I was nicely, gently coming out of church, my Pastor’s sermon still running around my brain, when my phone notified me that a certain Deputy Inspector-General of police had called me three times. That was strange. Usually I do the calling, almost always. I am the one who needs bailing out of tight corners. So I quickly called back.

“Are you watching this discussion on television?” He asked.  I rushed to YouTube to catch up, and lo and behold, the discussion was about ejaculation, masturbation, outsourcing, erectile dysfunction and so on.

Come on, why was a DIG watching programme? He was always looking so tough and stern that I sometimes wondered if he does anything apart from chasing bandits and robbers. Well, he’s a man first before he’s a top cop. But why did he want to spoil my fresh anointing on Sunday morning with all this talk about ejaculation and masturbation? Again, sperms and how they leave the body are natural facts and what happens when they don’t are cold reality.

Let’s unpack the box. The discussion was how men need to ejaculate 21 times in a month to keep prostate cancer away. Yeah, a certain research actually established that. I am not a scientist but I strongly suspect that there was no woman on that research team. I smell a deep conspiracy here. The men are out for us. They are ganging up against their wives. That’s how and why they sponsored this kind of research. They need a science-based excuse to hang their wives’ legs 21 times a month. They need their doctor’s prescription to turn and flip their wives like burger 21 times in a month. Who does that, except wicked men?

It is okay if the woman is a new bride or young, like she’s 25 or 35, maybe, just maybe she will be able to come through with the 21 times a month regimen. If a woman’s libido is high and her man knows how to keep her wet and happy, she may even attempt to keep up with a hot-loined man. Note, a man must keep his woman wet and happy to achieve 21 ejaculations. He must know what buttons to press, what switch to flick, what knobs to rub to wake his wife up.

However, even if the woman is young and able, what about the distraction of her other duties? What if there are toddlers demanding her attention, a career that demands travelling, a business that requires endless back-break hours, and of course, keeping the home running? How does the man find space to fit in his quota? What if a woman’s libido is incapable of 21 high jumps and her husband’s PSA and DHT are blinking red? He should be allowed to outsource! Outsource kinni (what)?

Take our jointly owned tool to another, or many other farms to work!? Helloooo, do you know any wife who will willingly let his husband outsource her duties? Even if it will kill us, we will lubricate and hang our legs to keep our staff in office. Yes, some women are strong, they can cope even with a daily dose.

I had a colleague whose husband wanted sex everyday and she coped. Lazy me, I used to watch how she walked because I thought daily sex will alter your gait, the way you walk, but Kiki told me it strengthened their marriage. Now that she’s in her mid-50s I need to ask her if Bobo is still as freaky-freaky as he was.

I told you men had something to do with that research. Didn’t I? They were just looking for science-backed reasons to go global with this outsourcing angle. Soon, they will approach the National Assembly to put side chics and second wives into our laws to negate that section that says they can go to jail if they legalize the outsourcing. Bad guys. Selfish lot.

Because the doctors have said that any organ of the body that does not regularly flush itself will start retaining toxins, does it mean we can now start issuing license for men to throw their weights and lengths around?

What about Catholic priests who are sworn to celibacy and do not ejaculate? Will prostate cancer kill all of them? Then how are we going to deal with masturbation in all of these? Masturbation will lead to ejaculation. But it is addictive. Isn’t it? Addiction is another sickness. Then there is the religion part. I’d like to know which of the churches in Nigeria, at least, that does not see masturbation as a sin. I know two churches where those who are ‘under the yoke of masturbation’ will be told to undergo three to five days of intensive deliverance. It is a demon!

But seriously, I feel sorry for men. They need to ejaculate 21 times. They have wives who are constantly saying they are tired or have headache. They have pastors who say masturbation is a demon that needs to be cast out of them. They have pastors who also tell them that side chics and second wives are sin. Meanwhile, their doctors are brandishing DHT (Dihydrotestosterone, a male sex hormone) flag and threatening them with PSA tests. Poor guys. They are caught between a rock and a hard place.

This is my judgement, guys, find a way, any way to make your wives wet and happy and then ejaculate 21 times (or even more) every month. It is less expensive and most importantly less stressful. Most men are not endowed with the wisdom and resources to manage outsourcing.  If a man is already having problems keeping his headquarters running, opening a branch office is only foolish.

Wait, what if a man has erectile dysfunction and his wife has a high libido? Shouldn’t she also outsource instead of suffering in silence? Yes, in the spirit of general fairness, if he can’t cope, she should find a side dick to assist him keep the energy primed and the engine running.

I came in peace. I’m going in peace.

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The post INTIMATE AFFAIR: 21 ejaculations per month, as how? appeared first on Frontpageng.

A playboy can play the field forever or till his penis drops off, or whichever one comes first. A play-girl? No she must retire quickly, indeed, before everyone notices what she does for a living.

A playgirl, a runs-girl, a courtesan or a high class call girl must know when to stop. Only dumb girls play the field endlessly. Is any playgirl reading this? Or is someone reading this who knows a playgirl? Pull her ears and tell her to pull back. A girl is expected to be cool and good. This society, indeed, the African society does not take kindly to bad girls, even when it is the society that made them bad.

Girls are not just expected to become playgirls just because life is tough. We are supposed to be as strong if not stronger than our mothers. It does not matter that the society looks the other way when it pats men on the back for being able to pay for their ‘playthings’ , women still get blamed for the badness of everybody involved. And there are many people involved in the making of a playgirl or runs-girl. Yeah, like her parents who accept food items and gifts from their unemployed 18-year-old daughter.

So, is today about call girls and play things? Well, not totally.  But it is about when to stop doing what is bad because it is time to try a good one. That a path is familiar and easy ride does not mean it will take you to a beautiful destination. Living a soft life is nice and cozy but it does not mean it is a good thing. Actually, soft life doesn’t last forever for girls. A comfort zone won’t always be comfortable. All soft girls with no vision and plans for tomorrow will eventually land hard on their backsides because they bought no cushion for their future.

Little girl, so your breasts are firm and pointy now and your sugar daddies are sucking and complimenting you, you think that’s gonna last forever? How dumb can you be? Sugar daddies are wired that way. They are designed to suck and suck and compliment soft girls for their soft bosoms so they can suck some more. They are paying for the firm pointy thingies but because they want firm things, they do not stick around once what they are holding is no longer firm and succulent. Never mind that they contributed to the loss of succulence, many men just don’t want saggy ‘droopy’ stuff.

Yes, that’s why they left Madam at home. Because the once-upon-a-time firm twin peaks are no longer standing right. They are now looking at Madam’s toes.

Little lady, your cleavages won’t always be that tight and  your tummy won’t always be firm. Your life won’t always be soft. You have predecessors and your successors are already lined up. You have a tenure and trust me, your impeachment will not be announced or debated. A soft girl’s tenure on the soft lane usually ends abruptly.

A more beautiful, better stacked girl will come on the scene. Her skin will be spotless, her straight and smooth legs disappearing into very voluptuous hips that leave a righteous man thinking unrighteous things. In case you still don’t understand, picture this:  one day, Chief is all over you, and the next you can’t reach all his lines.

That’s it. He has sworn-in your successor. It is what it is. No matter how delicious roasted corn is, nobody keeps the corn cobs. No matter how sweet an orange is, once the juice has been sucked and the fruit is flat, the dustbin or trash can is its next destination.

I confess that this piece was inspired by this young lady who used to flaunt her latest iPhone. I used to see her on my street. I was attracted to her attractiveness. Last week, she greeted me and what she was holding was a small, really small phone. Yes, the #15,000 one. Her iPhone was stolen at a party and the torchlight phone was all she could afford. I later learnt that her ‘yahoo’ boyfriend has moved on to a more succulent orange and sisi is generally broke.

See? She’s been impeached without notice and given no opportunity to defend herself. That’s the way the cookies crumble.

