Cordelia Is A Foolish Goat

Okay! If you are a Nigerian or have ever visited Nigeria, you will agree with me when I say that one in every ten random persons you meet is foolish. Maybe even two or three. In this country, foolish people are everywhere. At our workplace, on our streets, in our schools, or even living in the same building as us. Take a look around you; I am sure there is at least one foolish person doing something foolish right now or involved in one foolish argument. The worst part is that you dont even have to search hard; most times they come to you themselves with a big smile on their face and say Hi, I am foolish, and you are? To be honest, I believe it is very hard to find a wise person in Nigeria these days, and sadly, the economy, the craving for fame, and the dysfunctional judicial system in this country make it very easy to be foolish or at least find someone who is proud to be foolish. If you disagree, I will explain.

Right now, somewhere in Lagos, there is a foolish person crossing the expressway when an overhead bridge is just a two-minute walk away. Can they see the fuel tanker coming at full speed? Yes, are they wise enough to patiently take the bridge? No, foolish people do not take the bridge! So will I eat meat at their burial? Before Unko! Why not? If not? After all, the person was foolish.

There is a guy on your street who leaves his house only to urinate on a wall where it is clearly written, "Do not urinate here." Can he read the writing on the wall? Yes, of course. Is he wise enough to look for a public toilet or even enter the bank? No, foolish people are not that patient; going to the restroom will take too long! So would I report him to the psychiatric hospital if I were given the opportunity? Before Unko! Why not? If not? This one is not just foolish; he is mad! Wait a minute; a madman will not even do that.

There is a lady on Twitter giving relationship advice; meanwhile, she just successfully ended her fifth marriage. There is a boy on Instagram eating grass for views and claiming he is a content creator while sharing his grass-to-grace story; there is a couple on social media contributing millions of their money to a Ponzi scheme that promised to give them 150% profit in three days. There are men who wake up every morning to argue who the football goat is. Messi or Ronaldo. Some will even go as far as fighting because you said 30BG is better than FC. If that isn't foolishness, I don't know what is.

The worst part is that the foolish ones think they are wise, but sadly they are far, very far from wisdom.

To be honest, I can go on and on. The examples are endless. Now here is the crazy thing: if you have ever truly fallen in love in this country, there is a great chance you have done something foolish too. For example, I have done so many foolish things in love, so if you call me a fool for love, I wouldn't argue. I would proudly say, "Hi, I am foolish, and you are?"

Foolishness is a virus, a microorganism that spreads over time. You think you have seen it all, until someone pops out from nowhere to prove to you that what you saw is nothing compared to the magnitude of foolishness they can exhibit.

But of all the foolish people I have ever met in my life, there is only one person who constantly proves to me that she is the greatest fool of all time. Now I have met plenty of fools, so have you, but this person stands alone at the top. Undisputed. Uncontested. Unshakeable! The ogapata of all fools!

Ladies and gentlemen, Checkmates of different ages, the most foolish person I know is Cordelia! Yes, the same Cordelia. My neighbour's daughter. Cordelia is a foolish goat.

And by the time I am done telling you this story, I promise you, you will understand better why I am still single and why your foolish neigbour can never be as foolish as Cordelia.

Remember, Edgar doesn't lie! Check Edgar Out!

They say a fool at 40 is a fool forever, but I am telling you that you don't have to be forty to attain greatness as a fool. You could be 30 or even 21. Foolishness is not a retirement plan. It doesn't wait for your hair to become grey before it moves in. Some people get their foolishness certificate at 21, laminate it, and frame it on the wall like a WAEC result. The moment you know your left from your right and good from evil, foolishness can become your government name if you allow it.

Now. For those of you just joining us for the first time, you need a small history lesson to understand what this episode is all about. I already introduced this family in an episode titled A Letter To My Future Partner; you can check it out if you have time. But you see, that episode was not about Cordelia or her family. The goal of the episode was for me to write a love letter to the love of my life, help Mama Chidi, Cordelia's mother, fix her dying generator, and watch my neighbor, Aunty Kofo, get proposed to in front of her compound. I did not have time to give you guys the full documentary about Cordelia and her spectacular family. So today, consider this the director's cut.

