Written by Miracle Okah
It rained the day Adigun brought in another woman to meet Ope at home.
Ope had just come from her toddler’s room, having finally rocked him to sleep, when she heard Adigun’s voice. She walked into the corridor and saw him with the new woman — light-skinned, slender, with hips that could drive any man crazy. Ope stood still, too stunned to speak.
Adigun smiled nervously, the kind of smile he gave when he knew he was doing or about to do something foolish. Ope did not smile back; she did not need an introduction because sometimes the truth announces itself without words.
Adigun had always joked and hinted at taking a second wife, even though they lived in a cramped two-bedroom flat with damp patches on the ceiling and plastic chairs in the parlour. Their sofa had long lost its bounce and its fabrics were scratched and sagging like a tired skin. In the kitchen, pots were stacked on the floor beside a single gas burner, and the cupboard gave off a sour smell of kerosene. Her son’s room, which had no wardrobe, just clothes folded in the buckets and tucked under the bed, might now become her room.
Only a foolish man like Adigun would take a second wife when he could barely feed the one he already had. But what do you call a woman who knowingly marries a foolish man? A fool.
She was the fool who had fallen for Adigun’s sheepish smile and boyish charm. He was never rich and truth be told, he didn’t have the zeal to become rich. He was comfortable, maybe too comfortable, with his ordinary life. But she saw all of that and still married him because he made her laugh.
Only a fool marries a man for being funny. But if a fool marries a poor, funny man, what do you call a pretty woman who marries a poor, foolish man who already has a wife and a child?
Ope looked at both of them and quietly excused herself into the bedroom. It would soon belong to them, but tonight, it was hers. She climbed onto the wooden frame bed that creaked under her weight. The foam was neither soft nor firm; it was just there. The bed sheets smelt of sun and antiseptic, as if they had just been freshly brought in from the line. The pillow had lost some of its fluff but it still held her head gently.
She could hear Adigun and his new wife talking from the parlour; their voices were low, cheerful, and oddly familiar. She tossed from side to side, trying to ignore them but when the voices refused to fade, she grabbed her pillows and pressed them over her ears. She didn’t want to cry or be bothered by both of them. She just wanted to sleep peacefully but even that seemed like a far-fetched dream.
The next morning, Ope woke up to find the new wife curled up on the faded parlour sofa, still fast asleep with her eyes tightly shut. Now that she had time to really look at her, Ope noticed she was beautiful even with her eyes closed.
Ope stared.
What did she see in Adigun? She wondered.
What do you call a pretty woman who decides to marry a foolish, poor man with a wife? She asked herself again as she made her way to her toddler’s room. He was still fast asleep. Satisfied, she picked up a broom and began to sweep.
Perhaps it was the harsh scraping of the short, thick broom against the floor or the rooster crowing in the backyard. She was not sure which but soon, the new wife stirred awake.
“Good morning, our new wife,” Ope said, slightly sarcastic, though her tone held no malice.
The new wife rose and knelt slightly to greet her.
“? káàr?? mà,” she replied in Yoruba with her eyes lowered. Ope nodded her head in response and continued sweeping. Soon, the new wife found her way to the kitchen, and Ope could hear the faint clatter of plates as she gathered the dirty dishes. Ope peeped in from the passage and saw her searching for something. Her eyes were scanning the shelves until she saw a hard white soda. She watched her rub it on the sponge and began to scrub.
Ope looked at her again.
What do you call a pretty, well-mannered woman with a nice body who marries a foolish, poor man?
Again, she had no answer.
When she entered the kitchen to return the broom, she noticed the sink. She was surprised at how spotless it was. The plates were rinsed well, and the sponge was neatly wrung and placed aside. The woman even cleaned the counter. Without saying a word, Ope opened the cupboard and brought out a pot. She would cook cocoyam, one that was enough for everyone, even for Adigun, who had gone out early, like he always did when he didn’t want to deal with anything.
She would like this woman; Ope knew that now.
Two months had already passed, yet it surprised Adigun to come home and find his two wives sitting outside, chatting, and picking beans. They both looked up when he entered the compound and greeted him.
He responded casually; he still had not gotten used to this, at least, not yet. He was shocked at how quickly Ope had taken to liking his new wife.