Bone-straight wigs in all length, latest iPhones and skimpy dresses are the worst items a runs-girl can focus on. They are transient fashion. What we are wearing now, what’s in vogue now will be out next season. That you can tell a man to jump and he asked how high does not mean he will always be that attentive. As soon as your breasts start bowing before their maker and he’s bored with your wheel barrow position, access to his money may dry up. Omoge, buy yourself a plot of land instead of a dozen lace-front wigs. Start a business instead of investing only in phones. Improve yourself, take online courses and get out of the whore-zone.

Tell yourself, you are better than being any man’s plaything, because you are. Channel your skill-to-charm into acquiring further marketing skills. Don’t just sit on your pretty backside and wait to be thrown out of an apartment one man rented for you. Save yourself some water before the well dries up, because it will.

Convincing yourself or letting your fellow lazy bones friends convince you that this soft life is forever is one of the greatest disservice you can do to yourself. Your assets are depreciating. Your shares will lose value and you will eventually find out that a full bottle of foundation and concealer will not be able to conceal your age. Life will retire you and whether you hand over the baton in this relay race or not, you will be done one day, totally done.

Madam Kept-Woman, your High Chief keeper is most likely a lover passing by. He’s spoiling you now but don’t let it get into your head. You are already in your 40s. Shine your eyes. Owambe every Saturday shouldn’t be your priority. Aso-ebi every month means you are not as smart as you look. How much have you spent on Ankara, lace, Gele, Aso-Oke and Damask in the last six months. Do the math and ask yourself where you are wearing those ‘uniforms’ to in the next six months. Because Otunba is generous this year doesn’t mean he’ll be next year. As an older woman, you should be smarter, not fritter away this benevolence. You won’t always be this desireable. Your sweet thing will not always be this sweet either.

Seriously, apart the terminal date of a woman’s sweetness and firmness, why will a runs-girl want to be a runs-girl forever? Only lazy dumb ones think that milk has no expiry date.

Me, I have seen bad girls become great wives and mothers because they knew when to stop. They took what they acquired and put it into what can last. They invested their knowledge and charm into making their marriages work. That is why you hear such questions as: Why do bad girls end up with the good guys? It is because some bad girls know when the evening market is over. They go home when they can still locate their wares. They invest wisely instead of paying for acquired bums and breasts. They invest their charms in their men and homes. They retire before they are retired.

*Egbemode (egbemode3@gmail.com)

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The post INTIMATE AFFAIR: Girl, your sweet thing won’t always be sweet appeared first on Frontpageng.

There is a kind of madness that possesses some men once fame, money and power arrive. They suddenly believe they can buy anything: houses, cars, chieftaincy titles, even other human beings. Even another man’s wife becomes, to them, a “challenge”, something to conquer.

That is where trouble begins.

There are single, ready-to-mingle women everywhere. There are widows. There are divorced women. There are desperate, beautiful single ladies dancing all over Instagram, hawking their natural and unnatural endowments. Why then do men who should know better, especially young rich and famous men, deliberately target married women?

Oh ok, it is their love for wrapped pap and forbidden fruits. Not because they lack options. No. It is because there is a dangerous aroma around a married woman’s thing, plus puff-puff ego that comes with power. The thrill of “taking what belongs to another man.” Foolish thrill. Yoruba elders knew all about that thrill before racy Fuji star, Abass Akande Obesere, sang that those who do not have antidotes for vomiting should not eat cockroaches. In other words, there are men who find cockroaches crunchy and will eat them without vomiting but bro, they are not many. Crunchy cockroaches, like married women, cannot be eaten by every man. It is food for the elders. Boys who do not have the ring and-plated armour will end up with bloody mouth and or broken teeth.

Many of these adventurous guys think it’s just acquired taste. They think it is ordinary enjoyment. No dude, you are playing with oogun-abenu-gongo, that is juju that has been drenched in monstrous concoction. A go lie for you?

Listen to me before magun enters the equation.

Listen to me before ghosts step out of the bedroom walls and arrive at midnight.

Take my advice before your contracts and endorsements disappear.

Run before death shows up to haul you off to realm you are not prepared for.

Nigeria is full of silent stories. Promising men who fell because they entered another man’s bedroom through the back door. Musicians. Politicians. Businessmen. Pastors. Actors. Footballers. Men who thought they were untouchable.

A married woman is not just a woman. She is somebody’s covenant, somebody home, somebody’s pride and emotional investment. Some husbands may cry quietly and walk away. Others may forgive. But some men? Ah! Some men carry thunder inside their chests. Not every husband fights with fists but the words under their tongues can cut the most virile man into unrecognisable size

Chief Bode was the definition of soft life. Big hotel in Abuja. Two petrol stations. Range Rover with police escort. Gold chain heavy enough to anchor a fishing boat.

Women followed him like ants chasing sugar and he sweetened them up after flipping them like burger.

Then he met Angela.

Angela was beautiful in the dangerous way. Skin smooth like fresh pawpaw. Voice like radio presenter. Waist that could make a pastor forget his sermon notes.

Problem was Angela was married.

Her husband, Emeka, was a quiet trader. Calm man. Respectful. The kind of man people underestimate because he does not make noise.

When rumours started flying around that Angela was sleeping with Chief Bode, Emeka ignored them. But Lagos gossip is like smoke from firewood; once it starts, the whole street smells it.

One evening, Emeka invited elders and warned his wife quietly.

She laughed.

Chief Bode laughed louder.

“You know who I be?” he boasted in a bar one night. “No husband fit threaten me.”

Three weeks later, Chief Bode landed in a private hospital, in a shameful shape.

The story spread across town like wildfire.

They said during one of his secret visits to Angela’s apartment, the mighty chief suddenly became trapped during the act. Sweating. Shouting. Foaming. His sugar stick refused to come out of the honey pot. They said it was magun.

Whether it was true or not no longer mattered. Nigerians had concluded the case before sunrise.

His political ambition died instantly. The same people who drank champagne with him now mocked him behind his back. WhatsApp groups finished him completely. His wife packed out quietly. The Church Elders Council suspended him and the members stopped greeting him altogether.

A once arrogant Yoruba who thought he had magun antidote ended up with a stuck third leg in another man’s something, because he entered another man’s garden with dirty slippers.

Some husbands fight with juju.

Some go after the intruder with their contacts and stay on his case until they reduce him to nothing

Both can destroy a man completely.

Kelvin Blaze was a superstar musician. Hit songs. Endorsements. Concerts abroad. Young boys copied his hairstyle. Young girls screamed whenever he sneezed.

Success entered his head.

He started sleeping with women recklessly, especially married women. To him, it was proof of superiority.

“Na celebrities dey collect married women now,” one of his foolish friends joked.

Then he met Lillian, wife of a wealthy transporter in Onitsha.

The affair became hot quickly. Expensive gifts. Dubai trips. Secret apartment in Lekki.

But Lillian’s husband was not an ordinary man. He was connected to rough boys. Real street boys. Men whose smiles looked like warnings.

One Friday night, Kelvin Blaze left a club around 2 a.m. feeling untouchable.

Halfway home, two vehicles blocked his convoy.

What followed was the kind of beating that makes a man’s ancestors squirm in shame in their graves.

No gunshots.

No killing.

Just raw punishment.

They beat him until one eye closed like faulty generator switch. His right arm fractured. They smashed the windshield of his Bentley and left him bleeding beside the road.

The message they delivered was simple:

“Next time you touch another man’s wife, na cemetery go settle the matter.”

His management team lied to the press that he had “minor accident injuries.”

But industry people knew.

Endorsement brands quietly distanced themselves. One telecom company refused to renew his contract because of “reputation concerns.” Show organisers became uncomfortable around scandal.

The superstar started declining.

All because he mistook another man’s wife for a free buffet table.

Sometimes the punishment is not immediate.

Sometimes karma waits patiently like a hunter inside the bush. Alhaji Kareem was a wealthy importer. Powerful contacts. Big warehouse. Friends in government. He loved women too much.

Especially wives of powerful men. To him, it was sport.

His closest friend warned him, not once. “One day, you will enter where death is waiting.” But men intoxicated by power rarely listen.

Then he began an affair with the wife of a very influential politician. Not ordinary politician. The kind whose phone calls can move police commissioners like chess pieces.

