“My name is Chike… and I am her husband.”

The moment those words came out of his mouth, the church scattered again like fire on dry grass. People jumped from their seats, murmuring, pointing, dragging children by the hand as if danger had entered the building.

 

Nonso’s mother, a thick woman with gold bangles clinging to her wrist, sprang up from the front row. “Husband kwa? Husband of who? This shameless woman deceived us! Ehn Nonso, you see your life? We told you to marry from a good family!” She hissed and beat her chest with both hands like somebody who had been disgraced in public.

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Nonso was still standing by the altar, his mouth shaking as if he wanted to talk but words refused to form. He turned to Chidinma who was being lifted up by two women, her gown scattered, veil on the floor, her face pale like chalk. “Chidinma,” he said in a voice that cracked, “what is happening? Who is this man?”

 

Chike took another step forward, his eyes wet but firm. “I am her first husband. I did not die. I was taken.”

Gasps ran round again. Somebody at the back shouted, “Kidnapped! He was kidnapped all these years!” Another voice replied sharply, “Kidnapped where? They buried him with their own hands three years ago, I was there!” The whole church turned into noise, everyone speaking at the same time, confusion flying from one end to the other.

Nonso’s younger brother rushed to his side, pulling his arm. “Let’s go home joor, this thing is a disgrace. Leave this woman and her family, we cannot kill ourselves.”

 

Nonso pulled his arm away, anger burning on his face now. “So this is what you planned, Chidinma? To use me and waste my time? You knew your husband was alive!”

Chidinma shook her head quickly, tears already wetting her cheeks. “Nonso, I swear, I didn’t know. They told me he died, they showed me his coffin. I never—” Her voice broke.

But Nonso didn’t wait. He threw his cap on the floor, turned sharply and marched out of the church, ignoring the people calling after him. His family followed, raining insults as they left.

 

The pastor had already dropped his Bible and was wiping his face with a handkerchief, muttering prayers. Some of the guests were whispering that maybe Chidinma used juju to confuse two men at the same time. Others shook their heads, saying the matter had passed ordinary human understanding.

By the time the crowd began to clear, only Chidinma’s family, a few relatives, and Chike were left standing inside the once-celebratory hall. The band had already packed their instruments. The cake sat untouched in the corner, the icing beginning to melt under the heat.

 

At home later that evening, the real fight started. Chidinma’s mother paced the sitting room like somebody looking for where to bury her shame. Her wrapper had become loose at the waist, her face wet with tears. “Chidinma, so you wanted to marry another man while your first husband is still alive? Do you know what this means? Do you know the disgrace you have brought on us? They will say we are greedy people, marrying you off twice for bride price!”

Her younger brother Somto, barely in his twenties, shook his head with anger. “Sister, you should have waited, you should have been patient. What if this man truly didn’t die? Now see, we are the ones suffering shame in the whole community.”

 

Chidinma sat on the floor, her gown spread around her, her head bent as if she was no longer part of the world. She couldn’t even look at her mother. “Mama, I didn’t know. I swear I didn’t know. I thought I was free. I thought I had mourned him and buried him. What do you want me to say?”

Her mother slapped her chest again and broke into fresh tears. “God, what kind of problem is this? You brought him back, but in which way? Is he truly alive or did something else happen? Ah, my enemies have finally succeeded.”

 

Outside, people had already gathered in small groups, discussing and spreading different versions of the matter. Some said Chidinma knew all along and planned it. Some said the child was not even Nonso’s, that he was Chike’s son all this while. Others swore it was witchcraft that made a dead man walk into a wedding.

Chidinma tried calling Nonso’s number, her hands shaking as she dialed again and again, but he refused to pick. She sent messages, long ones filled with tears and explanations, but they never delivered.

 

By nightfall, Chike was seated in the same sitting room, his clothes changed into a wrapper one of the elders gave him. He looked thinner, weaker, but his eyes stayed fixed on Chidinma. The little boy, their son, was sleeping on his lap, his small fingers clutched around his father’s hand.

Chike’s voice was low but firm. “Chidinma, you are my wife. This boy is my son. I have returned, and I will stay with you. Forget about that man.”

Chidinma lifted her head, her eyes swollen from crying, her whole body trembling. She wanted to scream, to run, to deny, but the words refused to come. Her heart pounded as she stared at him, the man she buried, now sitting in her mother’s house like he never left.

 

Suddenly, there was a loud knock on the door, so heavy it rattled the windows. Everyone jumped. Somto rushed to peep through the curtain and gasped.

He turned back, his voice shaking. “Mama… it’s Nonso.”