Stabbed by My Sister, Married by Three Brothers / Chapter 1: Sister's Wedding, My Sacrifice
Stabbed by My Sister, Married by Three Brothers

Stabbed by My Sister, Married by Three Brothers

Author: Jessica Perez

Chapter 1: Sister's Wedding, My Sacrifice

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My younger sister get mind o! She use my birthday take marry one tall, strong army general.

You see, for our side, when woman dey plan her wedding, the whole village go dey buzz like new generator. But imagine say your own sister carry your birthday, turn am to her own wedding day, just because the general show face. The kind boldness wey Zainab get, even mama dey talk am for market. Na real wahala.

Me, on the other hand, I marry the three Okoli brothers as their shared wife.

People still dey wonder how I take manage that kind arrangement. For our town, na rare thing to see woman marry three brothers join, but my life no follow anybody script. Na story wey even elders dey gist for beer parlour. Sometimes, I go see old women for market dey whisper, their eyes full my back, dey try understand how I dey survive with three strong men. But if dem ask me, I go just smile. My own dey different.

General Musa dey guard the northern border. After my sister marry, na so she dey live like widow every day.

You know, northern border no be beans. War fit start any time, so as Musa dey go, Zainab go dey look window every evening, dey count the days. All those wrapper and gold wey she pack, na so e go dey for corner, nobody to hail am for house. Na only the sound of radio and her own footsteps dey company her. Even her shadow no get time for her.

But me, I dey enjoy—my husbands dey pamper and cherish me every night.

Sometimes, e go be like say I dey dream, because love dey my corner. My three husbands dey compete who go make me laugh pass. If dem bring yam porridge today, tomorrow na suya and fried plantain. I dey glow, my skin dey shine like oil, even children for compound dey notice say happiness full my body.

At last, jealousy nearly finish my sister. She stab me for chest, dey curse me say I no get shame to dey serve three husbands as one woman.

Her hand dey shake, her eyes red like pepper. I feel cold pass harmattan. Everybody dey shout, but nobody fit reach us before blood touch ground. Her mouth still dey run, dey swear say I no get respect, say na shame to dey carry three husbands. That day, elders gather, dey shake head. My heart dey bleed, not just for wound, but say sister fit carry bad mind reach that level.

Next thing, I open my eyes, I don come back to the day wey dem dey choose husband.

I blink, feel breeze for my face. Na the same morning, the same smell of palm oil from kitchen, people dey hustle, no know say me I don see tomorrow already. E be like say God wan use my life do another movie. But as I close my eyes, I dey fear—wetin dey wait for us tomorrow?

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