I Do Not Come to You by Chance

by Adaobi Tricia Nwaubani

Take my Aunty Dimma, for example. Long before she separated from her husband, moved to Port Harcourt, and subsequently became a religious fanatic, she was considered as one of the most incompetent wives to have ever been sent forth from my mother’s whole extended family. Generally, she was a lovely woman. She was kind, helpful, always the first to turn up and support us, even if we were simply mourning a wilted plant. But my father once commented to my mother that it was a miracle for anyone to remain married to her and not lose control of themselves. Where could a husband start in recording matrimonial complaints against her? She always left home in the morning before her husband and did not return before him. She had wanted to employ a cook even when he had made it quite clear that he wanted to eat only meals she herself cooked. She was always arguing with him about what was appropriate for her to wear and what was not. Once, she even insisted on wearing a pair of trousers to accompany him to a meeting of his townspeople. Aunty Dimma had also been known to openly slight her husband and despise his role as head of the family. Like the time when she had gone ahead and bought herself a car even after her husband had insisted that she should continue using public transport until he was able to afford to buy the car for her by himself. Despite all this, the most obvious sign that the marriage was in trouble was when the embittered man started eating out. Matters degenerated f...