Diary of a Weekender-Part One

a week EnderThree people make me look forward to going to my house every weekend; the first person is my beautiful wife. Weekends for her are special days nothing should tamper with. That is the only time she gets to see me in a week but then I wonder if seeing her lolly pop as she fondly call me, daily instead of once in a week would make any difference. Would she love me more if I woke beside her everyday or less? To me it feels the same but she disagrees.

“Going home every day from work would be the best gift I could give”, she told me.

The second person that usually couldn’t wait to see successive weekends is my hug-daddy-barby-little girl; she is seven years old and my personal gift from God. This fact is a secret we both share, a love we both admire.  She loves me more because according to her, when I am around, I do things for her no matter what, things her mum denies her when I am not around because she doesn’t want to spoil her. My little girl knows if I don’t approve of something, it would be with genuine concern for her and I will make it up somehow. The third person that couldn’t wait for the beginning of a new weekend and hate to see the end of each weekend was me. When you have a lovely family back home, two beautiful women, quite understanding and supportive, being away from them would seem like a punishment.

My family lives in Ibadan while I get busy with my job in Lagos where I manage one of the branches of the organization I work with. This job came as a surprise as much as a miracle. So sweet to pass by and consuming to deny it is taking a toll on my family and on the comfort my presence in the house provides. But of course, not to ignore the best comfort women often appreciate is the financial and material comfort. I know most women would deny this, and claim their men are more important than anything material. I hear it a lot to know it’s not true but it is okay; let’s just agree to disagree. They appreciate the three most comforting friends; the financial things, material and their men. These three I promised my wife when we got married; together forever was part of my vows.

Because of this and the kind of person I am, the last thing I wanted was to be kilometers away from my family week-in week-out; I mean ki-lo-me-tres, nah that is a long short. This is why I travel back home every Friday to see them. Maybe not always on Fridays, sometimes very early on Saturday when I have to spend Friday night with friends, just a few times though. But mostly on my mind were the time I would be back in my house, the moments to enjoy and laughter to share.

manI am a weekender who only lives in his house on weekends. The other days I am elsewhere, in another town, in a different house with different people. You may want to ask why I haven’t arranged to bring them over to Lagos. I am trying to, and I will. But I think I have been a bit reluctant because I am use to living without being accountable to anyone during the week. By the time they come over, I won’t be this free.

Lately however, I am beginning to feel like a guest in my house, a guest that shows up every weekend. Imagine if my house wasn’t my house and I was indeed a guest, the women in the house would have continuously wonder if I had no where else to visit each weekend. Fortunately for me, I am a guest with a difference, such that provides for everybody. But my point is that as much as I keep making them stand by the window waiting for my car to drive in every weekend, I can’t help but think I am indeed a visitor in my home. It feels like either of us is slipping away; my home from me or me from my home. In recent weeks, when I am in Lagos, I get so per-occupied I hardly remember them unlike before. This is a bit of an issue for me because I get busy not only because of my job but also because of what Lagos has to offer me and I think these offers are the reason my family are still away  from me. What if my wife finds out about this offers?

I tweet @manueladesola


2 responses to “Diary of a Weekender-Part One



Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s