Sometime in 2020, Cordelia's family moved into the flat directly underneath mine. Before them, the flat belonged to a couple who turned their flat into a nightclub. Always disturbing with loud music from 10 pm to 5 am every day. The music playing from their flat was so loud that at one point I started hearing the songs in my dreams. Another issue I had with them was that they were always fighting. If the man is not breaking her head, she is rearranging his teeth. It got so bad that the landlord finally lost patience and sent them packing after another bloody fight happened.

When Cordelia's family moved in, I stood by my window like an Igbo man watching his containers arrive from the high sea. They were giving fresh energy. Fresh vibes, and they were actually a breath of fresh air. Fresh neighbors. If only I had known I was signing up for fresh problems.

Now, Cordelia's father, Papa Chidi, is a retired soldier who keeps forgetting that we were not in the military with him. Every conversation with this man was an opportunity for him to talk about his time as a soldier. If you greet him with "Good morning," he will first ask you to stand at attention and add "Sir" before he gives you a 30 minute breakdown lecture about the civil war timeline between 1967 and 1970.

If you survive that, he moves straight into the story of how Sani Abacha almost, almost, had him killed in 1997 or how he caught a bullet with his bare fingers in 1999. This man has told me this story so many times that I can now narrate it myself in his voice and with all his sound effects. Papa Chidi once told me that he has a gun in his apartment and will shoot anyone who dares to offend him. I do not believe him, but I have only one life, so I have to respect myself and fear him. In fact, everyone in the community fears him, including his children, other neighbors, the area boys, and even the local council chairman greets him with two hands. The only person who doesn't fear him at all is Mama Chidi, his wife.

Here's the interesting part, when Papa Chidi isn't flexing his muscles as a retired soldier, he is downing bottles and cans of beer like Stone Cold Steve Austin with his friends outside the compound. But the moment he hears his wife is coming around, the beer disappears faster than NEPA light.

Now let's talk about his children. Papa Chidi and his wife have three interesting children: Comfort, the eldest and sweetest one; Chidi, the stubborn lastborn; and finally, the greatest fool of all time, Cordelia, the useless middle child.

Let's start with Comfort, because Comfort is the only reason I got interested in this family in the first place.

Comfort was, and still is, wherever she is now, the kind of beautiful that makes you doubt your own eyesight. Fresh like ripe pawpaw. Her skin was spotless; it felt personal. The way this girl took care of her body, ehn, you would think she does not shit, does not sweat, does not use toilet or even mess. Very clean babe. This girl was shining. Unlike her siblings, Comfort doesn't make noise or trouble anybody. Sometimes when she cooked, she would send her younger brother Chidi to bring a portion up to my apartment, or sometimes she would come up herself. And when she did, she would always lend me her book and tell me to read.

Readers are leaders, Edgar. I hope you know that.

To be honest, all I wanted to do was read her lips and even kiss them. This girl was well-cultured, well-mannered, and pure. I still wonder how she ended up in that family because comfort is different. She is the kind of girl your mother prays for on your behalf without even telling you. If she had not travelled abroad to further her education, I am 99.7% sure I would either be dating Comfort by now or already planning our quiet, sensible court wedding. Comfort was comforting. Whenever she saw me, she greeted me properly:

Good morning, Sir. Good morning, Sir.

Me, sir? I am too young to be feeling this old. I begged this girl multiple times.

Please, Comfort, call me Edgar, or Eddy if you are feeling friendly. "Sir" makes me feel like I should be collecting a pension already.

She was not moved. She did not agree. She looked at me and said:

Sir, you're a man of authority in this house. It's only right I call you that.

By the way, let me just add that this girl is my age mate, oh! My mate. Not one day older than me. And she was calling me "Sir" like I was her mentor or teacher, like I set her master's exam myself. The painful part is that my friends and family do not even respect me like that. They only call me Sir when they want to beg or borrow money.

Unlike his elder sister, Chidi has never called me Sir in his life. In fact, he did not carry a single one of those genes. You would think, with the size of his head, something serious would be inside, maybe formulas, vocabulary, or at least one useful fact. But no. Everything inside that boy's head is cartoon. Power Rangers and Spider-Man. The boy likes rough play. Always jumping from one place to the other. Very stubborn child. If you see that he is quiet, it only means he has broken or damaged one thing or the other in the compound, today it's a plate; tomorrow it's my patience.

