The Nicest man in the Room

Okay, I thank God for my parents. I thank God for blessing me with the kind of parents that I have. Every private discussion with my parents feels like a masterclass about life. There is always something to learn with them around. My father once told me the biggest mistake I can ever make in life is getting married to the wrong woman. He said, "Your partner can either make life well or make life hell." He would tell me to stop looking for the perfect woman; that there are no perfect women in this world anymore; and that the last perfect woman that ever existed, he married her, my mother. My father loves my mother so much that he claims that my mother makes the best Okro soup, which is obviously a lie. Even my mother knows her Okro soup is not all that. But my father said it because he always wants to protect my mother's image.

Now my mother also loves my father, but sadly, she doesn't think my father is anything close to perfection. As a matter of fact, she spends hours complaining to her children about how my father deprived her of perfection. Do you know how many times I have heard my mother say, "Edgar Bobo, I am only in this marriage because of you and your siblings"? You would think this woman hates this man until you see her defending him outside. My mother does it because she always wants to protect my father's image.

But in 2004, something crazy happened; I was 7 years old at the time. I will never forget this day. It was relaxing in my bedroom watching Channel O on TV; my siblings had gone out to visit a friend across the street. My parents had just finished having dinner and suddenly started arguing. They were having this crazy argument in the living room. The argument was so loud that it covered the sound of the music from the TV. Why are these people shouting this evening? I asked myself as a seven-year-old, confused about life.

Now I cannot remember the exact reason why they were arguing. Edo people can argue and shout for any reason, but what I can remember is that it had to do with someone making pepper soup that wasn't peppery.

I thought it was the regular argument that would end after five minutes, but that evening, I witnessed something my eyes had never seen before. I saw my parents physically fight for the first time in my life. I have to believe my parents had fought many times before that day, but this was the first time I saw them get physical and throw hands. Now, my parents would never do such a thing if they knew I was in that house with them. Most times, my parents will lock themselves in the room when they need to argue. The moment my mother says "M.I Can i see you inside?" You already know it is about to go down. But seeing them physically throw hands felt like a movie to me. I remember that my father told me that long ago, before he married my mother, he swore never to lay his hands on his wife or any woman in the world. If only he'd sworn never to beat me and my younger brother too.

As they fought, I quietly opened my bedroom door and walked to the door that led to the living room. I opened it silently and watched them in 4K; they were performing WWE Raw vs SmackDown. I couldn't believe my eyes. Checkmates, I saw my mother beating the hell out of my father. This woman was punching him like Mike Tyson. She was mixing kung fu with kickboxing and Gidigbo.

I was so disappointed in my father. This man couldn't even land one punch successfully. He was just blocking his face. Oga give am one na. My mom was beating this man like a professional Mortal Kombat player using Liu Kang and Sub-Zero.

When it was getting unbearable to watch, I pushed the door open so they would hear and see me, and the moment they did, you would not believe that my parents immediately started laughing and dancing together without music like everything was fine. I was confused. Were these two not fighting some seconds ago? What kind of love or madness is this? Then my brain clicked; my parents did that because they wanted to protect the image of their marriage.

As a 7-year-old that day, I felt bad for my father as I walked back to my room. How much pain was he enduring all in the name of love? I said to myself, this man didn't swear because he was a terrific fighter; he swore because he was a terrible fighter who never wanted his kids to see him as a weak man. He wanted to protect that side of his image.

I held this thought for many years, until one day in 2012. My mother was arguing with our neighbor. One busybody she-goat. Only God knows why they were arguing and fighting, but when my neighbor realized she was losing the battle to my mother, she decided to call her busybody he-goat of a husband to join the fight. My mum wasn't scared of him or his wife; she knew she could beat both of them, so she took her position, tightened her wrapper and was waiting patiently for the he-goat to come. When my neighbour's husband came, this man didn't come alone; he came with another he-goat, his brother, so it was three goats versus my poor mother. My mother tried to fight the three of them by herself, but she couldn't. You know how stubborn goats can be? The numbers weren't in her favour, and when she felt like her life was leaving her, she ran upstairs to call her loving husband, a man who was the estate's symbol for peace.

When my father saw my mother bleeding through her nose, her left eye swollen shut, he got upset. He dropped his newspaper, dragged my mother to the bedroom, and locked her inside. Then he went downstairs and beat the three goats so badly that my neighbour's husband and brother needed surgery to fix their broken legs. My father beat two strong men all by himself.