When he first brought her in, he had expected Ope to be civil, maybe even cold, because that was the kind of woman she was. He had braced himself for tantrums but none of that happened. She had embraced the new wife and complimented how clean she kept the house.
Adigun was proud of himself, he would boast to his friends tonight about how he had managed to marry two peaceful, pretty women. He liked his women a certain way — slender, slightly tall, pretty and with a good handful of bumbum.
He knew that no matter how beautiful or fresh the new wife was, she could never match Ope. She was his first love, the woman who had taken a chance on him. But who said a man couldn’t love two women?
In a Yoruba man’s heart, there is always space for more. Everybody knows men are polygamous, and they were built to roam. A man cannot eat one soup forever, no matter how sweet it is. Was it not last week that Ade, his cousin, was caught with a younger woman at Mama Ibeji’s bar? However, he had always believed it was better to marry two wives than cheat.
After chatting briefly with his wives and child, Adigun went inside to have his bath, change his clothes, and head out to have drinks with his friends at their popular joint.
Later that evening, after the new wife went into the kitchen to boil the beans, Ope picked up her toddler, who was fast asleep, and carried him to his room. She laid him gently on the mattress, covered him with a wrapper, and stepped into the corridor.
She moved quietly into what used to be their bedroom and bent down to fetch a rag under the bed. Just as she was about to step out, she heard the faint squeak of the door opening. She turned.
The new wife stood there at first, then slowly, she deliberately reached back and locked the door. They both stared at each other. The air around them was immediately filled with tension, one that was thick and expectant.
Ope’s heart thudded, but not out of fear; she was certain now.
She had known from the moment she saw her standing beside Adigun. She had known when her eyes strayed while watching her wash the plates, when she knelt to greet, and when she bent to sweep. She had known this was why she had not screamed, hurled insults or cursed the man who dared to marry again in poverty.
It was because she had wanted her too.
And with the way the new wife is now looking at her in a soft, lingering way, Ope was certain she felt it too. There was something there, like a question waiting to be answered, a door waiting to be opened and so she took the bold step to open it. Without saying a word, she let the rag drop and slowly reached for her buttons. She pulled off the blouse, then her wrapper but kept her eyes locked on the new wife.
She unhooked her bra and her breasts fell free. Those perky breasts caught the light filtering through the faded curtains. They were perfect; she knew that from the way the new wife drew in a sharp, unsteady breath. Ope watched her eyes widen, but she didn’t look away. Instead, she stepped forward.
They both reached out and crashed into each other with a hunger that startled both of them. Soon their hands were roaming, and their lips searching for something deeper. Their mouths met greedily, skin on skin, heat against heat, as their breaths raged and tangled. The new wife cupped Ope’s waist and pulled her closer. Ope moaned into her mouth as the new wife reached in between her thighs. There, she found Ope wet and trembling.
When she used her fingers to slightly part her, knowing exactly where and how to touch her, Ope knew this wasn’t her first time. Her hips moved in rhythm as if she were remembering something ancient. Ope kissed the hollow of her neck and the new wife gasped while holding her tighter.
They stumbled on the bed and soon enough, their limbs tangled, their thighs did more than brushing and moisture gathered, tracing slow paths down their skin. A fierce hunger and a desire that took without asking burned between them.
Minutes later, as they separated and tried to catch their breath, Ope looked at the new wife and realised she was anything but a fool. She grinned happily because for the first time, she was finally going to enjoy her marriage and she was curious, maybe even eager, to see what came next.
In the morning, they would go back to being wives. One would boil rice and the other would bath her child. They would cook, clean and sweep, and when Adigun returned, they would greet him with warm food and bright smiles. But tonight the house belonged to them and at that moment, they were not rivals or Adigun’s wives. They were just two women trying to find something they couldn’t name behind closed doors.
About the Writer:
Miracle Okah is the first daughter of two teachers. She initially dreamed of becoming a doctor but ultimately found her true calling in writing, where she discovered the power of words over stethoscopes. Passionate about African literature and amplifying the voices of Black women, her work has been featured in Amaka Studio, Black Ballad, Better to Speak, Black Girl X, and beyond. She is on the writing track for the 2025 Adventures Creators Programme.