People warned him.

He continued.

His two wives at home begged him to stop.

He refused.

Then one evening, Alhaji Kareem vanished.

Just vanished.

His car was found on Benin-Ore Road. Driver untouched. Security man untouched. But the businessman himself disappeared like smoke.

Till today, nobody knows exactly what happened.

Some said kidnapping.

Some whispered assassination.

Others said powerful forces decided to erase a disgrace quietly.

The truth died somewhere on a lonely dark road, at night.

But one thing became clear: some men are too powerful to insult in the language of adultery.

There are husbands who can forgive betrayal.

There are others who can destroy destinies with a single phone call.

Many men think adultery is just bedroom enjoyment. It is not.

Sleeping with another man’s wife is like carrying petrol near open fire. You may escape once. Twice. Ten times.

But someday? Boom. You’re gonna burn.

Because adultery does not travel alone. It comes with fear, lies, blackmail, scandal, violence, pain, plenty of pain .

The married woman herself may become dangerous. Today she says she loves you. Tomorrow she is demanding money. Next week, she is threatening exposure. Everything is possible on this cocky show.

Some celebrities have lost careers because of leaked chats and hotel videos.

Some businessmen have lost contracts because clients hate scandal.

Many pastors have lost their calling and churches to uncontrolled desire.

Some politicians have lost elections to cocky scandals.

And some men have lost their lives.

The most foolish sentence a rich man can utter is: “No man can touch me.”

History laughs at such arrogance. Ask kings who died over women.

Ask generals destroyed by forbidden love. Ask mighty men buried by secret affairs.

Even in the Bible, kingdoms scattered because powerful men could not control desire.

There is a special stupidity in pursuing a married woman when millions of single women exist. Why deliberately drink from a poisoned cup?

Why build enjoyment on another family’s tears and sorrow?

Why gamble your future because of temporary pleasure?

The truth many side lovers ignore is this: some married women are not looking for love. They are looking for escape, revenge, money, excitement or emotional attention. And when crisis comes, the outsider is usually sacrificed first.

The woman may return to beg her husband. The side cock will face his disgrace alone.

A wise man avoids complicated pleasure. Because every married woman comes attached to a husband, children, extended family, emotions, secrets and possible danger.

That danger may be spiritual.

It may be physical. It may be financial.

It may also be all of the above, and final too.

My final warning to young men out there who think married women are easy catch. They are dangerous because they are threaded needles.

Men should stop behaving like goats tied beside vegetable gardens.

Control yourself.

Not every smiling married woman is an invitation.

Not every flirting wife is available for harvest.

See the lipstick as bait.

See the sweet voice as a trap.

The bedroom leads directly to destruction.

Protect your name.

Protect your future.

Protect your hard-earned fame and name, your life.

*Egbemode (egbemode3@gmail.com)

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The post INTIMATE AFFAIR: Cocky cock eating from married women’s pots appeared first on Frontpageng.

It is another sad day in Nigeria.

Another dark day.

His only sin was that he woke up and went to work, something he had been doing for years. If he had known what that fateful day had in stock for him, he would have stayed in bed. But he did not. He had no way of knowing that the monster we thought lived only in the forests of the north had finally built a hut in the south west.

Michael Oyedokun a schoolteacher left his house in Oyo State to go to work. He did not carry a gun. He was not a soldier marching to a battlefield. He was not a criminal fleeing justice. He was not a politician with enemies or political detractors.

He was a simple teacher, a man who carried books instead of bullets. His daily assignment was to help shape young minds and help children find a future brighter than the present darkness surrounding Nigeria. He taught mathematics, a major subject needed to birth the next generation of engineers and pilots, doctors and nurses, tech pros and climate change experts.

But before the day ended, terrorists reportedly captured him and hours later, ended his life in the most gruesome manner. The darkness of Nigeria consumed him, leaving all of us bewildered.

Mr Oyedokun’s only offence was going to work.

That single sentence alone should break the heart of every decent human being.

In sane societies, teachers are protected because they build civilization. Nations honour teachers because they prepare the next generation. Didn’t we all grow up in communities that respected them because every doctor, lawyer, engineer, journalist, governor and president once sat before a teacher in a classroom?

But today’s Nigeria is beheading its teachers. Today’s Nigeria is not safe, not for pupils or their teachers. How did we arrive at this cruel, sorry pass, this evil junction of blood where a man can leave his home in the morning to educate children and never return alive? What kind of people does that make us?

As far as this girl is concerned, this is no longer just insecurity. It is organized cruelty. It is the systematic destruction of human dignity. It is evil in human form. Those we call criminals are demons, monsters. Or is it not beyond frightening wickedness that there are human beings who can hold another human being down for his head to be severed head as though his life meant absolutely nothing? Doesn’t that level of brutality belong in nightmares, in horror films? Why then has it become a recurring reality in Nigeria?

It is easy to call out President Tinubu.

It is convenient to blame this on Governor Seyi Makinde. But let us ask ourselves, who are the people providing cover, funding and guns for these demons? Somewhere, as you read this, someone is leaking, selling sensitive information to kidnappers. Someone is selling them daily supplies. Someone is making tons of money from this evil enterprise. They know people will die, blood will be shed, yet they don’t care.

What kind of darkness possesses man that makes him comfortable spilling innocent blood? What happened to mercy? What happened to conscience? What happened to humanity?

Teacher Michael was someone’s son, a husband, a father, a breadwinner, a family’s hope until his head was taken to prove a point.

This is the kind of tragedy Nigeria now produces with such frightening regularity and we are gradually becoming emotionally numb, exhausted. Every week comes with fresh horror.

Dear Lord, please don’t let the remaining victims return to us headless.

A farmer goes to his farm and never returns.

A trader’s blood is splattered on her wares in the market.

A nursing mother is abducted.

Students disappear on highways.

Youth Corp members are kidnapped in busloads.

Worshippers are shipped off in the middle of church service.

Villages are invaded in the middle of the night.

Children watch helplessly as their parents are slaughtered before them.

Entire communities sleep with fear wrapped around their throats.

And now, a teacher has been beheaded simply because he went to work.

The dead are almost never the powerful.

They are ordinary Nigerians struggling honestly to survive.

The victims are the people who still believe in hard work. People who wake up every morning hoping to feed their families legitimately. People who still believe dignity can come from labour instead of crime.

But in today’s Nigeria, honesty itself seems endangered. What are we going to do?

The tragedy of this latest killing becomes even heavier when one remembers how poorly teachers are already treated in the country. Many work under terrible conditions. Poor salaries. Broken classrooms. Leaking roofs. Inadequate teaching materials. Yet they continue showing up every morning because they have to, someone has to .

Society hands children over to teachers daily with one request: help shape the future.

And this is how Nigeria rewards one of them.

By allowing him to become another corpse in the growing cemetery of national sorrow.

Somewhere sadly as you read this, Teacher Michael’s wife is staring blankly into darkness, unable to understand how life changed so brutally, so quickly. The children are waiting for a father who will never walk through the door again. Somewhere, his relatives are crying and asking questions nobody can answer.

How does one explain this kind of death to a child? How does the Oyedokun family recover from this horror?

How do communities heal after repeated exposure to terror? The emotional destruction caused by terrorism goes far beyond the bodies left behind. Violence destroys the invisible structures holding us together. It destroys confidence. It destroys trust. It destroys peace of mind. It destroys hope.

Some weeks ago, I alerted us about the steady movement of these demons towards the South through Kwara state. I wrote about the less than two-hour drives and 90-minute journey between horror and once-upon-a-time safe places. The Kwara abductions frightened me sh-tless, I must confess. I told a friend the name of the town these monsters may be headed. He laughed. Well, he is not laughing now, trust me. This thing has finally gotten out of hand. Don’t bother telling me anything different. The monster is ready to go shopping in the open. It is daring us, all of us, from President Tinubu to my youngest grandchild. We must wake up and kill it, this monster. There is no second option.

The fear we live with is too much, devastating, debilitating fear. Enough is enough. Fear has now become one of Nigeria’s most dominant national emotions.

