PART 1: MY HUSBAND ‘DIED’ IN A GAS EXPLOSION — UNTIL I SAW HIM BUYING SUYA IN IBADAN
I was in the middle of frying plantain when the call came.
It was from my husband’s colleague in Port Harcourt.
“Amara, something terrible has happened. Chuka… he’s gone.”
At first, I didn’t understand.
“Gone where?” I asked, wiping my palm on my wrapper.
There was a long pause.
Then came the bombshell.
“Chuka died this morning. Gas explosion at the site.”
My heart stopped. I sat on the kitchen floor, oil still sizzling behind me.
Chuka? Dead?
We had just spoken the night before.
He’d sent a voice note: “Baby, I’m tired. Let’s talk tomorrow.”
Now I’d never hear that lazy, deep voice again?
I screamed. Neighbours rushed in.
Mama Nkechi held me as I shook like ogene.
Calls flew in.
Sympathy poured.
His mother wailed so loud on the phone, I thought she’d collapse.
The funeral was planned immediately.
But no corpse.
They said the body was too burnt to be recognized.
Just like that… my 5-year marriage to Chuka ended in fire and smoke.
Except… something didn’t sit right.
Two weeks after the “death,” I received a WhatsApp message.
From a strange number.
It had no words.
Just one photo.
A grainy picture…
Of Chuka.
In a white shirt.
Standing in front of a buka in Ibadan.
Alive. Smiling.
I froze.
I showed it to my sister.
“Amara, this could be old.”
But deep in my spirit, I knew.
That buka wasn’t there in 2022.
I remembered because my cousin runs it.
And it only opened six months ago.
I decided to investigate.
I packed my bag and told everyone I needed time to heal.
Instead, I took a bus to Ibadan.
I stayed with my cousin in Bodija and began my search.
Three days passed.
Nothing.
But on the fourth day, around 2 pm…
I saw him.
My Chuka.
Alive. Breathing.
Buying suya.
I didn’t even think.
I screamed his name:
“CHUKA!!!”
He turned… and bolted.
I chased him like a mad woman.
Market women shouted:
“Aunty, na thief?”
I didn’t stop.
I followed him into a compound.
He dashed into a flat and slammed the door.
I banged on it.
“Open the door, you bastard!”
Silence.
Then…
A woman stepped out of the next flat.
Heavily pregnant.
Beautiful.
Confused.
“You’re looking for Chuka? My husband?”
My throat went dry.
Your what?
And then she dropped the final bomb.
“Chuka told me his wife died in an accident last year.”
I laughed.
The kind of laughter that breaks ribs.
Dead?
So it’s me that died?
Let me rest, please.
Part 2 is loading…
by Whispers & Wonders
