This is not a very funny story but it’s an interesting one. My boyfriend had just broken up with me and my heart felt like it had been run over by a truck.
While my heart was still lying crushed at the scene of the accident, I decided to treat the rest of my body to some roasted plantain and fish, you know, some soul food to lift my spirit.
See also: Eat Pitakwa: Bole
Papoose, my boyfriend (now, heartbreakingly, ex) had literally kicked me to the curb and then proceeded to go back in and kick me even more. In the belly. Ok maybe not exactly literally.
It all started when I missed my period. I called Papoose to inform him, thinking that’ll hasten up our marriage plans. We had already discussed that he was going to propose on my birthday. Well, the pregnancy changed all that. He had insisted that I get an abortion. I had been shocked and hurt. I’d never had an abortion in my life and I wasn’t about to start at a time my wedding was already in sight. But Papoose had insisted. It put a strain on our relationship and I had had to cut off communications with him with hopes that he’d miss me and have no choice but to accept me and the baby. Well, apparently, I was in for a shock. Papoose did not call me for the exact two months that I excommunicated him. My pregnancy was now two months old and I didn’t want to raise a child by myself. I wanted a home, a husband and a family. So I called Papoose and agreed to the abortion.
Not long after I took out the baby, Papoose begin treating me differently. We barely hung out anymore and he’d always be snappy whenever I insisted we talk. Long story short, he finally broke up with me, saying he wasn’t ready for marriage. Over the phone, if I might add. It was the most hurtful thing to ever happen to me.
So I had taken myself to a small roasted fish stand by the port to ease my pain. As I walked back home, too immersed in my cogitation, a vehicle swept right around a bend and almost knocked me down. I had immediately jumped aside and apologized to the driver. Just then, as I was about to continue my walk home, a roadman seating on a fence by the side of the road called out, “motor no dey marry wife oh!”
And that was when I lost it. My very first breakdown happened on the streets of Port Harcourt and had me sitting on the bare ground, screaming, “Who no dey marry wife? Who dey marry wife oh!? Papoose no dey marry wife…”
Well, I’ve long relocated to Abuja, never EVER to see the city of Port Harcourt again.
Miss Chioma, an occasional Port Harcourt resident, writes unbelievable tales about her experiences, when she’s not vloging about books and movies
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