The first marriage
lesson my father Papalolo taught me is this: pay attention to your
wife. My dad, Papalolo of Esanland, is a seasoned warrior, veteran of
several wars, many of them in our room and parlour with our mama,
Mamalolo. Out of those bruising battles, Papalolo learnt some valuable
rules of marital engagement. Meaning, rule number one, the wife is
always right; rule number two, if madam is wrong, rule number one
applies. The first time my father came to visit us in America, he was
awed by the power of American women.
This one day, we
walked to the bus stop to witness his grandchildren go to school. He
was surprised that the children required a bus to go to a school that
was only three miles away. His displeasure at the ways America was
enabling his grandchildren knew no bounds. He accompanied me with a
running commentary about the wonder that is America [“Enh, na bus dey
carry dem go school? Cutlass cut their leg? Wonderful! Amerika!
Wonderful!”] So we got to the bus stop to find that the bus was five
minutes late! Horrors of all horrors! Several women, including my wife,
had accompanied the children to the bus stop that morning and they were
incensed at this breach of tax-payers’ trust! It was ugly; out came the
cell phones, ring ring ring to the local Board of Education to complain
about a late bus! My father was not impressed: “Wonderful! Shebi di bus
came! Ah! Ah! Do they want to kill the driver? This your wife is a
trouble maker o! Look at her making noise to the ogas! Oya mek e come
Nigeria now mek dem show am who born am!”
Once my father
figured out that in America, the iyawo [wife] rules the house, he
morphed into the father of eye-service. He threw me under the bus of
expediency, meaning, he abandoned me and turned his charms full blast
on the real deity of our household, my wife. He promptly christened my
wife “princess” and called her “iyawo” at every turn. My wife could do
no wrong in his eyes. If she gave him a glass of water for dinner, he
would proceed to chant her praises thusly: “Ah, princess, my only
princess, this hot water is the best dinner that my ancient lips have
ever tasted! Our God is a merciful God! What would my son (waving
faux-contemptuously in my general direction) do without your fearless
but graceful leadership? Please, I know he does not like to wave a
hammer around the house but please tolerate him because of me, your
father-in-law! You make me happy! My BEAUTIFUL daughter, after this
dinner we will go to the store and buy flowers with that your husband’s
credit card, don’t use your money, my daughter, and we will plant them
anywhere you want around the house. Just show me where and my cutlass
will do the work! Don’t lift a finger of your pretty hand o. I shall do
everything!”
So, I endured this
suck-up of an old man for about six months. I noticed something about
my wife, Mama-di-girl, whenever she was in my father’s presence. She
had 32 teeth. I could always count them whenever Papalolo was in her
presence. She would grin, she would strut, she would ask the old man as
she fussed over him: “Eh papa, di cowfoot too soft? You want snail? You
go drink Malbec with your pounded yam? It is good for your heart, papa!
Your son doesn’t need it. He drinks too much.” Until my father came to
America, I did not know that you could go to a grocery store and buy
snails the size of elephant ears! If I wanted to grab something to eat
in the fridge, my wife would shut the door, saying, “Ah, na papa egusi
soup be dat o, you know how he likes snails! Go make yourself a grilled
cheese sandwich!”
That Casanova posing as my dad was so good at the sweet mouth
department, when he was leaving for Nigeria, my wife happily arranged
to empty all our bank accounts into my father’s willing pockets. She
also arranged to ship, at great expense, all our personal property to
my father’s house in the village, saying things like, “Ah, papa is an
old man! He will need your coats in the harmattan!” She and my dad
tried to stuff our townhouse into his luggage but they were not
successful, Allah be praised. We would be homeless today. My father
enjoyed America and he wants to return to visit. Madam wants him back.
I don’t share the same sentiments. During the snow blizzard when I
timidly balked at shovelling the snow for the umpteenth time, she
remarked that if my dad was here, not one speck of snow would be on our
driveway. I quickly went out to shovel the snow. Who wan die? So, men,
get up, go and buy your wife flowers or I will send my father over to
your house to tell your iyawo how pretty she is.
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