How can a JSS3 student not know Roman numerals? One is I, two is II, three is III, four is IV, and five is V. The only one he knows is "V.I.", and only because that's the location of his cousin's house, where he used to follow his sisters to go and watch cartoons. I asked this boy one day, plainly, "What is nine in Roman numerals?" This boy looked me dead in my eyes and said, "W."

W?! When did they add W to Roman numerals? I wanted to knock the correct answer straight into his skull, but if I try that kind of thing, Mama Chidi will run upstairs and fight me, as if slapping and knocking her own children isn't exactly how she corrects them when they misbehave in the first place. The double standard in this house ehn.

But let me be fair to this family. Papa Chidi, Mama Chidi, Chidi, and Comfort are not the major problems of the family. The real problem, the actual headache, the reason we are even gathered here today, is Cordelia.

The truth is, from the very first day I heard this girl talk, I knew something was wrong with her upstairs. Her mouth was running like an open tap, no handle, broken pipe, just flowing non-stop 24 hours a day. And the way she laughs like she is from the marine kingdom. How can you be laughing and your neck is shaking and vibrating like a spoilt generator?

The second issue with Cordelia is that she is a professional gossip. This girl has mastered the act of gossiping, lying, and not minding her business. She always has a story to tell. She knows all the breaking news before it even breaks. The moment she sees you, the first thing she says is

Good morning Edgar. Did you hear?

Hear what, Cordelia? She knows everybody's story in this estate. She knows things that have not even happened yet, she knows what killed the gateman's second wife and the reason a Mr and Mrs Aluko that look perfectly happy on Sunday will not be together by December. If the CIA needed information about my estate, they would not need satellites. They would just need Cordelia's number, meat pie, and small credit on her line.

If I start telling you every single foolish thing this girl has done, this episode will not end today; it will not end this week; it might not even end this year.

There was the time Cordelia told the whole compound that the newly married couple in the third flat were expecting twins, three weeks before the wife herself had even done a pregnancy test. When we asked her how she knew, she said

Don't tell anybody, oh, I have studied the way she talks and walks. If you look at her nose very well, you will see one mark like that; that mark means she is pregnant with twins. I swear.

We all believed her, but when the test came back, the woman was pregnant with just one baby. Instead of Cordelia apologizing and minding her business, Cordelia started spreading another story.

Um, so, don't tell anybody oh, but I heard that she had a miscarriage and had to lose one of her twins if she wanted to save her life.

You guys remember how she called me on her second phone line in the other episode and told me that my neighbor, Aunty Kofo's boyfriend, has two other wives, one in China and one in Abuja. The painful part is that this girl will tell me the gist and then add, "Please! Do not tell anyone, oh."

As if she were not the one going round telling everybody. Sometimes she would call me to gossip and then tell me a gist that she had already told me a few hours ago. She clearly doesn't think before she talks.

Speak of the devil. You will not believe who is calling my number. It's Cordelia. Yes, the same Cordelia I have been talking about. Let me hear the nonsense she has to say this time. Give me a minute guys.

Yes, hello!

Yeah, hello, Edgar. Where are you?

I am fine. What's up?

I did not say "How are you?" I said, "Where are you?"

Cordelia, what do you want this afternoon?

Are you at home? I have one hot gist for you. You will love it.

I am not at home. I am far from home.

Aha! Spider-Man! But I can see your car in the compound, and I did not see you go outside.

I am not at home. What is it na?

Okay, let me tell you over the phone. Do you remember that man that lives in that brown house upstairs after the second street?

Yes, what happened to him? Is he dead?

Not yet! Remember his daughter, Irene, the one that got pregnant about four months ago? Do you remember that her father sent her out of the house because she said she didn't know who was responsible?

Yes, I remember you said so. What's going on?

Don't tell anybody oh, I know the person that got her pregnant. You will not believe it.

Who?

It is her father's driver

What did you say?

Her father's driver slept with her and got her pregnant, I swear.

Jesus Christ! Cordelia, where did you hear this from? Who told you?

Don't tell anybody oh! It was their security guard that told ME. He said it was their house help that told him, but I promised not to tell anyone. So please don't tell anyone too!