We fear highways.

We fear lonely roads.

We fear strange motorcycles.

We fear unknown phone numbers.

We fear travelling at night.

We fear forests.

We fear sleeping deeply.

Parents panic until children return home safely.

Families pray before ordinary road journeys as though loved ones are heading into battlefields.

Before you put everything at the doorstep of the current administration, think deeply about how decades of decay got us here. Let’s not be shallow. Think of the years of selfish leaders, years of no planning, no focus on tangible development. Think of those who hid behind religion to impoverish those who trusted. Where we are today was long in coming but anybody with the sense God gave a goose knew we would eventually harvest what we sowed.

We did not start looking over our shoulders overnight. It was a gradual descent into the valley of darkness and despair. We simply left undone what we should have done. We refused to learn the simple lessons; like terrorism does not only kill individuals. It attacks the spirit of a nation itself.

That farmers abandoning their farms out of fear will have ripple effects.

Businesses collapse in unsafe communities.

Schools become dangerous places. Investors are staying away. Entire villages are becoming ghost towns.

Perhaps the saddest part is how Nigerians are gradually becoming used to tragedy.

Outrage now has a short lifespan.

A massacre happens.

People cry online.

Officials condemn it.

Burials take place.

Then another tragedy arrives and pushes the previous one aside.

The dead disappear into statistics.

“Ten killed.”

“Twenty abducted.”

“Thirty villagers massacred.”

Simple numbers.

But every number was a human being with dreams, plans and loved ones. Every victim had people who depended on them emotionally and financially. Some hoped to build houses, planned to marry and have three, four children. Some wanted to send their children to school abroad, give them the great starts they didn’t get. Some simply wished to grow old peacefully.

Then evil arrived with guns, machetes and hatred and everything ended abruptly. Hopes, dreams, plan went up in smokes of pain and indescribable pain.

The danger of repeated violence is not only physical destruction. It is emotional numbness. A society constantly exposed to bloodshed risks losing its capacity for empathy. People become tired of mourning. Shock begins to fade. Death becomes ordinary.

That may be the greatest tragedy of all.

One cannot even begin to imagine the final moments of that teacher’s life.

Perhaps his wife reminded him not to be late returning home.

Perhaps his child asked him to bring biscuits after work.

Perhaps he left home believing it would be another normal day.

Perhaps he even smiled before stepping outside.

Then somewhere along the journey, terror found him.

Students will resume lessons someday, but there will always be an invisible absence hanging in the air. A chair in the staff room will carry silence.

A life once well laid out, a future once looked forward to has been snuffed out, candles of a family’s hope blown out, just like that, only to be remembered with one-minute silence moments at milestones.

Will we catch these monsters or is it already too late for us?

Dear Lord, please don’t let the remaining victims return to us headless.

*Egbemode (egbemode3@gmail.com)

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The post Beheaded teacher Michael was someone’s son appeared first on Frontpageng.

All their wives brought to the ‘table’ are banging bodies and colourful sex styles. Husbands who are treated like beasts of burden.

These are men who carry marriages on their heads like our grandmothers carried heavy pots of water from the village stream, one hand holding the load, the other hand swatting flies, necks bent, sweat pouring down their backs.

When you see these guys outside, they are smiling, wearing clean kaftans, spraying money at parties. They are suffering, smiling and muttering “God is in control.”

God may indeed be in control, but Uncle Bode is burdened, tired from picking all the bills.

Look around you, too many tired brothers who are actually not married to wives. They are married to dependents with permanent subscription to enjoyment.

Now before angry women gather firewood to roast me alive, let me quickly balance this matter. Yes, there are many hardworking, supportive wives holding families together like iron pillars. Some women are feeding homes, paying school fees, nursing sick husbands, running businesses and still doing family shopping and cooking by themselves. I salute them.

But today is not their day.

Today is for those women who think marriage means becoming Managing Directors of Sleeping and Stretching after the wedding ceremony.

Women whose only contribution to family development is changing hairstyles every other week, keeping spa appointments and providing great sex. All of that is cool and keeps the man interested but will kill the man in steady instalments.

There are wives who spend their days in pleasure, soft wives who can finish entire season of a television series in one sitting but cannot or will not do anything to support the home. Such wives exist and the men married to them are quietly dying.

The soft wife leaves her husband to pay the children’s school fees in full and still refuses to buy sports wear. In fact, something as little as End-of-the-year-party fee must still be paid by the man.

Babe, you know I need to make my hair and buy a new dress for Junior’s school party.

Babe, don’t forget to send me data and ‘buy light’.

Darling,  the two cars are due for service.

Babe, I need to change the pots, their handles are falling off.

The children’s snacks have finished.

My mum is ill, I need to send money to her.

My skin care products are finished.

I need to pay for gym.

I need a new bone-straight wig. All the ones I have are too long and wavy.

The beast of burden has to pay for everything. His wife is a billing machine.

When Tunde married Amaka, his friends envied him. Fine girl. Light skin. Sweet voice. Tiny waist. Everywhere she entered, heads turned like standing fans.

Tunde was proud.

“God has blessed me,” he would say. For where?

The gods were laughing.

Three months after marriage, Tunde discovered that his wife and hard work were enemies from their grandfather’s village.

The first sign appeared one morning.

“Sweetheart, there’s no bread,” Tunde said while dressing for work.

Amaka yawned.

“So?”

“So maybe you can quickly get some downstairs.”

“My love, must I be the one doing everything?”

Tunde blinked.

Everything?

He looked around the house. The dirty plates were his. The electricity bill was his. Rent was his. Internet subscription was his. Even the rice they ate was bought by him.

What exactly was “everything”?

But love is blind and newly married men are often deaf too. He ignored the early warning signs.

Then came unemployment.

Tunde lost his banking job during downsizing. Suddenly life became harder than mathematics without calculator.

He sat with his wife one evening.

“Baby, things are rough. Maybe you can revive your catering skills for now.”

Amaka looked offended.

“You want me to stress myself because of temporary problems?”

Temporary?

The “temporary problems” lasted two years.

During that period, Tunde became driver, delivery man, tutor, POS operator and agent of one betting company. The man hustled like ten people combined.

Madam?

She became motivational speaker.

“God will do it.” “Men should provide.” “I can’t kill myself.”

But she could kill data bundles watching TikTok from morning till night or playing ludo with the neighbour’s wife, another soft life wife.

Amaka, a.k.a Mummy Blessing bought cooked rice and beans from the hawker on credit.

She made her hair on credit.

She bought biscuits for the kids on credit.

Tunde, a.k.a Daddy Blessing had to settle everything upon his return from multiple hussles. Poor ass.

One afternoon, Tunde returned home exhausted. Rain had beaten him like a wandering stubborn goat. He had made only N5,000 all day.

He entered the kitchen.

Nothing.

No food.

He checked the room.

Madam was snoring peacefully under AC.

“Tunde, welcome,” she said lazily after waking.

“Did you buy something on your way, like bread and ankara. If not, please bring money so I can go and buy small garri and make small okro soup. The children will also need noodles and spaghetti for tomorrow.”

The man sat down quietly as something broke inside him.

Not anger. Not love.

It was that dangerous moment when a man realises he is married to himself and hypertension at 41. When Tunde left home the following morning,  he did not return.  He started a new life, alone, unmarried,  afraid of women. He sent money for the upkeep of his children every pay day. Don’t ask me about what happened to soft-life Mummy Blessing, not today. All I can volunteer is she stopped playing Ludo all day.

Many men are silently suffering.

Society does not like discussing struggling husbands. A man is expected to endure. To provide. To absorb pressure like a shock absorber.

Once he complains, people mock him.

“She has given you three beautiful children.”

“A real man should provide.”

“Are you competing with your wife?”

So many men keep quiet while drowning financially and emotionally.

A supportive wife does not necessarily have to earn millions. That is not the point. Support is not only money.

Support is effort.

Support is partnership.

Support is seeing your husband struggling and saying: “Let me reduce the pressure.”

“Let me contribute ideas. Let me manage our resources wisely. Let me stand with him.”

