Everyone called my husband a stingy man on our traditional marriage.

My husband is into importation. In fact, they call him importer exporter, but I don’t know why he acted the way he did during our trad.

My people kept pressuring him to bring more money for drinks and cooking, and he insisted that he didn’t have any other money.

It was like a joke to everyone.

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They pressed him hard, yet he didn’t shake body.

At some point, my sister-in-law barged into the makeup room and dragged me outside with fire in her eyes. She hissed loudly and said,

“So with all this your beauty, you decided to waste it by being a bride to a stingy man? Eehhh eehh! *Amaka itogiri la!*”

I was stunned.

Who is she calling a stingy man? Not my Ike Bobo.

So I thought.

 

I flared up immediately. “Excuse me, my husband is not a stingy man,” I snapped.

Anurika, my sister-in-law, burst into that her irritating laughter like I was some street comedian.

“Amaka,” she said, shaking her head, “your man is not just stingy, but I choose to call him Stingy Koko. Go outside and see how he’s disgracing you. I don’t even know why they gave him that big title—importer exporter… Ordinary to bring out money and buy more drinks, he refused. He said he doesn’t have money.

“If you know what’s best for you, go and talk to him oh! Maybe there’s a button you’ll touch that will make him drop money. Any way, *nah Una Sabi.”

And just like that, she flipped her wig and walked away.

I stood there like a confused goat.

 

Was this not the same Anurika that I, Amaka, contributed money for when my brother wanted to marry her? I still remember how they were begging left and right. And now it’s my turn and she has the audacity to call my husband stingy?

A man who brought out 3 million naira for my trad?

I didn’t say anything again. I just politely told the makeup artist I’d be back, stepped out and called my husband. His younger brother picked and said everything was fine, that I should just get ready and come outside.

Fine.

But when I stepped out, I knew something was off. The murmuring was loud.

It was as if the air itself was gossiping about me.

 

“What kind of stingy man is this that Amaka wants to marry?”

“Ordinary extra ten crates of beer, he refused. This meat sef is not enough.”

“Na wa oh. See the kind of man we’re dashing our beautiful Amaka to… tufiakwa, this man is stingy Abeg!”

But honestly…

If I tell you it didn’t get to me, I’d be lying. My stomach did a somersault.

But I told myself, “Amaka, if you allow these people to mess with your head, you’ll cry and ruin your trad. Harden your heart and wear smile like powder.”

 

I walked out to greet my in-laws and later danced to identify my husband by giving him a drink. They sprayed us money, my father blessed our marriage, and we went home.

At least the day ended.

When we got to his place, I was welcomed like a queen. We ate, I showered, we prayed together, and thanked God for a successful event.

But just after the prayer, my husband’s phone beeped. He asked me to help him get it.

As I picked it up, something in my spirit said, “Look.”

So I looked.

The phone screen displayed an alert.

₦20 million.

I froze.

I stared again.

₦20 million.

I didn’t know when I shouted,

“Wait… Ikem! You had ₦20 million in your account and you allowed my people to drag me like chewing gum today? Amaka, you have married a stingy man indeed!”

I fell on the floor and burst into tears.

Anurika was right after all. I married Stingy Koko oh!

 

I expected him to come and hold me, explain himself, say baby I’m sorry, but he just sat there like one village chief. He allowed me to cry my entire soul out.

And when I was done, he said calmly:

“You see that money, we’ll use it to buy land in a good location and sell it off in four months. Hope you still remember our honeymoon is in Dubai?

“See my love,” He said softly as he sat next to me, with his palms holding me softly.

This was all I wanted. He paused for a while and continued

“Having money doesn’t mean you should throw it around. If I had listened to those people in the village, they would’ve swallowed us dry. When we return, they won’t even ask how we’re surviving. I spent over ₦4 million already on this trad, but it’s never enough for people who want to chop without contribution.

“This land is our wedding gift to ourselves. We must learn to invest before we spend.”

I just sat there… quiet.

 

Suddenly, I wasn’t crying anymore.

I looked at my husband properly. No longer as the “Stingy Koko” they called him, but as a man who had sense. A man who was playing the long game.

 

We bought the land.

We travelled to Dubai for our honeymoon after our court and white wedding.

It was a very wonderful experience.

My husband said we should document our outings, that someday we were going to post it, but as of now, let’s go mute, whereas people won’t know we were already planning our lives already.

And after four months?

We sold that land for ₦29 million.
Profit: ₦9 million.

That’s how we kick-started our building project.
From one land investment, we bought another.
And another.

 

Today, Anurika calls me Madam Landlady.
She will look at me and say, “Your husband na real Odogwu oh! See as your skin is glowing… Omo! He is really taking care of you, Seriously Amy… You married a good man, sometimes I wish I can be in your shoes.”

And I will laugh.

Not because of pride,
But because I almost let public opinion ruin what was actually wisdom in disguise.

 

————————

Moral of the story:

Sometimes, wisdom looks like stinginess to foolish people. Before you judge a man by what he refuses to spend, ask yourself if you’re thinking like a consumer or a builder. Love with sense. Marry with foresight.

 

If you feed the whole world at your occasion just to prove a point, you’ll drink Garri without sugar in agony—and guess what? No one will come to your rescue. The same people shouting “add more meat!” and “Our ogo bu Chi onya… Our In-law is Odogwu” will still be the ones saying “it’s like they’re suffering now oh” two months later, So be wise.

Don’t burn your future for people who only care about the jollof and beer. Because when your account dries up, their mouth won’t. They will laugh, they will mock, and they will move on.

 

Let your wedding not be your financial burial. Spend well, but think smart. Shine your eye.

True love is not loud spending. True love is quiet planning.

 

Which Shege did you go through during your marriage occasion and what did you learn from it?

 

Chiamaka Favour Christian

 

If you learnt something from this story, kindly share.