Cordelia, are you okay? Don't you have work to do? What kind of miserable life are you living?

It is your life that is miserable! Why are you insulting me?

Are you okay?

Are you okay too?

Cordelia!

Edgar!

Don't ever call my number again!

Don't ever pick my call again.

You're a fool!

Me? No problem! Let me recharge and call you back. You will soon see my foolish side you are looking for, Animal.

Okay, checkmates! Thank God you all heard that conversation. You can see how foolish this girl is. Anyways, let's come back to the story. Four weeks ago, Cordelia did something I will never forget or forgive. It is that same thing that made me call her a foolish goat and the most foolish person I know. I am going to tell you exactly what she did and why I stand by that statement completely, right after this short break.

So five weeks ago, I was getting ready for an event on Lagos Island. I was paid to host this corporate event; as always, I wore my favourite black suit, my black shoes, and my father's tie, which is my good-luck charm. As a host, you always want to arrive early, feel the room, test your mic, and practice the pronunciation of names before anyone shows up. That was the plan, but my God had a different plan. And as a Bible-believing Christian, I have come to realise that God's plans are always inconveniently more interesting than mine.

I got in my car and started driving to the venue, rehearsing my lines out loud like a madman arguing with himself. About 15 minutes away from my apartment, somewhere not too far from my own area, right there on the express, I saw a young lady standing by the road, looking lost, upset, and frustrated. In front of her was a broken-down vehicle, smoke rising from the car's bonnet. The hazard lights were blinking like the car itself was apologising on her behalf.

Now, I am a gentleman. I cannot just drive past a fine girl in obvious distress and call myself a man of God. That is the kind of sin that follows you into eternity. I have to be my brother's keeper, or sorry, my sister's keeper. I have to keep this one. So I pulled up in front of her car, adjusted my suit like I was about to walk a red carpet, and came down.

Hi, good morning. What's wrong with your car?

Hi. I don't even know. It just went off. I've been calling my mechanic, but his number isn't going through.

CheckMates, let me be completely honest with you. My knowledge of cars begins and ends at "put fuel inside, let the car move." That is all I know; I cannot even change the tyre of a car to save my life. But she was just too fine, and she was riding a white Benz, which in Lagos means one of two things. It was either she was rich or somebody rich had not yet noticed she'd been quietly spending their money.

Either way, I made an executive decision on the spot: I was going to find out exactly who this woman was; this beauty wasn't just going to pass me like that. Was that a foolish decision? Well, only time will tell.

So I did what any serious, responsible adult male would do in that situation. I walked to the front, raised the bonnet like I owned an engineering degree, picked up a small stone from the ground, and knocked it against the battery head with the seriousness of a surgeon closing an incision.

Did I know what I was doing? No. Was I about to let ignorance embarrass me in front of a Benz owner? Absolutely not. Will I claim I know what I am doing with a serious face? Before Unko! Why not? If not?

Ehen! I have seen the problem.

Oh, really?

The carburettor and the alternator have damaged the brake pad and the air filter. You will need to change the engine oil first. Sorry, but when was the last time you serviced this car?

Checkmates, I want you to know that I made every single one of those words up in real time. The carburettor did not damage anything. The carburetor and the alternator do not even know this woman or the narrator. But I said it with my full chest and with confidence. Two things that are necessary if you want to succeed as a mechanic in this country.

To be honest, I don't even know. My dad handles the servicing of this car. Is it a serious problem?

Very Serious! But don't worry, all is well. Calm down. Where are you headed?

I have an event on the island, somewhere around VI. This car just ruined my morning.

Why don't you come with me? I'm heading to VI too. I also have an event there.

Oh, thank you so much, sir, but I can't just leave my car here. It's not safe.

Don't worry about the car. I'll call one of my boys to watch it. It'll be fine.

Checkmates, let me not lie, I do not have "boys" anywhere. I have one mechanic and one generator repairman, and neither of them was standing by for deployment that morning. But when you tell a woman, "I'll call one of my boys," it makes you sound organised, connected, rich, and dangerous even. Say it with confidence and any woman will assume you run a small cartel. Try it at your own risk sha!

Wow. You're heaven-sent. Sorry, where are my manners? What's your name, sir?

