Should I be ashamed of myself because another woman couldn’t care for her husband?
Yes, I was a housegirl—isn’t that what they call us maids?
I entered this household at 17 and was promised an education that never materialised.
My madam—now my husband’s first wife—Aunty Simi, was hardly ever around, so school was out of the question. Instead, I became responsible for her three children.
Every morning, I woke them up early, bathed them, got them ready for school, packed their lunches, and walked them to school since it wasn’t far from the estate where we lived.
Then I’d return home, clean the house, do the laundry, go to the market, prepare their lunch, and steal 30 minutes of rest—though, in truth, I never got any sleep. Soon enough, it was time to pick them up from school, warm their meals, and wait for their lesson teachers to arrive.
While they studied, I was back in the kitchen, preparing dinner. After lessons, I bathe them, fed them, and let them watch TV for a while.
This was my routine for six years.
Every time I asked Aunty Simi—back then—if I could go to school, she would always respond, “So who will take care of my children?”
And that was the end of the conversation.
She was busy working, but her job required her to travel often. Her husband also travelled frequently.
Most of the time, I was home with his mother—Mama—who lived with us. That is mother-in-law.
Mama never liked Aunty Simi. She constantly complained about her; questioning why a woman would travel so much, leaving her husband and children behind.
Mama had her own wahala, though. She was always fussy. I had my share of wahala with Mama, especially when I was home alone with her when everyone else was either at school or work. I was the only one she could talk to.
So, while I cooked, cleaned, or served Mama her food, she would confide in me—telling me again and again how much she disliked her son’s wife or sometimes complained about my cooking…she was generally a woman who didn’t know how to stop complaining.
When Uncle Tey returned from work, I was the one who served his food.
“Bring this, bring that…” to his room…
And after I turned 23, he began touching me—small, small.
It started with small things—gestures that felt too familiar.
At first, I thought, Ha, what does this one want from me now?
I had no idea that Mama was behind it all, pulling the strings.
She disliked Aunty Simi and slowly began nudging Uncle Tey and me together.
On nights when Aunty Simi was away, Mama would say, “Go and see if Baba Junior needs anything.” He would be in his room.
By then, I was no longer a child—I knew exactly what she was doing.
And I played along.
If he wanted to be with me, if his wife wouldn’t be around, and if this meant I could at least have a good life… why not?
So yes, Mama orchestrated everything.
I began having regular sex with Uncle Tey—he told me to stop calling him uncle.
Then I got pregnant and told Mama.
Before all this, there had always been tension in the household—Mama, Aunty Simi, and Tey constantly arguing, shouting—wahala every time. Mama was very much part of that trouble.
Anyway, I got pregnant at 26 and confided in Mama. She told me to keep it a secret from Tey.
Four months later, when I started showing, Mama finally said I should tell him.
Tey didn’t deny it was his. That’s when everything began to take shape.
Aunty Simi was furious. She called me names.
I felt terrible, but this was the same woman who had once told me to do whatever Tey asked of me.
Yes, she said so.
Back when I was younger, I’d report things to her—like when she asked me to make poundo for her husband, but he came home and asked for garri instead.
She’d brush it off, saying, “Give him whatever he wants. You know how men can be. Even if he wants your breasts…” then she’d laugh, hang up the phone, or if we were speaking face to face, she’d simply walk away.
She started saying things like that when I was 21—before Uncle Tey had even looked at me in that way.
By 23, things had changed.
And now, I have three children—same as Aunty Simi.
Her children, though grown, no longer speak to me. But I cared for them as if they were my own while they were growing up.
I just want people to remember that I did some good here.
(Series written and edited by Peju Akande and based on true stories)