A lazy wife is like a jailer. She turns marriage into punishment.

She waits for the man to provide everything while contributing nothing except appetite and complaints. She breaks her man. She pushes him to his limits and still keeps pushing. What if he dies? What if she meets a supportive woman? It happens, you know.

Otunba Laoye was a successful contractor in Lagos. Money flowed like bottled water at owambe parties. His wife, Bose, became famous among her friends for one thing: money-na-water enjoyment.

Dubai today. London tomorrow. Aso-ebi every weekend.

Madam changed cars more often than some people change curtains. She did not think of investing against rainy day. She was so sure the tap would never run dry, until it did.

People admired her life.

What they did not know was that Otunba’s kind of business sometimes experience long dry spells. Contracts became scarce. Debts piled up. Change of government led to payments delays.

One night he sat his wife down.

“Bose, we need to cut costs.”

She laughed.

“Cut what costs?”

“No more unnecessary travel for now.”

Her face changed immediately.

“Ah-ah! So because business is slow, I should suffer?”

Suffer?

The woman had three housemaids and two drivers. This is a woman whose busy schedule were mostly about spa, party or vacation.

Otunba tried to explain better.

“Maybe you can support with your boutique.”

Madam’s boutique was another comedy show. Opened by 10am, closed by 1pm because “I’m tired.”

Sometimes no sales for weeks because the owner was in Abuja attending birthday party of friend’s cousin’s ex-boyfriend’s sister.

She lived large on Instagram even as the tap dropped only trickles. Let it not be heard that a whole Otunba’s wife was broke.

Then the final blow came.

EFCC froze one of Otunba’s accounts during investigation into contract payments. Overnight, cash disappeared. Many sleepless nights and anxious days later,

Otunba fainted in the sitting room.

Doctor diagnosed stress-induced raised blood pressure complications.

Did Bose change? No, she only cried loudly and called in prayer warriors. It was village people attack.

But practical support? Zero. Madam faded on social media.  Her husband became a shadow of himself.  A man married to a air-head who want to live in the lap of luxury is a man who may not live long.

Nothing finishes a man faster than hitting financial downtime without a supportive wife. What destroys many men is carrying poverty alone while their wives watch like spectators in football stadium.

Yes, women should be taken care of. Even I love spending money,  especially someone else’s money. But there is a dangerous lie spreading around, about some women thinking being “soft” means refusing responsibility entirely, thinking cooking occasionally is oppression and that helping their men financially is slavery. Not true. A wise woman is the one who helps to keep the castle running. If your man is doing well, help him to do better.

Marriage is not a retirement package.

Our mothers understood partnership better. Even with their petty trade, they contributed immensely to their homes. They woke before dawn, traded under harsh sun and still raised children.

Today some wives cannot boil water without posting: “Self-care first.”

Self-care is good but family care matters too. A marriage where one person carries all burdens will eventually crack like an overloaded bridge.

Ayo was a honest secondary school teacher on a modest salary. Decent life.

His wife, Linda, however loved appearances.

Everything had to look expensive.

She pressured Ayo constantly.

“Your mates are buying houses.”

“Your mates are travelling abroad.”

“Look at what Sandra’s husband bought.”

The woman herself worked nowhere.

Every business idea failed because Madam lacked consistency.

She sold perfumes for two weeks. Started baking for nine days. Opened YouTube channel for four uploads.

She abandoned everything eventually.

But her demands never reduced.

One December, school salaries delayed for two months. Ayo became stranded.

He begged his wife: “Please let us reduce expenses till salary comes.”

Linda exploded.

“What kind of useless life is this?”

That sentence pierced him deeper than spear.

Useless life.

From the woman eating from his “useless life.”

That evening, Ayo parked beside a filling station and cried inside his car like child.

Not because he was poor.

Because he felt unappreciated.

Men need respect the way lungs need oxygen.

A supportive wife can make a struggling man feel like a king even in his financial valley but an ungrateful lazy wife will make a hardworking man feel like a failure.

Many men no longer rush home after work. Not because of their side chicks but because their homes have become headquarters of pressure and criticism.

The hidden cost of having a lazy wife goes beyond money. There is the mental exhaustion that comes with endless bills; school fees, rent, family expectations and emotional loneliness simultaneously.

There is also the two-way loss of respect.

When a wife contributes nothing yet complains constantly, respect dies slowly from both wife and husband. The children learn wrong values like nagging and laziness. Children observe everything. The sons may grow resentful toward marriage. The daughters may grow entitled.

A lazy wife makes her husband vulnerable.

A man constantly starved of peace and appreciation becomes vulnerable to outside comfort. And there are a dozen women who want to comfort him.

Lazy  unsupportive wives are likely to be found guilty of premeditated murder in my court, if their husbands die prematurely.

Stress kills men silently. Hypertension, depression, anxiety and then one day he slumps. Many men laughing loudly at parties are actually tired souls wearing expensive perfume. They may be walking corpses for all you know.

Marriage is not a football viewing centre where the viewers enjoy while the waitresses and waiters rush up and down with beer, nkwobi and isi-ewu.

A home should be built by two people, not one person sweating while another person supervises with crossed legs.

Supportive wives are treasures.

The woman who says: “My husband is struggling, let me help.” The woman who manages money wisely. The woman who encourages instead of hurling insults. The woman who stands beside her husband during storms. Those are real women, blessings to their husbands.

Such women build empires. Even when their husbands stray, they always return home, to their firm foundation, their soft reliable cushions. But lazy, entitled wives?

Those ones reduce the most energetic and resourceful men to shadows of themselves.

And sadly, many men cannot even speak out because society will mock them.

So they endure silently, smiling outside, bleeding inside.

Marriage should not feel like carrying cement bags uphill alone.

It should be partnership and friendship where couples make mutual sacrifice.

Because when one person keeps pouring while the other only keeps taking, one day the container will become empty.

And when a man finally breaks emotionally, the world often acts shocked. The truth is nobody breaks suddenly. Long before the collapse, a man would have been sending silent distress signals nobody noticed.

Or nobody cared to notice.

*Egbemode (egbemode3@gmail.com)

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The post Sad lives of men married to lazy women, By Funke Egbemode appeared first on Frontpageng.

The ripples generated by the just-concluded 43rd edition of Boiling Point Arena discourse on the growing instability in marriages among Nigerians have continued to spread across social and intellectual circles, with participants and online audiences describing the conversation as one of the most penetrating public engagements on family values in recent times.

The discourse, themed around the mounting crisis confronting marriages in contemporary society, drew intense reactions from viewers within and outside Nigeria, many of who took to social media and online platforms to express concern over what they described as the “gradual erosion” of the true essence of marriage.

One of the strongest post-event reflections came from an observer, Erelu Tunwase Lola Ayonrinde,  a prominent Yoruba cultural Ambassador, UK-based politician, and  former Mayor and Conservative Councillor in the London Borough of Wandsworth, who described the session as a “disturbing but necessary awakening capable of forcing society to re-examine the purpose and sustainability of marriage in modern times.”

The Boiling Point Arena conversation, hosted by a seasoned media professional and public relations strategist, Ayo Arowojolu, featured two notable discussants, Apostle Lawrence Achudume, a vocal preacher, and Mrs Funke Egbemode, a popular columnist introduced during the programme as a “Professor of Marital Affairs”.

According to the reflection titled “Is There a Future for Marriages Between Nigerians?”, the discourse exposed deep-rooted moral, emotional, cultural and spiritual cracks threatening the institution of marriage.

The observer noted that contributors at the session identified widespread ignorance about the true meaning of marriage as one of the major causes of rising instability in homes.

The discourse reportedly emphasized that many people now approach marriage from a narrow perspective centered largely on sexual fulfillment, material expectations and social status, rather than commitment, sacrifice, companionship and spiritual responsibility.

Another issue that resonated strongly with audiences was the growing commercialization and flamboyance surrounding marriage ceremonies.

Speakers lamented that weddings, once regarded as sacred and solemn unions, have gradually transformed into extravagant social spectacles dominated by fashion displays, luxury spending, elaborate dance performances and public showmanship.