Edgar. But you can call me Eddy. And you?

Precious. I don't really do nicknames. Precious is fine.

That was how I met Precious. We got into my car, and honestly, the vibe was easy. We played music and talked about Lagos traffic, our events for the day, and plans for the week. Before I had even reached my own venue, she had already dropped off and sent a WhatsApp message thanking me for saving her from her own mess. I read that message at a red light and smiled like a man who had just won a raffle he did not remember entering.

As for her car, the white Benz, I called my mechanic, told him to check it and keep it safe from Agberos and street urchins, but not to actually fix anything because I did not have Benz money lying around for a woman I had met three hours earlier. I can be foolish at times, I know, but when it comes to spending money, my IQ is very wise!

After my event finished, I called Precious to find out how she was getting home. She said she wasn't sure yet, maybe she would order a ride or maybe follow a friend from the event going in her direction.

CheckMates, I want you to imagine how I was feeling. Hearing this pretty lady say "I don't know how I'm getting home" from a fine, rich, single woman is like a hunter hearing a wounded animal in the bush. I offered to come and pick her up myself and drop her home before she had even finished the sentence.

That would actually be really nice. I enjoyed our ride this morning.

She asked if I had eaten. I said no. The useless event did not make any reservation for the MC. This lady reacted like I had told her I had not slept in three days, genuinely bothered, she insisted I come around.

Please, there is a nice restaurant around here, let's have lunch together, if you dont mind.

CheckMates, I did not need convincing. When a rich woman says, "Let's eat," a wise man does not ask questions. He simply arrives.

When I got there, this girl took me to one of those restaurants that give middle names to rice. You know those restaurants where their own plantain comes in the shape of a Star and their chicken has been painted three different colours before it reaches your plate, and under each dish there is a small paragraph describing its emotional journey, like how they caught the fowl during the civil war and how they plucked its feathers after independence before slicing it on your plate. Exactly! That was what happened that day. Nonsense and ingredients! Rubbish!

Anyway, I opened the menu and quietly regretted every decision that led me to that table. Jollof rice, thirty-five thousand naira. They did not even call it Jollof rice; they called it Riz au Gras. Their Jollof rice did not come with chicken, plantain, or even tomato sauce. Just rice. Alone. By itself. Single just like me. How much is rice in heaven? You people should fear God oh! I was just asking myself, who sent me?

The meal Precious ordered alone was about one hundred and fifty thousand naira. I started sweating. She asked me

Hey Edgar, is it okay if I place a special order for you?

I did not know whether to say yes or to say no. I was this close to saying that "I am fasting." I was just sweating in confusion. I nodded and told her to go ahead, but that she shouldn't order a lot of food because my stomach was tight. She said okay and ordered something I couldn't even pronounce. The name looked like when you mix Chinese and Ijebu-Ode Yoruba.

The moment the waiter brought the bill. The guy handed it over to me. I was confused. Was I the one that ordered the food? I took the bill and looked at it. Checkmates, what I saw made my neck reduce in size. Immediately, I told Precious that my network wasn't strong enough to make transfers at the moment. This was a lie Nuel and Fela taught me some years ago when I took them out to have lunch one time. Well, that's a story for another day.

Precious wasn't bothered. She just laughed and told me not to worry.

I will pay for everything! It's no big deal!

AH! Checkmates! I couldn't close my mouth. She said the lunch was her thank-you for the good samaritanism I did in the morning. Immediately, my spirit returned to my body. My network miraculously returned, and my sweat vanished. My love for Precious was growing so fast; my heartbeat returned to its normal rate.

Checkmates, this woman was not just fine. She was fine, sweet, and rich, the Lagos trinity. At some point I started blushing like she was the man and I was the babe.

As we ate, I began to ask the important questions a single, desperate man falling in love is obligated to ask.

So, Precious, if you don't mind me asking, what do you do?

I'm an investment banker. And when I'm not banking, I play tennis.

Oh nice, tennis! I play tennis too.

It's a lie oh! I have never in my life held a tennis racket. But instead of me keeping quiet, the foolish me wanted to vibe along. Then she asked me.

That's interesting. Do you prefer hard court, clay, or grass?

Emmm, on wood.

Sorry?

I play table tennis on wood

Oh, cool! Shakehand grip or penhold?

