Marrying for money, not love

If the relationship pays the bills, the affection can wait

In Summary

• Man mad at his wife's deceit softens when he realises he cannot afford to leave her


Remember how a short while ago, my friend Enoch ran away from home and spent a week at my place after discovering his wife was a professional liar? Well, today, exactly two weeks after his wife dragged him out of here by the ear, he paid me another visit.

“What now?” I asked. “You seriously want your wife to hate me, don’t you?”

“Nah. We’re good.”

“You are? A couple weeks ago you couldn’t stand her. She’s a liar, you said. Lied about her credentials to get her lecturing post at the college. You said you weren’t even sure Amina Taraji was her name.”

“Mina Faiza Ahmed.”


“That’s her real name.”

“Christ on a donkey! You mean you were right?”

“She couldn’t get admission to college on a technicality, so—”

“So, she made up an entire college education?”

“To her credit, she did study. She knows her stuff.”

“To her credit? Are you listening to yourself? Your wife’s entire life is based on a lie.”

“So what? Look at you. All this bachelor charade you put on. You’re only hiding your true self so you never get hurt. Lying to yourself in the process. Worst kind of lie, if you ask me.”

“Me?” If only there was a way to physically hammer sense into someone. “You’re comparing me to her? You got one bald set of cojones, my friend. Then again, I think Maria Sharapova, or whatever her real name is, is holding your balls for you. What’s she got on you, man? Did you like commit murder and only she knows where you hid the body, or something?”

“I’m broke.”

“Maybe you’re a serial… what did you say?”

He poured himself a full glass of my red wine, downed it in one gulp. “Easy, man. That’s a Marques de borba reserva. Fifteen thou a bottle.”

He scrutinised the bottle, his eyes asquint. “I’m swimming in debt while you’re wasting thousands on booze?”

“I’m single. It helps me lie to myself. That’s what you said, no?”

For a while he said nothing. When he turned to me, his eyes were wet with tears. “I have college debts, a financed car, a mortgage, and apparently, Amina is pregnant. I mean, Faiza.”

“Apparently is the term, alright. You might wanna witness her actually peeing on that stick.”

“Shut up, Tom! Can’t you see I’m in pain? I have no choice but to stay with her.”

“Stay with her money, you mean? I guess it’s moolah before amore, huh?”

Without warning, Enoch hurled the bottle at me, missing me by mere inches. It struck the wall and shattered to pieces, forming a dark, red, Sh15,000 stain.

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