Participants argued that while attention is increasingly focused on the glamour of wedding ceremonies, little attention is paid to preparing couples for the realities and responsibilities of married life.

The programme also ignited robust debate over changing gender dynamics and economic independence within marriages.

Contributors observed that unlike in previous generations where many women endured difficult marriages for economic survival, financially independent women today are more willing to walk away from troubled unions rather than remain trapped in unhappy relationships.

This development, discussants argued, had fundamentally altered the structure and endurance of marriages in Nigeria.

Equally controversial was the conversation surrounding the phenomenon popularly described as “side chicks.”

One contributor reportedly stirred reactions by dismissing the term entirely, arguing instead that many such relationships merely reflect men seeking additional emotional or sexual companionship outside their primary homes, effectively creating unofficial second or third marital arrangements.

Observers say the boldness of the conversations and the frankness displayed by discussants contributed significantly to the programme’s impact.

Many viewers particularly commended the discourse for confronting uncomfortable realities often avoided in public conversations about marriage and family life.

The session also generated fresh criticism of parents and family structures, with speakers insisting that while many parents prioritize academic and financial success for their children, they often fail to provide adequate moral, emotional and spiritual education necessary for sustaining stable homes.

Since the programme aired, reactions have continued to trail the discourse across digital platforms, with many Nigerians describing the conversation as timely, provocative and deeply reflective of the growing crisis within the family institution.

Some participants said the discourse left them questioning whether society still fully understands the original purpose of marriage, while others argued that the institution itself is undergoing irreversible transformation under the pressure of modernization, economic realities and changing social values.

The latest edition of Boiling Point Arena once again reinforced the platform’s growing reputation as one of Nigeria’s most fearless public discourse forums tackling difficult national and societal issues with candour and intellectual depth.

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The post Marriage: Boiling Point discourse sparks nationwide reflection  appeared first on Frontpageng.

A heated but thought-provoking conversation on the rising menace of “side chicks,” infidelity and collapsing marriages took centre stage at the 43rd edition of Boiling Point Arena discourse, as veteran journalist, Mrs. Funke Egbemode and fiery preacher, Apostle Lawrence Achudume offered contrasting perspectives that ignited intense reactions among listeners.

The discourse, which examined the widening marital crisis in society, drew massive participation online and across multiple radio stations.

The Olowu of Owu Kingdom, Prof. Saka Matemilola, delivered brief keynote opening and closing remarks urging Nigerians to restore discipline, morality and family values.

But the defining moment of the discourse came when Funke Egbemode bluntly traced the growing “side chicks syndrome” to what she described as the greed, unchecked lust and insatiable appetite of many married men.

According to her, women labelled as “side chicks” often become convenient scapegoats while society deliberately overlooks the men who create and sustain the culture.

“Men want variety. Many are not satisfied with one woman. That is the bitter truth,” Egbemode declared during the session, arguing that numerous marital crises stemmed from male irresponsibility and emotional indiscipline rather than failures from women alone.

She maintained that some married men deliberately court younger women for ego, pleasure and social validation, despite having stable homes and supportive wives.

The veteran columnist further argued that social media glamour, materialism and the desperation for status had worsened the situation, making extramarital affairs appear fashionable among some elites.

Egbemode’s comments immediately stirred reactions when Apostle Lawrence Achudume responded from a different ideological and spiritual angle, suggesting that many of today’s secret affairs and “side chick” entanglements could have been avoided if some men embraced openness instead of hypocrisy.

In a remark that generated mixed reactions among participants, the cleric observed that traditional African society historically accommodated polygamous marriages openly, unlike today’s widespread culture of secrecy, deception and emotional manipulation.

Achudume argued that while he was not promoting promiscuity, hidden relationships and adulterous lifestyles had caused more emotional destruction than transparent family arrangements.

The cleric who is the General Overseer of Victory Life Bible Church International,  lamented what he described as the moral contradictions of men who publicly profess fidelity while secretly maintaining multiple relationships outside marriage.

He, however, stressed that regardless of societal changes, discipline, honesty and fear of God remain central to sustaining healthy homes.

He warned that unchecked sexual immorality, pride and lack of communication were rapidly destroying marriages and exposing children to emotional trauma.

The sharp contrast between Egbemode’s position blaming male excesses and Achudume’s reference to polygamous structures created one of the most engaging moments of the discourse, with callers and online participants sharply divided over the controversial subject.

While some participants aligned with Egbemode’s argument that men largely fuel the “side chick” phenomenon, others agreed with Achudume that societal hypocrisy had worsened infidelity and dishonesty in modern marriages.

In his intervention, Oba Saka Matemilola cautioned that regardless of differing opinions, the stability of the family institution must remain paramount.

The monarch urged couples to embrace sincerity, patience and mutual respect, warning that the increasing collapse of marriages posed serious consequences for society and future generations.

The latest edition of Boiling Point Arena once again lived up to its reputation for confronting sensitive societal issues head-on, leaving audiences with difficult but necessary conversations on morality, fidelity and the changing realities of marriage in contemporary Nigeria.

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The post Side chicks, sexual excesses wrecking homes -Egbemode appeared first on Frontpageng.

The live discourse, scheduled for 8 p.m. today via Zoom and simultaneous broadcast on seven radio stations across Nigeria, will examine the theme: “Marriage in Modern Times: Love, Money, Loyalty and the Crisis of Commitment.”

The programme is expected to attract a wide spectrum of listeners, viewers, family advocates, religious leaders, young couples, students and social commentators eager to gain fresh perspectives on the changing realities of marriage in the 21st century.

Expected as Guest Speakers are renowned cleric and General Overseer, Victory Life Bible Church International, Apostle Lawrence Achudume, accomplished journalist and former President of the Nigeria Guild of Editors, Mrs Funke Egbemode, as well as lawyer and cultural icon, Princess Yemi Bajowa.

Convener of the platform and media professional, Ayo Arowojolu, described the discourse as timely, considering the alarming rise in broken homes, emotional disconnection, financial tensions, infidelity, domestic abuse and declining commitment levels in relationships.

According to him, the latest edition of Boiling Point Arena is designed to provoke honest conversations capable of helping couples, intending partners and society at large to better understand the pressures threatening family stability in modern times.

The discourse, Arowojolu noted, would dissect the social, economic, moral and psychological factors fueling marital instability across different generations.

Boiling Point Arena has continued to distinguish itself as a credible public engagement forum where national and social issues are discussed with depth, candour and intellectual insight.

“Marriage as an institution is under intense pressure globally. Unfortunately, many people are suffering in silence while others are confused about what truly sustains relationships beyond emotions and material attractions. This conversation is therefore necessary and urgent,” he stated.

He further disclosed that audience participation would form a major highlight of the programme, with listeners and online participants expected to ask questions, share experiences and contribute perspectives during the interactive session.

Since its inception, Boiling Point Arena has hosted several high-impact conversations on governance, leadership, economy, education, health, media, spirituality and family life, earning commendation from stakeholders within and outside Nigeria.

Observers believe tonight’s edition may generate one of the most engaging conversations yet on the state of marriage and human relationships in contemporary society.

The discourse begins at exactly 8 p.m. and will be accessible globally through Zoom, while millions of radio listeners are expected to tune in through partner broadcast stations airing the programme live under the watch of frontline traditional ruler, the Olowu of Owu Kingdom, Oba Saka Matemilola who is to chair the session.

Partner stations include WASH 94.9FM, Sweet 107.1FM, Roots 97.1FM, Erimbe 94.7FM, Women Radio 91.7FM, Opera Tune 106.3FM and Kruzz 92.9FM, alongside cable television station NSTV on GOtv Channel 316.

Over the years, Boiling Point Arena has hosted an impressive roll call of eminent Nigerians including former President Olusegun Obasanjo, Prof. Pat Utomi, Presidential Adviser, Daniel Bwala, Prof. Toyin Falola, Prof. Wande Abimbola, Bishop Matthew Kukah, Pastor Femi Emmanuel, Akogun Tola Adeniyi, and Prof. Farooq Kperogi among others.