Checkmates, at this point I did not even know if those were grips or diseases. This conversation had left my lane, joined the expressway, and was now speeding off toward Ibadan without me. I needed an exit immediately, and I needed to make it look accidental.

Ah, ah.

Oh my god, are you okay?

I'm fine, I'm fine. It's the shrimp, a small allergy. Nothing serious.

I know I always say Edgar doesn't lie, but technically that wasn't a lie; that was a performance from a hunter who needed to do everything to get his prey. Now I have eaten shrimp my entire life without incident. I was very fine. I only told the white lie to escape a conversation about table tennis.

Oh no, I'm so sorry; I really thought you'd like it.

No, no, don't worry about it. Anyway, I am sure this isn't your first time here. Correct my assumptions, but you must come to this restaurant a lot. With your husband, maybe?

Husband? Slow down. I don't even have a boyfriend, let alone a husband.

Oh, okay. Have you been searching? Going on dates?

Honestly, I've been trying. I just believe that when the time is right, the right person will show up.

And there it was. Checkmate, the exact answer I had been fishing for since morning. Not only was she single, she was hopeful. She still believed a Mr Right was somewhere out there, approaching. And I felt it in my spirit, clear as harmattan sky, that I was that her Mr. Right. I may not know how to play tennis, but I definitely know I have the balls to get this girl if I hit with the right strokes.

After lunch, I took her home that evening. Surprisingly, her house wasn't far from mine at all, Lagos really is a small village pretending to be a big city. She thanked me again for helping her in the morning and said the sweetest thing I had heard all week.

Thank you so much, Edgar. You're my angel.

Guys, I don't even know how it happened. I was trying to help her unclip her seatbelt. I just wanted to be a gentleman; the next thing I knew, she looked at me funny, bent her neck, and just like that, we were kissing. Short. But good. Really good. The kind of good that makes a man forget how to start a car or even wind his car window down. I looked in her eyes and tried to extend the moment, leaning in for round two, but she gently pushed me back.

Please, stop. Let's not do it here. What are you doing tomorrow? Can I come by your place?

Checkmates, even if the president of Nigeria himself had called me the next day for an urgent national assignment, I was cancelling on my country. I told Precious I was completely free, morning, afternoon, night, all of it; my calendar was empty, I was a jobless and useless man for her tomorrow. She smiled and said she'd spend the day with me; she gave me a wink that nearly stopped my heart, pecked me on the cheek, and climbed down from the car.

That night, I drove home like a man who had just been told his JAMB result was above 300. I was just singing sweet songs to God and thanking him for the amazing day I had. You see why it's good to help people.

When I got home, I found it hard to sleep. When I closed my eyes, I would see her face, and my head would start replaying the wink, the peck, and the "you're my angel." I got up and started searching for what to wear the following day. I started rehearsing what I was going to say and how amazing the day was going to be. It felt like I was hosting another event, but this time, in my apartment.

The next morning, I turned into a man on a mission. I woke up by 4 am and swept the whole apartment like an NYSC inspection was coming. I scrubbed the bathroom tiles until the tiles confessed they were guilty. I went out and bought fuel for the generator, because the devil is a liar, and in Lagos, you do not plan a beautiful evening without first insuring it against NEPA.

NEPA does not care about your love life. NEPA has never once cared about anybody's love life. In fact, there is a conspiracy theory that NEPA are watching you and are waiting to ruin your favourite moments.

After cleaning, it was time for food. I bought jollof and fried spaghetti, jollof rice with turkey, orange juice, apple juice, mango juice, and a small bottle of alcoholic wine to loosen her up a bit.

Around 2 pm, my apartment smelled like good food and good intentions. I started playing romantic music to adjust the atmosphere. I had fixed my Netflix on a romantic movie, something that would help instigate us to start kissing immediately when she walked in. A few minutes later, Precious messaged me that she was close to my house. My heart started beating again. I went to have my bath again and wore this sexy hot shirt and these new pyjama trousers. I wasn't playing with this girl. My message was clear. Come and let's play tennis with my balls.

When it was exactly 3:07, someone knocked on my door. I went to open it, and it was Precious. Looking stunning. She was smelling so nice; I wanted to bite her immediately. She looked around my sitting room, nodding slowly, the way a bank manager nods when your account is not as empty as expected.

