Chapter 8: Silent Treatment

Ifeoma start her silent treatment—her number one move.

For our house, once silent treatment land, na another world. No food, no greeting, just cold breeze. If I cough, she no dey answer. If I talk, she dey move like ghost.

Anytime we fight, she go use am force me surrender.

She sabi say I no fit bear am. I go try find her for kitchen, dey beg, dey talk soft. She go walk pass me like say I dey invisible.

Mama Nkechi fit pass, shake head, whisper for corridor, "These young couples, wahala too much."

Two years ago, for her birthday, I send person buy her designer bag.

I try do surprise—order the bag from Instagram vendor, wrap am, hide am under bed. That day, I dey expect hug, kiss, maybe even small dance.

But when she get am, she no happy at all. She just squeeze face, keep quiet, disappointment full her face.

She no even talk thank you, just dump bag for chair, dey carry phone dey press.

I no understand. I beg her tire before she finally talk say she no like the colour.

After three days, as I dey beg, she finally open mouth, "Na pink I like. You just buy anything. You no dey reason wetin I want." My heart cut.

I say make I change am, she say I no care, I no dey listen—if not, how I go miss her colour?

Her voice low, but e pain me. I try explain, she no gree hear.

After that, she slam door waka.

Her wahala dey always follow with door slam—wall go vibrate, even neighbour go look window.

She ignore my calls, no reply my message.

For WhatsApp, blue tick go show, but no reply. I go dey talk to myself.

I worry, drive round town find her.

I no sabi which side she go. I dey call her mama, dey call her friends. My head dey hot.

Till late night, I see her WhatsApp status—she dey celebrate birthday with Musa and their gang, dey blow candle, chop cake.

I see video—music dey play, everybody dey laugh. My wife dey smile, dey dance, Musa dey beside am, dey hold plate.

She and Musa head close, cream full their face, dey smile anyhow.

Na play, but e pain me. Cream full face, dem dey pose for picture. If you see am, you go think say na couple.

For table, na the exact bag she want, with caption: “The man wey try pass, na him fine pass.”

My heart break as I see the bag for table, pink colour, shine. Caption dey pain me: "The man wey try pass, na him fine pass." Everybody dey like am, dey comment.

She ignore me for days, no talk, no look me, like say I no exist.

I go dey pass her for corridor, she go dey look phone. House cold, silence everywhere.

I beg, buy more gifts, finally she forgive me.

Na after plenty beg, call, kneel down for parlour, she talk say she don forgive. But I no forget the pain.

But this time, I no gree.

For my mind, I dey tell myself, 'E never reach make I dey beg. She go tire.'