If you ever think of visiting your girlfriend at home, make sure you do background checks on her family. Check her father’s occupation, her mother’s prayer life, and whether her younger brother has a bad mouth. Otherwise, you might end up in a situation like mine where I, a humble Nigerian youth, became a carpenter by force because of love.
It all started on a bright Saturday afternoon. My girlfriend, Chiamaka, had been disturbing me to come and visit her at home. Normally, I preferred neutral grounds like eateries, cinemas, or under a mango tree where nobody could interrogate me. But on this fateful day, she assured me that nobody was at home.
“My parents traveled, and my younger brother went for football practice,” she said sweetly over the phone.
My inner agbaya rejoiced. An empty house? No parental disturbance? No wahala? It was time to operate.
I dressed like a responsible in-law-to-be clean shirt, fresh jeans, and perfume that could summon angels. I even bought small suya on the way to impress her.
By the time I arrived, Chiamaka was already at the door, smiling like a new bride. I entered, sat down, and we started gisting. Before I knew it, one thing led to another. The atmosphere changed. The mood was set. We were about to enter the promised land when suddenly…
GBOOOOAAAAHHHH!!!
The front door slammed open.
My soul left my body.
WHEN FEAR REWIRES YOUR DESTINY
Standing at the door was a huge, dark-skinned, no-nonsense-looking soldier in full camouflage uniform. His boots alone could kick me into the afterlife. His face? Fear itself would be scared of him.
“Chiamaka!” his deep voice boomed. “Who is this??”
My girlfriend froze. I froze. Time froze. Even the mosquito that was about to bite me froze in mid-air.
“O-o-o-oh Daddy,” she stammered. “You’re back early.”
EARLY? So this was the “traveled” she was talking about? I had been set up by love!
Her father’s eyes scanned me from head to toe, analyzing my life choices. Then his face hardened.
“You,” he barked, pointing at me. “Who are you and what are you doing in my house?”
At that moment, my brain completely abandoned me. My survival instinct kicked in and activated my carpentry skills.
I coughed, stood up, and in my most humble voice, said:
“Sir, good afternoon, sir. I am Henry… THE CARPENTER, sir.”
“Carpenter?” the man’s eyes narrowed.
“Yes, sir!” I said, nodding like an agama lizard. “I, uh, I came to fix… fix…”
I looked around desperately. My eyes landed on a wooden chair.
“THAT CHAIR, SIR! Chiamaka complained that it was shaking, so I came to repair it.”
I gave Chiamaka a sharp “cooperate-or-we-die” look. She quickly nodded.
“Yes, Daddy! The chair was shaking!”
Her father eyed us suspiciously.
“Really? So where are your tools?”
Tools? Oh boy.
I swallowed hard. “Sir, my apprentice is outside with them! Let me just go and”
“SHUT UP!”
I shut up.
The man walked over to the chair and sat on it. Then he folded his arms and looked at me.
“Since you’re a carpenter, fix it.”
I swear, at that moment, I saw my obituary poster flash before my eyes.
I bent down beside the chair, pretending to inspect it. Meanwhile, my brain was screaming “JESUS, DELIVER ME!”
I started tapping the chair like a professional. I even nodded and hummed like a master carpenter analyzing deep furniture secrets.
Then I picked up a bottle of Chiamaka’s perfume from the table and used it to spray the chair joints like I was applying wood polish.
Chiamaka’s father frowned. “What are you doing?”
I quickly wiped the chair’s leg with my hand. “Just lubricating the surface, sir!”
The man stared at me for a long time. Then, to my horror, he smiled.
“Young man, you are very hardworking,” he said. “I like that. Come to the backyard, I have more furniture that needs fixing.”
WHAT HAVE I DONE?!
I had no choice but to follow him outside. My girlfriend? She had disappeared into the kitchen to “look for something.” Useless girl!
For the next one hour, I was in the backyard sweating like a Christmas goat. This man made me carry wood, hammer nails, and even repaint an old table. I was suffering for love!
At some point, he patted my shoulder and said, “My daughter needs a responsible man like you. In fact, I will introduce you to my soldier friends. They need carpentry work too.”
GOD FORBID!
By the time he finally dismissed me, my clean clothes were covered in sawdust, sweat, and regret. Chiamaka sneaked outside and whispered, “Baby, sorry.”
I gave her a “You will hear from me” look and ran for my life before the man asked me to build him a whole house.
Since that day, whenever I hear “carpenter,” I start sweating. Because love almost turned me into a laborer.