Wow, Edgar. This is actually really nice. I like my men neat.

Thank you. I like my women sweet and simple.

CheckMates, if you saw the way I swept the floor that morning. There is no way she wouldn't be impressed. I scrubbed the floor like I was washing away my sins. Everywhere was shining and sparkling. See ehn, there is nothing CONJI cannot do.

We sat together on the main couch, ate, and watched the romantic movie together. The playlist was doing exactly what I paid it to do. The movie was giving the right ideas. Everything was making sense. At some point, she adjusted her seat and got closer to me. I said, "Correct." Then she paused the movie and gave me the same look she gave me in the car. The one that happened before we kissed. She bent her neck, and just when I was about to kiss her, that was the same moment NEPA decided to introduce themselves.

Oh sorry, do you have fuel in your generator?

Don't worry. I made plans just in case NEPA tried their usual nonsense.

Okay. I like my men intentional.

And I like my women hot and spicy.

Ah, bad boy. Go and put on the generator, joor.

I immediately jumped up and went out to the back of the house to put on the generator. NEPA wasn't going to ruin the day for me. Immediately I pulled the cord, the generator roared awake, and lights came back on inside.

Just like that, the mood came right back. Precious did not even let me sit down properly. She was already on me, kissing me right there in the parlour like the last twenty minutes of darkness had personally offended her.

Baby, stop. Stop! Let's go to the room. I want a taste of you.

CheckMates, I was reaching for the TV remote to switch it off, as I picked the remote from the couch, I heard it. A second knock. I was confused because I wasn't expecting anyone.

Who is there? Who is there na? I am coming!

Cordelia. What is it? What do you want?

Why is your body hot like this na? I noticed your generator is on, and my phone has been dead since morning. Let me charge small abeg.

No problem. Give me the phone and the charger; let me help you charge it inside. I will call you when it is full.

The charger is touching. I need to enter and plug it myself.

Cordelia. This is not the time. Can you come back later? Please!

I'll just charge and go. Who even wants to stay in this dirty house sef?

CheckMates, that was how Cordelia walked into my apartment with her big head held high, sat down behind the couch, and began charging her phone like she had booked the appointment in advance. I stood there getting more irritated by the second, because this girl was clearly not in a hurry.

Is it charging now?

Yes. But I need to wait for it to actually come on, to be sure.

Come on? How long does that take?

I don't know now. Sometimes ten minutes. Sometimes twenty.

Twenty minutes?! You want to be sitting here for twenty minutes?!

CheckMates, right in the middle of me pouring my frustration all over Cordelia, Precious, who had been standing there quietly this whole time, watching two grown neighbours argue about a phone charger, decided it was time to speak.

Hi. Good evening.

Hi. Jesus, I didn't even know you were here. I'm Cordelia. I'm Edgar's tenant. And best friend.

Best friend?

I'm Precious. I'm Edgar's friend.

Hmm. Sorry, oh dont be angry. Are you his girlfriend?

You don't have to answer that!

No its fine. I am not his girlfriend. We just met yesterday.

And you came to his house today?

Cordelia! Has your phone come on?

And what's wrong with that?

Sorry dont be angry. I'm not judging, o. I'm just saying, this is exactly how it starts. I dont think it's wise that you met someone yesterday and today youre in the person's house. It's not safe or right. If you keep moving from house to house, God forbid one day you meet someone that harvests your organs or uses your destiny.

Precious, go to the room; let me have a word with her. Please!

AH! You have already started entering the room. Dont you have self-value and respect for God?

Cordelia, please, Cordelia, carry your phone and leave my house.

Why would you say that to me? That's mean!

The world is mean. Sex outside marriage is not a small thing o. People think it's just one night, just one moment, but that one moment can follow you. Spiritually, physically, emotionally. Some girls carry regret for years because of one night they thought was harmless. The bible is against this. Are you a Christian?

Precious, please do not listen to her. Let's go to the room.

Wait, Edgar, I think she is making sense.

My sister, let me show you some scriptures in the holy book of God. Do you have the bible App?

