No man prepares for this.
No wedding sermon covers it.
No pastor prays against it during deliverance night.
But here it was.
Standing in front of me.
Wearing a blue wrappa and an innocent smile.
“Oga, I wan knack.”
At first, I thought my ears were playing host to madness.
I looked up slowly from my laptop — the screen had gone dim from inactivity, and the cursor was blinking at me like it knew something I didn’t. Outside, the generator roared, and inside my room, my one horse power AC hummed gently.
Maybe the noise had distorted her words.
Maybe I was hallucinating from too much coffee and too little sleep.
Because there was absolutely no way — NO WAY — that our house help had just said those four words to me.
In broad daylight.
In my sitting room.
While my wife’s family picture stared at me from the wall like a witness in a courtroom.
But she wasn’t joking.
She wasn’t laughing.
And she definitely wasn’t talking to someone else.
She was looking directly at me.
Not shyly. Not accidentally.
The way a lion looks at a wounded gazelle.
Let me rewind a little.
My name is Emmanuel.
I have been married for four years, two months, and eleven days. Not that I’m counting. Well, maybe I am.
The funny thing is, if you had met me two years ago, you would never have imagined that a day like this would come. Back then, my wife and I lived in a modest two-bedroom flat in Festac — the kind where the water heater worked only when it felt like it, and the neighbor’s rooster crowed at 4 a.m. like it had a personal grudge against sleep.
Life wasn’t easy, but we were happy.
We had no house help. No driver. No generator that could power a TV and a fan at the same time.
Just two people trying to build something.
I worked in a bank — the kind of job where your salary arrives and disappears on the same day. My wife worked as a sales manager for a Chinese company in Lekki, coming home each evening with stories of unreasonable deadlines and unreasonable bosses.
Every evening, we shared the house chores like a tired but loving couple.
Sometimes I cooked — mostly jollof rice…
Sometimes she cooked — her fried rice could make a grown man cry tears of joy.
Sometimes we both complained, looked at each other, and ordered from that small buka down the road.
It wasn’t perfect.
But it was ours.
Then everything changed.
Eight months ago, I landed an IT support job that allowed me to work from home. Foreign company. Dollars. The kind of opportunity that makes your village people start dreaming of a new church building.
Almost overnight, my income tripled.
🔥💖 OGA, I WAN KNACK 💖 – EPISODE ONE: THE DAY TEMPTATION KNOCKED 💖🔥
