A Crisis Averted: The Ajebo's DNA Debacle

Source: Meta AI

In my room at Hassan Street, Ajegunle, Lagos, I was about to say my night prayer when a frustrating sound from my phone raised a panic alarm. I checked my phone, and I couldn’t help but scream. I thought of slamming the phone on the ground, but the thought of buying a new phone—at an amount too much for words—came to my mind. I calmed myself and picked up the phone. It was Mrs Ajebo.

My face says it all ... I was tired of the womans wahala(problem).

Mrs Ajebo started screaming, “Sir, he has not come back home. My husband must have been in the club. I am fed up.” I glanced at the wall clock. It was exactly 12:00 a.m. on the dot. No wonder she called.

Mrs Ajebo was one of my church members who reluctantly discussed her family affairs with me. Fully knowing that I had no experience in marriage and all, she still chose to confide in me, which was a bone of contention for me. Though her husband and I were colleagues, we chose to keep our relationship as official as possible.

Last year, the Ajebos tried to jump on the bandwagon by following the current japa trend, which allowed people to travel to the UK. Her husband was a manager at one American-owned oil firm, earning what we call an “armed robber’s salary.” It was what we refer to as “gbémú” money. Only Yahoo boys, senators, and a few others could earn such. However, the japa trend almost spoilt it all.

In September last year, if I am not mistaken—before everything about visa processing became harder—they sold their properties. Thankfully, Mr Ajebo had not lost his role at a mini oil firm, though he was fully ready for life abroad. They had a popular saying: “I no fit suffer make my children con suffer,” which means, “I cannot suffer and allow my children to suffer.”

Mr Ajebo was an adroit man. He was such a skillful individual that people around him loved him. Life abroad was nothing to be scared of; in fact, I was learning from him. However, his wife had earlier learned different methods of hair styling– traditional and foreign. She became very good at it and was always treated specially everywhere she paid to learn the skill. This special treatment was because of the amount she paid monthly and her age.

In fact, she had learned a lot about baking and many other skills, as she was fully prepared for life abroad.

Hmm! The unfortunate soon happened. The visa was not approved. She said it was because of DNA issues. On the phone that day, she said that one of their children, Bisola, was not his. She was their third child. Mrs Ajebo was devastated. Her husband could not believe what he saw. I could only watch as their once-cherished marriage and happy home became a marketplace of disaster.

Her husband did not want to accept that it was a mistake. Hmm! Ever since then, Mrs Ajebo has been calling me every now and then.

That night, I couldn’t utter much despite being tired. All I could say was, “Mama, please calm down.” I was accustomed to calling adult women of middle age “Mama.” I assured her that her husband would never cheat on her because of that issue.

Then I called Mr Ajebo. Luckily, he picked up my call. I advised him to do another DNA test, suggesting that there might have been a mix-up. Hmm! He replied, “No, no, no. Foreign companies cannot be wrong. They can’t make mistakes like we bloody Nigerians do.”

I froze for a moment and said to him, “Two of your three children have correct DNA results, and the last child, Bisola—who even has a similar nose to you—cannot be yours? Think about it.”

I knew that men in Nigeria do not take issues of cheating and extramarital affairs lightly, especially religious men. I was lecturing my superior for the first time, I believe.

Eventually, he went for another DNA test as well as a blood test to confirm. The blood test matched, while the DNA test would take a while, as the company in Lagos told him that the result would be ready soon.

All I can say is that the last time we met in church, I saw the Ajebos smiling and laughing as they once did. I do not need a broadcaster to tell me that the DNA result was either incorrect or there was a mix-up somewhere. I know that the crisis was indeed averted, as the Inkwell prompt says.