Once upon a time at the University of Ibadan, a brother named Amir, an exceptionally brilliant man, began a mathematics and physics tutorial. There she met A’isha, an exceptionally beautiful and elegant young woman who attended the tutorial because she struggled with math.

A’isha is beauty personified. You look at her and you marvel. She has a glowing, brown skin, wide enchanting eye balls. She’s also eloquent and has a beautiful, almost angelic voice. She’s a poet and she used to do spoken word until it was explained to her that it was inappropriate. Her voice was too sweet.

Amir is not a handsome man at all. He is fair and has a flat face. The shape of his head isn’t that appealing, and no matter how much spirit he invested on to grow beard, he had no beards at all. It was was though train had passed through his cheek and chin.

Well, A’isha was taken by his religiosity, position and brilliance. Few months to the tutorials, he proposed, indeed catching her young, and she accepted. They got married, and both graduated at the same time.

But people always questioned their compatibility. Of course in hush voices and in some sections of the MSSN. Some older women, like A’isha’s grandma, was convinced that he had hypnotized her.

Amir is a hard worker. He built a tutorial business and a Cyber-Cafe when cyber-cafes were flourishing. He dedicated himself to ensuring A’isha is well cared for. When they lived at a house without running water, he would be the one to fetch water. Years later, A’isha’s writing took off in magical ways. And when she made readings at book signings and conferences, people would rise in ovation. It became an issue for a bit. Amir tried to convince her to use niqab because his friends were telling him, but A’isha reminded him it was not an obligation each time.

Last year A’isha returned from a trip to Sweden. He had a long talk that night with Amir. He praised him for everything. For being a good husband. But he told him he wanted a khul. He wanted out of the marriage. It was like a bad nightmare to Amir. The weekend a family meeting was convened. A’isha insisted he wanted out of the marriage. The Imam was called. A’isha insisted he would return to 50,000 naira mahr, serve the 3 months, and after that, she would leave. The Imam said his hands were tied.

A’isha left after the iddah. Two months after she had left, a handsome Nigerian Muslim man based in Sweden came home to ask for her hand in marriage. It was a small nikaah. A living room affair. They new couple went back to Sweden for the first chapter of their marriage.

People talked. They said it was sorcery. Some said it was Amir’s fault. He should have forced her to cover her face and stop her poetry. Some said it was haram for her to leave. But others said, khul is allowed for women. Like every thing else in life, people talked, while Amir was left with a shattered heart.

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Months before, A’isha had just completed a book signing when this man walked by and said salaam. He was like the most handsome man A’isha had ever seen. And she thought about her gown husband at that time and she… The man asked if they could get a coffee. A’isha declined, saying. “I’m a married woman.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” The man responds. He turned back, and was about to leave when A’isha asked him what was his name. Razaq, He said. Razaq what? Razaq Adeoti. And that was it.

A’isha search her name on LinkedIn after her iddah had ended. And everything, as they say, was history.

Baba oni Story nki yín ó. Lowe. Lowe. Ọlọ́gbọ́n. Ọ̀mànrọ̀n. 🤷🏿‍♂️. Ẹ jẹ ká máa ṣe jẹ́jẹ ó.