The Thunderbolt Wife.
Art by Solen Feyissa on Unsplash.
Alhaji Kayode ate the masquerade’s meal on a Sunday morning, in the early hours of twilight, when the clouds were devoid of the celestial bodies. Loud wails emerged from his one-storey building, and the community gathered towards the commotion. Alhaji Kayode had been a healthy and jovial man who made jokes with everyone and called the children on the street pet names.
When the community arrived at the house, Iya Muniru, Alhaji’s first wife, was on the floor, her wrapper tied haphazardly, while the women rushed to cover her nakedness.
“Ha Alhaji Kayode, No be so you tell me o.” She lamented.
“Pele,” the women comforted. “It’s your husband who has left you, not God. God is the husband of the widow. Pele.”
Their words added fuel to Iya Muniru’s grief. She screamed and jumped around like a madwoman, hot tears streaming down her fat, chocolate-dark cheeks.
“If I catch that wicked girl,” Iya Memunat, the second wife, blurted. Unlike Iya Muniru, her grief was interwoven with rage — a three-headed dragon that could only be abated by the lynching of her husband’s latest wife.
Madam Bisi, the neighborhood gossip and owner of the one and only provision store on the street, dragged Memunat to a corner of the living room.
“Where is your Iya Kekere, your father’s new wife?”
“Shey Aunty Rihannat? She has Japa oh!’ Memunat replied before bursting into tears again.
“Is she the cause of your father’s death?” Madam Bisi asked.
“Wa Omo mi,” Iya Memunat called unto her daughter, “Go and fetch water for me from the claypot.”
Madam Bisi smiled as she watched the little girl go. Iya Memunat must have suspected her probing into answers the family was not ready to surrender yet. If only she knew that she had provided the required response to Madam Bisi’s questions and suspicions. Madam Bisi put two and two together and boom, the answers germinated like an ear of corn explicitly blessed by the gods. A missing wife, a husband who was hale and hearty, his recent death from the bigmouthed magun charm, and the sudden disappearance of Rihannat, his new wife, the carrier of the said thunderbolt.
Brimming with the pleasure of knowing, Madam Bisi joined the rest of the women in consoling Iya Muniru and the rest of the wives. It was truly a sad thing that they were losing their breadwinner all because he could not keep his giant phallus inside his pants.
The sun rose into the crystal-blue sky, and with dawn came Alfa Rilwan and his pupils.
“Assalamualaikum!”
“Alaikum Salam Wabarakatu!” the people greeted back.
“Eyin Jamaa, Amon ku oro eniyan.” The Alfa greeted.
“Eshe!” The family of the deceased replied.
“Toh! Where is the dead body?” Alfa Rilwan asked, and Boda Kamal stood up from his chair. He led the Alfa and his pupils to his brother’s bedroom. Alhaji Kayode’s corpse lay oblong on the bed like a jigsaw, a wrapper tied around his torso. The Alfa’s pupils wrapped him in white cloth and carried him out with the mosque coffin.
They are followed by a parade of mourners and Muslim faithful in the community. At the cemetery, the community men and some of the Alfa’s pupils had already dug a quick grave. They threw in Alhaji Kayode’s corpse, and the Alfa said some Quranic verses and talked about the brevity of life and the importance of doing good. The deceased’s family screamed and cried as the Alfa’s pupils returned the sand into the grave. Iya Muniru yowled like a wounded puppy as she tried to join her husband in the grave. Strong hands held her back, and the gathering comforted her with their words. Iya Soliu, Alhaji Kayode’s third wife, screamed as the Alfa’s Pupils dusted the mud from their shovels. She hit her legs against the red earth, her baby bouncing on her back.
Once the funeral was completed, the Jamaa dispersed to their various houses, where they discussed how great a man the deceased was. Later in the day, women sent their children down to Alhaji’s house with coolers of food and cold drinks.
The police arrived in the evening, questioned the family, and all hands pointed to Rihannat, Alhaji Kayode’s last wife. She was, after all, the one warming Alhaji Kayode’s bed when he joined his ancestors in heaven.
“Why would she run if she did not kill our husband?” Iya Memunat asked with eyes full of conviction.
“Nothing is established yet,” The policeman in charge replied.
“She is just saying, Oga Sikiru, it’s the oyinbo who says, there is no smoke without fire,” Iya Ayo, Alhaji Kayode’s fourth wife, suggested. Unlike the rest of the first three wives, she had gone to a college of education and was a teacher at the neighborhood primary school.
The police went down to Rihannat’s family's house at Oko-Erin. Iya Memunat was the one who took them there. They arrested her parents when they did not find her at home. Rihannat showed up at the police station a few days later.
When the police questioned her, she swore she did not kill her husband despite all the threats from the officers. Her testimony remained the same.
The police believed her. She had no motive, and one of her husband’s siblings had given a testimony on her behalf. She was freed, and the case was closed. The conclusion was that Alhaji Kayode had died from heart failure. It was not the first time someone was dying during sex for such a reason.
Rihannat returned to Alhaji Kayode’s house on Thursday Evening. A heavy rain had descended on Ilorin the afternoon before, and the sky danced with an abundance of flying termites. Children caught them in pans and roasted them near their mother’s firewood. The women watched in curiosity as she unloaded her belongings from the tricycle and made her way to the door of the house. Iya Memunat blocked the entrance, her body rocking in anticipation of a fight.
“Where do you think you are coming?” Iya Memunat asked, pushing the younger girl back out into the verandah.
“Please, please, I do not have time for your wahala, Iya Maryam or whatever they call you.”
“Ha,” Iya Soliu said.
“What a rude radarada!” Iya Ayo added, smacking her hands together.
“You are very stupid, shey you know?” Iya Memunat said matter-of-factly.