CheckMates, it was at this moment that I believed that the Devil was once an angel. How can Cordelia be talking about Jesus? Someone that has done worse! Do you know that Cordelia once dated a married man and started advising him on how to take care of his own wife?

This girl has never opened a Bible in her life that I know of. Her own mother has begged her to attend her church vigil so many times. She refused. She doesn't even go to church. This was the same lady that told me that "church is not her thing." And now she was sitting in my parlour, uninvited, delivering full premarital counselling to a woman she had met ninety seconds ago. Is this girl not a devil? How foolish can she get?

Wow! I have never seen the scriptures like this before.

Cordelia! It's okay. You can leave my house now.

My sister. You see. Your body is a temple. Nobody except your husband should have access to it. If they love you, let them marry you.

You're right!

She's wrong!

No marriage, no sex!

No marriage, no sex!

Checkmates, I watched my own house turn into a revival ground. Cordelia reached out and held Precious's hands right there on my couch, and began to pray, out loud, eyes closed, full volume, like she had rehearsed this exact moment her whole life. Who would have known that this foolish goat was a prayer warrior?

Father, we thank you for this woman's life. We ask that you guide her steps, protect her heart, and give her the wisdom to make choices that honour you. In Jesus' name.

Amen.

If you're a guy listening to this podcast episode, you know how difficult it is to convince a lady to leave her house and come to yours. Not just come, but even follow you to the bedroom. Cordelia didn't just ruin the day or the moment for me. She ruined the trust Precious had in me.

Edgar, I think I should head home.

No, no, Precious, wait. You don't have to go now. We can just, we can talk, we can watch something; let us finish the movie we started.

No, I really think I need to go. I need to process this.

Just breathe, okay? Relax first now. Sit down, breathe; let's not rush into anything. Don't listen to Cordelia. She is a very foolish person, I swear.

I've ordered a ride. It's five minutes away.

Thank you so much, Cordelia.

CheckMates, for five minutes I couldn't think. My head was blank. I couldn't understand what had just happened. It felt like I was watching a movie or seeing a stage play live. After spending hours planning the evening, cleaning my house, and washing my bathroom walls. After buying spaghetti, rice, juice and wine. After arranging my room and spraying the whole house with this expensive air freshener. Everything I have worked for crumbled right in my eyes in five minutes. And why? Because Cordelia decided to poke her nose in my business and be foolish.

I closed the door slowly and turned around to face Cordelia, who was still sitting there, completely at peace, looking like she didn't know what she had done. The most painful part was that she had the effrontery, the temerity, the audacity, to drink my juice. My chilled juice. I was livid.

Cordelia. What is wrong with you?

What did I do?

What did you do?! You just ruined my day and prayed my date out of my house!

I did it for your own good, Edgar. I don't trust that girl. You met her yesterday, and today she's already in your parlour getting ready to enter the room. What kind of woman does that? I was protecting you.

Protecting me from what?! You don't even know her!

Exactly! Do you know her? So you bought spaghetti, jollof, wine, for a person you know for one day. Me that I have been here for years, you haven't even bought me biscuit. Na wa!

Cordelia, that is not your business! You don't even go to church yourself! When did you become Reverend Sister overnight?

I don't need to go to church to know right from wrong, Edgar. Some things are just common sense.

Common sense told you to sit in another man's parlour and pray for his date to leave?!

Ah, my phone is full now. Let me come and be going.

So now now your phone is full. Are you even okay?

If you cannot finish the spaghetti, please call me.

Will you get out of my house, rubbish!

Immediately Cordelia left my house, I tried to salvage the situation. I picked up my phone and called Precious. It rang. And rang. And kept going straight to voicemail. I tried again. Same thing. I sent a message, "Hope you got home safe", two blue ticks, no reply.

CheckMates, that was the last time Precious and I ever spoke.

Now, the curse I placed on Cordelia that day will not only envelope her life but also that of her children and her great-grandchildren. I know there are some people right now supporting her and telling me she did the right thing. She did not! She is only a foolish goat and the major reason why I am still single today. Who knows what would have happened with that beautiful relationship with Precious? And who said I was going to have sex with her in the bedroom? Maybe by now, I would have met her father or relocated with his daughter to the Bahamas. But I am stuck here in Ketu with a neighbour who doesn't have common sense or know when to keep her mouth shut.