement, to see the glint of hard determination in her eyes that was nothing like the woman he knew, before the pestle came down. THWACK. The heavy wood connected solidly with the back of his head, right next to the existing wound. His eyes rolled back, a grunt escaping his lips before he slumped forward, unconscious, sliding off the sofa onto the woven rug.
Mary stood over him, panting, the pestle still raised. Her knuckles were white around the smooth wood. She watched his chest rise and fall for a moment, ensuring he was out. Then, she dropped the pestle with a clatter that sounded unnaturally loud in the quiet room.
She worked quickly, efficiently, fueled by a terrifying, focused rage. She dragged Andre’s limp body back onto the sofa. From a cupboard, she pulled out a coil of strong, rough rope she used for tying firewood bundles. With hands that shook only slightly, she hauled his arms behind his back and tied his wrists tightly together. She then tied his ankles together, securing the knots with brutal efficiency. Finally, she used a shorter length to tie his bound ankles to the sturdy wooden legs of the heavy armchair she then heaved him into. He slumped in the chair, head lolling to the side, the bandage stark against his skin.
Two hours crawled by. Mary sat opposite him in another chair, Kelvin’s thick leather belt coiled in her lap like a sleeping snake. She didn’t move. She barely blinked. Her eyes were fixed on Andre, cold and hard as stones. The rage hadn’t faded; it had settled into a deep, icy river flowing through her veins.
A low groan finally broke the silence. Andre stirred, his eyelids fluttering. He tried to move his arms, his legs, his brow furrowing in confusion as he encountered the rough bite of the rope. His eyes flew open, focusing blearily on Mary. Confusion turned to shock, then dawning horror as he realized his situation. He struggled against the ropes, the chair creaking.
"Mary?!" he gasped, his voice thick. "What… what is this? Untie me! What are you doing?"
Mary didn’t answer. Slowly, deliberately, she stood up. She uncoiled the leather belt, the heavy buckle dangling. The sound of the leather sliding free was ominous.
"Andre Udo," she said, her voice low, trembling not with fear, but with suppressed fury. "You have exactly five seconds to tell me the whole truth. Every single word."
"Mary, please! Untie me! This is madness! What truth?" His eyes darted around the room, wide with panic now.
"Five," Mary counted, her voice flat. She took a step closer.
"Four." Another step. The belt hung loose at her side.
"Three." She raised the belt slightly.
"Mary, stop! What do you want to know?" He was straining against the ropes, his face pale.
"Two." The buckle glinted in the light.
"ONE!"
The belt whistled through the air and cracked across his chest, right over his heart. Andre cried out, a sharp, pained sound. The thick leather bit through his shirt.
"AGH! Mary! Stop!"
"Why did Kelvin pay you?" Mary demanded, her voice rising. She raised the belt again. "THE TRUTH!"
"He… he wanted you to be happy!" Andre gasped, flinching as she drew back again. "He paid me to make sure you weren’t alone! To be your friend!"
CRACK. The belt landed on his shoulder. "LIAR!" Mary screamed. "I saw the messages! ALL OF THEM! He paid you FIVE MILLION NAIRA! To PRETEND!"
Andre recoiled, the shock of her knowing evident on his face. "Okay! Okay! Yes! He paid me! He paid me to be there for you, to make you smile, to… to help you move on!"
CRACK. This time across his arm. "Move on HOW?" Mary spat. "By making me FALL IN LOVE? Was that part of Kelvin’s grand plan? Did he pay you to SLEEP WITH ME, Andre? DID HE PAY YOU TO GET INTO MY BED?"
The question hung in the air, raw and ugly. Andre stared at her, breathing heavily, sweat beading on his forehead. Shame warred with fear in his eyes. "No!" he finally choked out. "No, Mary! Kelvin never… he never asked for that! He never paid me for that! He just said… make her feel loved. Make her happy. That’s all! He didn’t specify…"
"Didn’t SPECIFY?" Mary shrieked, the fury erupting again. She brought the belt down again and again – on his arms, his chest, his legs. *CRACK. CRACK. CRACK. Andre cried out with each blow, trying to curl away, but the ropes held him fast. Bruises were already blooming through his thin shirt. "You LIED to me! Every single day! Every touch! Every sweet word! It was all FAKE! BOUGHT AND PAID FOR!"
She paused, panting, the belt held high. Tears streamed down her face now, mixing with the sweat. "Did you EVER care? Even a little bit? Or was it ALL just a job? TELL ME THE TRUTH NOW!"
Andre slumped in the chair, defeated, broken. He looked up at her, his eyes bloodshot. "It was a job," he whispered, his voice raw. "Just a job. Kelvin offered good money. A lot of money. He was desperate. I needed it. I’m sorry, Mary. I’m so sorry. But… no. I didn’t love you. I was paid to make you believe I did."
The words landed like a final, crushing blow. The cold fury surged again, hotter than ever. "Sorry?" she hissed. "SORRY?" She raised the belt with every intention of making him feel a fraction of the pain he’d caused her.
But a wave of exhaustion hit her, so profound it made her sway. The belt felt impossibly heavy. The sight of him tied up, bruised, pathetic – it wasn’t satisfying. It just made her feel hollow. Sick.
She lowered the belt, her shoulders slumping. The fight drained out of her, leaving only a vast, aching emptiness and the bitter taste of betrayal. She stumbled back, dropping the belt onto the floor with a thud. She needed someone. She needed the truth to be heard by someone else.
With trembling hands, she pulled her phone from her pocket. She scrolled through her contacts, her vision blurring. She found the number and pressed call, lifting the phone to her ear.
"Aunty Biola?" Her voice was a broken whisper, thick with tears. "Aunty Biola, please… please come to my house. Now. It’s urgent. It’s about Kelvin… and Andre. Just… please come. Hurry."
She ended the call and sank to her knees on the rug, facing Andre but not seeing him. She wrapped her arms around herself, rocking slightly, silent sobs shaking her body. The storm had passed, leaving only devastation in its wake. The rope marks on Andre’s skin, the discarded belt, and Mary’s shattered form were the only evidence of the terrible reckoning that had just unfolded. The silence that followed was heavier than any blow.
TO BE CONTINUED...