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The post Boiling Point: Egbemode, Achudume, Bajowa on marital issues tonight appeared first on Frontpageng.

‘He’s a politician and businessman, maybe he has joined a cult’

‘Or he is taking a new wife.’

‘Why would he take a new wife? Madam Tina is a beautiful and dutiful wife.’

‘What if he wants more children?’

“Why? He already has four.’

‘Maybe he wants more sons. Tina has three girls and only a boy.’

A lot of people made Tina’s business theirs, out of envy, if you ask me. But I did not become worried until Otunba did not travel for summer or Christmas with his family. He travelled at least three times last year, alone, yes, to the best of my knowledge. What is worse, Tina and the children did not travel at all. She is also losing weight and that elegant luster. Her face is drawn and the pretend smile and cheerfulness slip very often. She started spending more time in her supermarket and at home. Indeed, one can safely say she was withdrawing from society.

Otunba eventually opened up. And don’t ask me why and how I got him to talk. That is a book waiting to be written or a movie waiting for Netflix soon. But Otunba’s story was a sad, shocking one.

‘Tiwalade is not my son!’ He simply blurted it, with all the pain he could push into the short sentence.

How? Tiwalade, the only son, the heir, the handsome calm brilliant Daddy’s right hand man. Why? How did he know? While all that ran around my brain, I kept my trembling lips sealed. A DNA test required to process Tiwalade’s admission to a college abroad was what took the lid off Tina’s deepest and darkest secret, ruining a once loving home and beautiful marriage. But how come Tina is still living under Otunba’s roof and bearing his name? Otunba’s explanation of his silent but deadly anger is even more shocking than the whole bizarre episode.

‘How I escaped a cardiac arrest or stroke is still a miracle.’ He narrated his discovery.  ‘I was numb for days. It is still a nightmare I wish to wake up from. I mean, look at the boy, does he look like he’s not my son? I have loved him long before he was born. After three daughters, I was beside myself with joy when the scan revealed that we were finally expecting a boy. And when they handed him to me, I shed tears of joy and told him, as if he could hear me, I will love and protect him with everything until I close my eyes in death. I prayed for him from the depth of my heart, only to discover years later he is someone else’s son, that another man saw my wife’s nakedness long enough, intimately enough, to impregnate her. But how was I going to throw out the boy into the street and tell him his mother was a lying, cheating, deadly daughter of Satan? How would the girls cope if I threw out their mother? How would I explain it to the world?

‘I decided it was unfair to punish the boy for a sin two Judas Iscariots committed. I decided to keep my promise to the little boy the nurse handed over to me 15 years ago. I promised to protect him and that is what I will do until I die. As for Tina, I will punish her for the rest of my life. I have stopped eating her food or sharing her bed. She can greet me but I do not have to respond. She has lost all perks and privileges of being my wife. We will keep up the front as much as possible for the public but she is no longer my wife. She is nothing more than my children’s nanny from the day I got that DNA result. She knows all the sides of me that others do not know or see. She knows better than to cross the new lines. She will not leave this house or remarry. If she does, the consequences will be dire.’

One night, one stolen afternoon, a few bites of the forbidden fruit is all it takes to ruin a good thing. I am still sad for Tina, Otunba and all the children. It’s sad to watch all the love and warmth that once was in that home disappear in a whiff of unfaithful smoke. What made Tina go swim in another man’s waters? Why do married women go for walks bare-footed on foreign soil? Who goes sky-diving without helmet? In simple terms, why should a woman fertile have unprotected sex with a man who is not her husband? Not that I endorse wives having sex with other men but their husbands, at all, but if you must go swim in another pool, is the smart thing not to wear swim suit, at least? These women who leave evidence, lasting undeniable evidence all over their marriages, what do we call them? Careless, foolish, naive, mean or what? They break hearts, homes, ruin futures. It’s sad and unfair to all concerned. I know women who had been caught with their fingers in the cookie jars all have one explanation or excuses for this grievous sin. The lamest of them all being ‘ the devil pushed me or the devil used me’. Oh well, we never get a chance to hear the devil’s side of the story, so that’s that.

But no excuse is good enough for the mess created each time a woman ‘mistakenly’ donates one man’s child to another. The innocent child, the product of the wrong dive in the wrong pool, suffers. The woman may have ‘done it’ only once (and once is all it takes, anyway) but she suffers the consequences for the rest of her life. The man hardly ever recovers.

The real cousins of Delilah and titled Mrs Lucifer are the ones who marry one man and all the children belong to their lovers. What kind of women are those ones? Do they intentionally set out to slowly kill their husbands or what? How do they sleep at night? What do they feel each time their husbands hold lavish christening ceremonies for babies fathered by other men? The day I read the story of a celebrated sportsman from a neighbouring country whose wife generously gave three children that were not his, I felt like putting a hole in the woman’s head. Really, there should be a limit to stupid adventures.

Men are fragile, very fragile. Forget all the brave front they put up. Discovering that one of the children is not his is enough to send a man over the edge. He could go into depression, turn to the bottle or drugs or unleash his venom on every woman who crosses his path. When it comes to emotional strength and wherewithal, men are at the bottom of the food chain. Poor folks, those ones. A woman can move on with her life, career, hold on to her marriage even after her husband has impregnated his secretary or the neighbour’s daughter. Women, we are built to last. Men, they just fall apart once you touch their thing. I’m not by any means saying infidelity by men is better than infidelity by women. A cheater is a cheater and all cheaters are liable to ruin lives. Just that women handle it better.

In all, this Luciferic trend of finding Okon’s children in Ojo’s homestead should be condemned. Women, all women of good conscience must speak up against it. Women must guide against it. If you are married, please let your pool be available only to and for the owner of the pool. Fine mama, if you are still in your child-bearing years, do not take any foolish risk. Forget science and all that talk about the sperm’s inability to live beyond 72 hours. Some men look all urbane and meek but they fire mean bullets. The kind of bullets that would shake a womb and dislodge all installed contraceptive gadgets. Err on the side of caution by ensuring all bullets fired are friendly fire, home-based ones that you can explain even if Oga insists he has hung his boots. Do not, I repeat, do not leave yourself unprotected in enemy territory. And if by any chance you find yourself in a bad spot, you may follow a certain journalism rule: when in doubt, leave out. Please do not ask me to explain further.

*Egbemode (egbemode3@gmail.com)

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The post INTIMATE AFFAIR: My wife’s son is not mine, By Funke Egbemode appeared first on Frontpageng.

Koko:  Sick people.

Kaka: What kind of men leave their so-called businesses to watch women’s breasts and buttocks?

Koko:  Sex-starved, sex-deprived men who are not really busy.

Kaka: You mean those who do those things are really not well, and uncivilised?

Koko:  Trust me, they need all kinds of therapy and mind resets. I know, Kaka, I saw that video. A Nigerian woman, stripped of dignity, assaulted in broad daylight. Not in a war zone. Not in a red light district. The kind of violence we see these days belittles our morals and demeans us all.

Kaka: At first, I thought it happened in South Africa.

Koko: Oh no, whatever it is that ails South Africa is not that bad yet. Their cold is not yet Covid. It would have sat in the mouth like bitter kola.

Kaka: But those shameless lazy bones are okada riding blacks stripping women naked, forcing their legs open, in search of God-knows-what, and filming it.

Koko: Other people’s wives o.

Kaka: Those women have children, parents, siblings.

Koko: And the sick men parked their ‘okada’ to watch the show of shame.

Kaka: Real shame of shameless people. But let’s not allow perverts to distract us from calling out evil doers who forgot their roots and helpers. Who would have thought a day would come when South Africans would turn to bite Nigeria with teeth we spent sweat and money to shape and sharpen?

Koko: It’s sad and Nigerians are asking: why? What have we done? Why are our children being cut down in their prime? Why are our promising sons being returned home in the cargo cabins of planes that flew them in premium cabins to Johannesburg? Why are our hard-earned businesses being destroyed by those we once called brothers? Are we the cause of everything that is wrong with South Africa?