If you ever think of visiting your girlfriend at home, make sure you do background checks on her family. Check her father’s occupation, her mother’s prayer life, and whether her younger brother has a bad mouth. Otherwise, you might end up in a situation like mine where I, a humble Nigerian youth, became a carpenter by force because of love.
It all started on a bright Saturday afternoon. My girlfriend, Chiamaka, had been disturbing me to come and visit her at home. Normally, I preferred neutral grounds like eateries, cinemas, or under a mango tree where nobody could interrogate me. But on this fateful day, she assured me that nobody was at home.
“My parents traveled, and my younger brother went for football practice,” she said sweetly over the phone.
My inner agbaya rejoiced. An empty house? No parental disturbance? No wahala? It was time to operate.
I dressed like a responsible in-law-to-be clean shirt, fresh jeans, and perfume that could summon angels. I even bought small suya on the way to impress her.
By the time I arrived, Chiamaka was already at the door, smiling like a new bride. I entered, sat down, and we started gisting. Before I knew it, one thing led to another. The atmosphere changed. The mood was set. We were about to enter the promised land when suddenly…
GBOOOOAAAAHHHH!!!
The front door slammed open.
My soul left my body.
WHEN FEAR REWIRES YOUR DESTINY
Standing at the door was a huge, dark-skinned, no-nonsense-looking soldier in full camouflage uniform. His boots alone could kick me into the afterlife. His face? Fear itself would be scared of him.
“Chiamaka!” his deep voice boomed. “Who is this??”
My girlfriend froze. I froze. Time froze. Even the mosquito that was about to bite me froze in mid-air.
“O-o-o-oh Daddy,” she stammered. “You’re back early.”
EARLY? So this was the “traveled” she was talking about? I had been set up by love!
Her father’s eyes scanned me from head to toe, analyzing my life choices. Then his face hardened.
“You,” he barked, pointing at me. “Who are you and what are you doing in my house?”
At that moment, my brain completely abandoned me. My survival instinct kicked in and activated my carpentry skills.
I coughed, stood up, and in my most humble voice, said:
“Sir, good afternoon, sir. I am Henry… THE CARPENTER, sir.”
“Carpenter?” the man’s eyes narrowed.
“Yes, sir!” I said, nodding like an agama lizard. “I, uh, I came to fix… fix…”
I looked around desperately. My eyes landed on a wooden chair.
“THAT CHAIR, SIR! Chiamaka complained that it was shaking, so I came to repair it.”
I gave Chiamaka a sharp “cooperate-or-we-die” look. She quickly nodded.
“Yes, Daddy! The chair was shaking!”
Her father eyed us suspiciously.
“Really? So where are your tools?”
Tools? Oh boy.
I swallowed hard. “Sir, my apprentice is outside with them! Let me just go and”
“SHUT UP!”
I shut up.
The man walked over to the chair and sat on it. Then he folded his arms and looked at me.
“Since you’re a carpenter, fix it.”
I swear, at that moment, I saw my obituary poster flash before my eyes.
I bent down beside the chair, pretending to inspect it. Meanwhile, my brain was screaming “JESUS, DELIVER ME!”
I started tapping the chair like a professional. I even nodded and hummed like a master carpenter analyzing deep furniture secrets.
Then I picked up a bottle of Chiamaka’s perfume from the table and used it to spray the chair joints like I was applying wood polish.
Chiamaka’s father frowned. “What are you doing?”
I quickly wiped the chair’s leg with my hand. “Just lubricating the surface, sir!”
The man stared at me for a long time. Then, to my horror, he smiled.
“Young man, you are very hardworking,” he said. “I like that. Come to the backyard, I have more furniture that needs fixing.”
WHAT HAVE I DONE?!
I had no choice but to follow him outside. My girlfriend? She had disappeared into the kitchen to “look for something.” Useless girl!
For the next one hour, I was in the backyard sweating like a Christmas goat. This man made me carry wood, hammer nails, and even repaint an old table. I was suffering for love!
At some point, he patted my shoulder and said, “My daughter needs a responsible man like you. In fact, I will introduce you to my soldier friends. They need carpentry work too.”
GOD FORBID!
By the time he finally dismissed me, my clean clothes were covered in sawdust, sweat, and regret. Chiamaka sneaked outside and whispered, “Baby, sorry.”
I gave her a “You will hear from me” look and ran for my life before the man asked me to build him a whole house.
Since that day, whenever I hear “carpenter,” I start sweating. Because love almost turned me into a laborer.
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