The new rent was ₦1.5 million for the flats and ₦650,000
for the boys’ quarters; it was previously ₦1.2 million and
₦500,000. When Layo read the letter, she sat down and
did a web search for houses in Ketu. Mrs Durodola had
still not paid her dues, and from the look of things, Layo
would have to find another way to source for her children’s
fees in September. She briefly thought about how their lives
would change because they could no longer afford to live in
Mr Kosoko’s compound and wished that her husband had
allowed them to purchase their own land years ago. “I will
buy my own house in Lekki,” Ken had said.
A few hours later, he found her staring into space, the
letter on her stomach.
“These boys are callous!” he said after reading the letter.
“I found some nice houses in Ketu.”
“Did you try Arepo or Wawa?”
“I…”
“You must be a joker.”
“We can’t afford to live here, Ken. We haven’t even
finished paying this year’s rent. How are we going to pay
the next one in six months?”
“Madam calculator. So you want us to move to Arepo?”
“I said Ketu…”
“You should have said Redeemed.”
She reminded him of the children’s fees and all the
other expenses before them, but Ken was unmoved.
“I, Ken, will never go back in life. From Surulere, I’ll
move to Lekki. From Lekki, I’ll move to Banana Island
You’re too quick to give up, and that’s my problem with
you. Just watch and see how I will take care of it.”
“Where did you get the fifty thousand you sent them? I
thought you didn’t have money. What’s the point of proving
we have money when we know we don’t?”
Ken didn’t respond.
Saheedat opened her EasyInvest app and checked the status
of her investments. Then she set a new savings goal and called
it Extra on House Rent. For the next six months, ₦30,000
would be deducted from her salary, and at maturity, all her
savings would go to her debit card account. She would pull
another ₦120,000 from her emergency funds to make up
the rent and readjust their savings plan for the next year.
Ibrahim was behind her on their bed, watching. It was
impressive the way she handled their finances so expertly.
He was certain that he would have been bankrupt, had
he not allowed her to structure their finances the way she
did. Saheedat had a spreadsheet that tracked their monthly
income and expenses. From a glance, he could see how
much he was required to set aside every month and how
much they had saved towards their IVF. They had spent
over a million on one cycle without result, and now they
were saving towards a three-cycle package of about two
million naira.
It was a pity that his family did not care for her
shrewdness. She had not conceived in the five years they
had been married, and it was unacceptable to them. For
this reason, she was not welcome at family events or allowed
to speak when she bothered to show up. It didn’t help that
they were of different tribes. He was from Kogi and she
from Osun. He held her when the situation overwhelmed
her and reassured her that she was enough, but it was not
enough.
His mother urged him to marry another woman, but he had
never seen himself as the husband of two women. Although
he always firmly opposed the idea, Saheedat knew that time
was running out and her anxiety was slowly eating away at
their marriage. The IVF was all she cared to talk about these
days.
The TV was on, but Kosiso wasn’t watching it. She had upset
Saheedat and she knew it. She tried to justify her outburst,
telling herself that Saheedat really couldn’t understand
because she wasn’t a mother, but deep down, she knew all
her friend had said was true.
You’re all Kene has.
This was what had annoyed Kosiso the most. Saheedat
may not have realised it, but the statement was the reality
Kosiso did not want to face — that she was alone and solely
responsible for Kene. Although she made a decent living
as a copywriter, her current lifestyle was way above her
paycheck. For starters, her daughter’s school cost thousands
of dollars, she shopped often, went on multiple international
trips, and had social commitments that cost a lot of money.
With the increase in rent, Kosiso had an extra burden
to add to her existing pile of responsibilities. September was
coming, and if she did not make up with Ayo, she would
have to enrol Kene in another school. She couldn’t imagine
having to explain to the school that she couldn’t afford the
fees. The way she saw it, she had two choices before her:
make up with Ayo or hustle harder to get more international
clients who could pay higher fees.
Ayo was a disappointment, but she wondered if her
pride was more important than her financial stability. Kosiso
remembered how much her life had changed when her
father died. Two pieces of meat had become one, and even
that eventually became non-existent. Her mother moved
them to a two-bedroom apartment in a shady part of town
and enrolled her and her siblings in a public school eleven
kilometres away. Kosiso remembered weeping profusely
when the English teacher couldn’t pronounce genre.
Do you really want the same thing for Kene?
She picked up her phone and opened her chat with
Ayo. He had sent a voice note, telling her how desperate he
was to see her again.
“We belong together, Kosi. Okay, just let me know
if we’re still going to Paris this summer. I already made
reservations. I need to cancel if you guys aren’t going to
be there.” He paused. “You’re killing me, Kosi. Just say
something, okay?”
Kene was supposed to celebrate her birthday during the
trip, and Kosiso did not have a more appealing alternative.
She sighed and typed: What do you want from me?
He responded: I’ll come over to yours tomorrow afternoon.
We can sort this out.
…. to be continued.
