That morning, my husband David came to pick me at the airport. He was dry-faced and tensed, very unusual.

Other times, David would be so excited to come pick me, he would kiss me and hug me passionately. But now, everything became different.

“You kept me waiting for hours in there,” I said, gazing angrily at him. “Don’t tell me it’s traffic honey, today is Saturday.”

“I am sorry, I had to pick the kids from summer lessons, and then rush to church to counsel a few couples,” he said soothingly.


“You now prepare the kids for school? What happened to Ifeoma? She is the kids’ nanny.”

“And you are the kids’ mom!” he screamed suddenly. “You’ve been away from your family for 5 months Ekom, the kids don’t even talk about you anymore.” David deliberately slowed his breathing in a bid to calm himself down.

I was silent for a while. My lips quivered, but David ignored that he saw tears glistening in my eyes.

Catching his eyes as he tried to look at me, I sensed a shiver of unease go through him.

He was right, I was away from my family for four months or more. I had women’s conference and hundreds of women to mentor in Houston. It was a moment I didn’t want to miss.

Then I broke the silence;

“What of Ifeoma?”

David looked uncertain.

“She fell ill, so I asked her to go see Doctor Dennis.”


We were both quiet until we got home.

I sat on my bed, I slipped off my slippers and sank my feet into the rug and decided to keep them sunk in there so that my toes would feel cushioned. Just so a part of me would feel safe.

“Mummy!” my daughter screamed, breathing deeply, and ran to me. She snuggled into my arms and I grabbed her tight to myself.

“Where is your sister?” I whispered into her ears.

“She is sleeping.”

Not long after, I heard tiny foots running along the corridor that led to my room;

“Mummy, mummy…” She jumped on me and kissed me on my cheeks, leaving me in the sweet comfort of motherhood.

They looked so healthy and chubby.

“What has aunty Ifeoma and Daddy been feeding you with?”

“Golden morn and banana porridge!” they chorused shrilly.

“Mummy, church people said that you are no longer daddy’s wife.” My first daughter Teye said, her eyes becoming sad–deep and sad.

“Aunty Ifeoma now sleeps in daddy’s room.” Mfon the youngest said.

My heart jumped, I knew at that moment, that there were stories in their eyes that I was yet to know.

http://ikengachronicles.com/diary-of-a-pastors-wife-part-1/

The woman in the pic just made me lose interest in the story...


Bye