Kaka: Ah! The eternal Nigerian question—what did we do wrong? As if a man must commit a crime before he is lynched.

Koko: In other words, we are being lynched just because we are not South Africans? They just hate our faces?

Kaka: Your faces are enough problem, really, along with your colourful lifestyle. However, seriously, this thing called xenophobia is a disease that has South Africa by the jugular.

Since the end of apartheid in 1994, xenophobic violence in South Africa has killed at least 669 people, displaced over 127,000, and led to the looting of thousands of businesses, according to Georgetown Journal

In just the first half of 2025, there were 26 recorded incidents and 14 deaths.

Koko: As we speak in 2026, reports confirm renewed attacks, including the killing of two Nigerians and widespread violence in cities like Pretoria and Durban. Killing Nigerians seems to have become a sporting event.

Kaka: Morbid sport by sick people.

Koko: And they have refused to seek help for the unfortunate recurring disease. 2008, 2015, 2019—each wave was worse than the last. Like malaria that refuses to die because the swamp is still there.

Koko: But why Nigerians? Why always us?

Kaka: Sit well. There are reasons. Not excuses—reasons. Let us start with economic frustration. South Africa is battling unemployment. Angry young men look around and see foreigners hustling, trading, surviving and conclude:

“They are taking our jobs.”

That narrative repeated like a broken record leaves them angry but at the wrong people.

Koko: South Africa needs a scapegoat, someone to blame for their malfunctioning polity.

When a country struggles, it needs a villain. Foreigners become the convenient enemy and are being blamed for economic woes.

Kaka: There is also the issue of stereotypes about Nigerians. Let’s not lie to ourselves.

Nigerians carry a reputation—some earned, many exaggerated.

Drug trafficking. Fraud. Flashy lifestyles.

Even when only a few are guilty, the whole community is branded.

Koko: I believe jealousy is another demon in the matter.

A Nigerian opens a shop, works 18 hours, including Sundays and public holidays and succeeds.

Next thing, the sons of the soil who slept till noon and went clubbing twice a week suddenly go green with envy.

“Burn his shop.”

“He is corrupt.”

“He stole my customers.”

“All of them should go back to their country.”

Suddenly, hard work becomes a vice and envious laziness becomes a virtue. South African would choose violence every day and twice on Sunday instead of learning how Nigerians’ resilience and hardworking ways.

Kaka: A nation elects leaders they do not like and the voters hold foreigners responsible for their bad choices. Then, the inhuman opportunistic politicians also blame the foreigners for their ineptitude.

They stir pots of trouble.

Anti-immigrant rhetoric is used as campaign slogans even as they increased tension because nothing wins votes like blaming outsiders.

Koko: That is like an impotent man blaming his noisy neighbour for his inability to walk with his third leg.

Kaka: Or a man with a small staff of office envying the strength and length of his more endowed brother. That is why they concoct misinformation and rumours to demarket and demonise everything Nigerian.

One minute, it is “Nigerians installed a king”, and boom, riots. How does a leader chosen by Nigerians to direct Nigerians’ affairs become other people’s headaches? We have not forced South Africans to worship at our shrines or prostrate before our kings. Why is our boil giving them pains?

Koko: But Nigerians sef! Must an endowed man fling and flaunt his endowment in the presence of a man struggling to satisfy his wife?

Kaka: Yeah, I heard that because of this famed endowment, some South African women have left their small-sized men for Nigerian men.

Koko: Women, do they not know that such choices can start a war?

Kaka: Well, now that they have started the war, everyone is suffering.

Koko: But I’m sure, there is more to this sickness than a Strait of Hormuz and who has the best ocean-going vessels.

Kaka: Nigerians don’t hide success. We spray it like perfume. When we ‘arrive ‘, nobody is left in doubt. We arrive with drums roll, aso ebi that announces established steeze.

In a struggling society, that attracts anger.

Koko: It’s not our fault that they don’t understand us. And we do not force our aso ebi on them. We are just different. Is being different a sin?

Kaka: There’s also the issue of poor integration. Some Nigerians form tight communities, speak their languages as if it is the host country’s lingua franca, speaking at the top of their voices and running their networks like cults.

To locals, that feels like:

“They came, but they didn’t join us. Instead, they are building another nation within our nation.”

Koko: For people who still have PTSD from Apartheid, that definitely will rile them up.

Kaka: Then there are the bad eggs who took their criminal minds along to other people’s domains. The big consequences are now haunting us all.

A few criminals can destroy the image of millions and Nigerians—let’s be honest—have produced some very smelly bad eggs abroad.

Kaka: There is also the way our can-do attitude is perceived as arrogance. Our confidence is our strength but to others, it can look like arrogance.

Koko: So, are you saying Nigerians are the cause of their own misfortunes?

Kaka: No. Don’t twist it.

There is no justification for violence, rape, or killing. Understanding cause is not excusing crime. The real problem is the festering disease called xenophobia.

It is even bigger than Nigerians.

Xenophobia in South Africa is described as “deep-rooted” across society—even institutions.

It is not just about strikes or mob actions. It is about a nation’s economic failure. It is about frustrated a people taking their anger out on others. It is about the identity crisis of a people who are not sure if they are fully Africans or half-white men.

Koko: Maybe the solution question is, should Nigerians not just leave that toxic space, pack their bags and come home?

Kaka:  No, it is not that simple. Those people are not there on vacation.

Many Nigerians in South Africa run businesses. Their children are in schools. They have dependants and families back home.

Leaving would mean starting life from zero. Though staying may mean continued risking their lives.

Koko: What about self-defence?

Kaka: Careful. The moment Nigerians retaliate violently, it becomes foreigners vs citizens war.

Guess who the big loser will be?

Not the mob. Not the politicians.

The foreigner.

The most realistic way out is stronger Nigerian diplomacy, legal protection, better community bond. Nigerians living in South Africa must document the abuses because silence can invite more violence.

Koko: Let’s come back to our own house.

Where is Abuja in all this?

Kaka: Abuja is summoning envoys, issuing statements and writing strongly-worded letters as usual but the time is ripe for reactions that are faster, louder, and stronger. We can no longer speak diplomatese at violence.

Koko: Otherwise, Nigerians abroad will feel abandoned?

Kaka: Exactly. A citizen without protection is like a goat tied in a lion’s den.

Koko: Whatever happened to “Africa for Africans”?

Kaka: That slogan started dying years ago. Today, it is fully dead. Each baby now must carry his mother’s breasts himself. Every man for himself, God for us all.

What we have now are borders in the mind, unhealthy competition in the stomach, fear in the heart even when asleep.

Pan-Africanism sounds sweet in speeches but on the streets, it is about survival of the angriest.

Koko: Let us hope this new pattern of s3xual assault, public stripping will not be added into the xenophobic mix before Nigeria does something to protect its own abroad.

Kaka: When a mob strips a woman, they are not just attacking her. They are saying:

“You are not human.”

It is the final stage of hatred.

Koko: So what do we do?

Kaka: There are four things we must do urgently. Nigeria must protect its citizens globally and I mean going beyond nice-sounding speeches.  South Africa must enforce law, not mouth excuses that sound like they are condoning this nauseating nonsense because impunity breeds repetition.

Nigerians abroad must be strategic by building alliances and avoid unnecessary exposure that is often mistaken for arrogance.

All Africans must confront this hypocrisy. We cannot shout  “down with colonialism” and still practise tribal hatred.

Koko: But seriously, Kaka, are Nigerians in South Africa doing something wrong?

Kaka: Some things, yes.

But nothing—nothing—justifies being hunted like animals.

Koko: Should they leave?

Kaka: Some will. Some can’t.

Koko: Should they fight?

Kaka: They must survive first.

Kaka (quietly): The real tragedy is not that foreigners are attacked. The tragedy is that Africans have learned to hate Africans with the efficiency of former oppressors. And that, Koko, is the most dangerous import we never paid for.

*Egbemode (egbemode3@gmail.com)

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The post The sickness called xenophobia, By Funke Egbemode appeared first on Frontpageng.