Rihannat hissed and tried to push her out of the doorway, but Iya Memunat pushed back, giving her a resounding dirty slap. Rihannat returned the favor almost immediately, her palm connecting with Iya’s Memunat’s pawpaw-yellow cheeks. The two pounced at each other with tiger-like fury, fists flew, and nails tore into skin. Realizing that their friend was losing due to her age, the other wives joined in and pushed Rihannat to the floor, raining down front and backhand slaps on the younger woman. Rihannat tried to fight back, punching them in the guts like her ex-boyfriend had taught her.
“Stop! All of you, stop it!” Boda Kamal’s voice thundered above the chaos. “Oya, leave yourselves now.” He ordered, and the women obliged.
Iya Memunat huffed at Rihannat, whose black hijab had been desecrated with mud, her eyes puffy and red-rimmed.
“Inside now! Compulsory family meeting.” Boda Kamal said to them, and they followed him into the living room. “On your knees, all four of you?”
The four women went on their knees, Iya Memunat and her gang snapping their fingers at Rihannat.
“Where is your Iyale?” Boda Kamal asked, turning to the children of the house who had followed him in.
One of the children ran out of the living room and returned with Iya Muniru a minute later.
“Ha Baba-oko-mi, Good evening sir,” Iya Muniru greeted with a bent knee. She rubbed her sleepy eyes and sat down close to her brother-in-law.
“I bo lewa ti awon radarada yi fi damu adugbo? Ehn, where were you when they were disgracing my elder brother’s memory?”
“I was sleeping, Baba-oko-mi, as you know, I told your brother when he was bringing all of them in, I have no business with orogun and all its trouble.”
“So you are still yet to forgive him after so many years. He is dead oh, Iya Muniru. You are the eldest wife in this house, and I advise you to start acting like it. I can not always be here to settle disputes o.”
“Maybe you should have advised your brother all those years then,” Iya Muniru said, standing up, “Ewo Baba-oko-mi, I have no business with these women and their wahala, the one who married them is dead, and I am still mourning him. Please, let me mourn in peace.” With that, she walked out of the room and ignored her brother-in-law as he called her back.
“Iya Muniru! Iya Muniru! Iya Muni…I will lock your matter in a jar,” He turned to the remaining women, “So what did you people see in the pot that made you put the locust beans in your hand?”
Iya Memunat smiled, and then she began her speech, “Thank you for that question, Baba- oko-mi. It’s our people who say it’s he who asks the oracle that the oracle answers. Please can you explain to us why this witch is in our husband’s house?”
“And you are very stupid for that question,” Boda Kamal replied, and Iya Memunat and her cronies let out an “ah”, their mouths wide open in endless wonder. “Ehn, if you are not stupid, you will not ask me that question. Was it not in your presence, your husband…my brother married her?”
“She killed your brother,” Iya Memunat stated matter-of-factly.
“And how do you know that?”
“She has magun on her body,” Iya Soliu answered on everyone’s behalf.
“Did you put the magun on her body?” Boda Kamal asked.
“Me,” Iya Soliu asked, pointing at herself. “Why would I do such a thing? Olo’un maje.”
“If you did not put it on her, I will advise you to stop peddling such a claim. My brother, as we all know, died from heart failure while doing his duty as a man.”
“Iro, Lailai, you will not twist the truth o! That stupid girl killed our husband because of her promiscuity, only God knows who placed the magun on her.” Iya Memunat shouted like Iya Muniru; she was around the same age as Boda Kamal, and she was not really scared of the small man.
“You this useless woman, may your mouth not land you in prison, say amen.” Boda Kamal said, his index fingers pointing at Iya Memunat in an accusatory and threatening manner. “Okay, let’s even say my brother died of magun, do you know how disgraceful that is on our family name? The Aditulaye family has decided not to dwell on what is and what is not. My brother is dead, and we will not find out whether the police's postulation is true or not, but I will advise you, honor that wish, or bear the brunt.”
All of them were silent as they pondered on what had been said. Boda Kamal adjusted in his seat. He lowered his face so that it would be on the same level as the women on their knees. “I told this woman to move back to her husband’s house as our culture and religion demand, she will mourn him for the three months like the rest of you. I advise you all to let that sink into your hollow skulls.” He turned to Rihannat, who was sporting a bleeding cheek. “I apologize for their insolence, it’s my brother who has gathered mad people with the crowd.”
“Thank you, Baba-oko-mi.” Rihanna said with a triumphant smile.
The other women sneered, but they maintained their position until Boda Kamal stood up and walked out. They dispersed into their various rooms with curses and insults on their tongues. Rihannat stood up and went outside, where she carried her load and walked back into the house. She ignored the eyes in the shadows of the hallway, watching her and hoping she tripped and died.
When she was done packing, she took out her phone and messaged Boda Kamal.
Thanks for today, my love, she texted.
You are welcome. When can I see you next? Boda Kamal asked in return.
Soon.
Rihannat scrolled through their previous message, a shadow of mischief engraved on her features.
He is dead, finally. She had texted her brother-in-law as her husband tumbled three times and became as hard as his giant phallus. It had been her idea to kill Alhaji Kayode, the greedy man who took his brother’s lover because he could. It took a lot of nudging to convince Kamal to kill his brother, but he came along eventually. It was he who suggested they use the thunderbolt charm. Something a court of law would deem superstitious and non-existent.
A laugh escaped her throat, the explosive vocal sound travelling through the hallways into the room of the other women. Sheeps! Rihannat thought to herself. She checked her purse for the passport and visa she and Kamal had secured with the money in Alhaji Kayode’s account. In three months’ time, she would be in the United Kingdom with her new husband. But first, she had to play-pretend as the widow of a stupid man, and so she did.
