“Madam, please stop shouting! Your children are NOT students here. We expelled them two years ago because nobody paid their fees!”
I stood at the reception of “British Ivy International School” in Lekki, and my legs turned to jelly.
I dropped my car keys. I dropped my designer bag.
“Expelled?” I whispered, looking at the Principal. “But… I pay 3 Million Naira every term. I transfer the money to my husband’s account to pay you. He sends me receipts!”
The Principal adjusted her glasses and looked at me with pity. “Madam, the receipts are fake. We haven’t seen your husband or your children since JSS 1. They should be in SS 1 now.”
My name is Mrs. Kikelomo. I am an Oil & Gas executive. I spend 70% of my time on oil rigs or in meetings in Dubai and London.
I work hard so my children, Tolu and Tunde, can have the best life.
My husband, Dayo, is a “Businessman.” He told me he handles the home front since I am always traveling.
Every term, I send him the school fees. Every month, I send allowance for “Excursion,” “Swimming lessons,” “Coding class.”
Every visiting day, he tells me, “Kike, don’t worry, I visited them. They are doing fine. They said you should focus on your work.”
I believed him. I trusted him.
Today, my flight from London was cancelled, so I arrived in Lagos early. I decided to surprise my kids at school. I bought chocolates and new sneakers.
And now this?
“If they are not here…” I asked, tears blurring my vision. “Where are they?””
The Principal hesitated. “Madam, we heard rumors… but we didn’t want to interfere. You should check ‘Mama Nkechi’s Bukka’ at the uncompleted building behind the market.”
I didn’t wait. I ran out of the school. I kicked off my high heels and drove barefoot.
When I got to the market, I saw a smoky, dirty local restaurant (Bukka). Men were drinking beer and smoking weed.
And there, washing plates in a big tub of black, dirty water… were my children.
Tolu and Tunde.
They were wearing torn rags. They looked thin, dry, and malnourished.
Tolu had a scar on his forehead. Tunde was limping.
A fat woman, Mama Nkechi, shouted at them. “Wash the plates faster! Customers are waiting! Useless children!”
I screamed. “TOLU! TUNDE!”
They looked up. When they saw me, they didn’t run to me. They shrank back in fear. They thought I was a ghost.
“Mummy?” Tunde whispered. “
“Daddy said you d!ed. He said you d!ed in a plane crash.””
I froze.
My husband told my children I was d3ad?
I grabbed Mama Nkechi by her collar. “Who brought these children here?!”
She pushed me away. “Leave me! It is their father! Mr. Dayo! He borrowed 10 Million Naira from me to play sporty bet. He couldn’t pay, so he gave me his children to work as collateral until the debt is paid!”
My world spun.
My husband turned my children into slaves because of gambling? While he was collecting millions from me and living large in my house?
I packed my children into the car. They smelled of crayfish and suffering. They were crying. “Mummy, is it really you? Daddy said you are in hell fire.”
I am driving home now.
Dayo thinks I am still in London. He thinks I won’t be back until Sunday.
I have stopped crying. A coldness has entered my heart.
I have called my boys from the Area Command. I have told them to meet me at the house.
I am not going to arrest him. That is too easy.
I have transferred all my money to an offshore account.
I have put the house up for sale (it is in my name).
But tonight?
Tonight, I want him to feel what my children felt.
I am going to tie him up. I am going to drive him to the same bridge where he told me he proposed to me.
And I am going to ask him one question.
“Dayo, since your wife is d3ad… who is this standing in front of you?”
I am shaking with rage. I feel like k!lling him with my bare hands.
Mothers, please, no matter how busy you are… GO TO YOUR CHILDREN’S SCHOOL. Don’t trust anyone. Not even their father.
What is the best punishment for a man who enslaves his own bl00d for SportingBet?
Drop a comment because I am boiling right now…….! “
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