Now I wasn't there when it happened. But the stories I got from people who saw it live were wild. They said no one believed that my calm dad had so much rage in him. The image he had protected became blurred to those who saw and heard the story. The nicest man in the room had lost his cool.

It was in 2012 that I realised that in 2004, when my father and my mother fought that evening, my father wasn't a weakling as I thought. He deliberately held himself back from hitting my mom. Because he is a principled man who knows that one wrong punch and he would not only destroy her physical image but also send her to her grave. And if my mom were no more, then he would have to raise his kids alone, and if he raised us alone, he would eventually kill us one day out of frustration. My father held on to his promise to never fight a woman no matter what. That is one image of my father I will never forget.

So today I am making a promise long before I get married. To my wife-to-be and my beautiful children. I promise to be a loving father and to protect you from trouble always. I promise, just like my father, to be the nicest man in the room. I promise not to fight with my wife or anyone in front of my kids. That is an image I am willing to protect, "buttt" if you, as my wife, ever get involved in a fight and you need someone to help you fight, don't call me; call the police.

Okay, wait, you thought I would help you fight? Me fight?

I am not my father. I love you, but I cannot fight to save my life. I will help you call the police or road safety if the fight is an emergency. I cannot come and kill myself.

Thank you.

Edgar doesn't lie

Hey Checkmates, welcome back to another episode of Why Am I Still Single? As you already know, the answer to that question is always the same: I am single because of many, many reasons. Today, I've got another reason to share with you guys.

So yesterday afternoon, I was bored at home and needed some form of excitement. You know how they say the idle mind is the devil's workshop, so in order not to give the devil ideas, I left my house to see a movie at the cinema. I decided to go to The Palms in Lekki.

But because of the bad road, unpredictable Lagos traffic, and this confused weather, I ended up getting to the cinema late and missed the whole movie I wanted to see. So, in order not to look like a complete waste of time, I looked for where they were selling popcorn and joined the queue like a gentleman that I am. If you had seen the queue I joined, it was so long you would think people there were casting their votes. Anyways, I stayed there; after all, the movie I wanted to see was no longer showing, so why hurry?

As I was waiting, someone suddenly tapped my shoulder from behind. I was confused. I hope this isn't Cordelia because that girl has a way of finding me in hopeless places. I turned back to see who it was. Checkmates, my eyes saw a lady I have spent close to five years looking for. I couldn't believe it.

Have you ever been so shocked in your life that the presence of someone would make you freeze? I was just staring at her like the statue of Nnamdi Azikiwe. She was laughing at me. It was like I saw a ghost come back to life. It was like my brain forgot how English worked; I couldn't speak.

Edgar, I knew it was you. You're still as skinny as you have always been.

Today's episode is going to teach you a very important lesson about life. I learned something interesting yesterday when I met this lady. But to fully understand this story, we have to go back to 2021 and start from how I met her and lost her.

Her name was Eno, an Efik name meaning 'Gift.' And looking back, Checkmates, I have a lot of thoughts about whether that name was accurate.

I met her the way most of you meet your partners these days, through a mutual friend who had my number on WhatsApp. One random day like that in 2021, I'd posted a new picture on my WhatsApp status. One fine picture like that. I had just bought this denim jacket, and I was feeling myself too much. So I wore it, took a picture, and posted it for the world to see. It is not every day that God blesses me with fine looks; that day, I looked too good, and I didn't want the cute me to go to waste. So I posted my picture on WhatsApp. If you see the number of comments I got that day.

Oh, Edgar, you look sweet like today bread, Oh, Edgar, i love this your jacket; come and give me na. Oh, Edgar, what cream are you using? Your skin is glowing.

There was nothing I did not see or hear that day. People started taking screenshots of the picture and posting it on their own status. I was mesmerised.

Not long after, my friend Bolaji sent me a voice note that her own friend sent her after she posted my picture on her WhatsApp status. This was what her friend said.

Babes, who is this your friend? Is he single? Introduce me na, tell him your friend is feeling him. Help your girl na babes. The guys lips is entering my eye.

The voice note you just heard was from Eno, Bolaji's friend. And for those of you outside Nigeria, entering my eye' means that she finds me too attractive and irresistible to do without. That's how Nigerian women compliment men they like from a distance. So if I am entering your eye, please send me an email or a message on WhatsApp. My direct line is on my website, checkedgar.com.

Back to the story. When I first listened to the voice note, I couldn't stop laughing. I played it over and over again. The more I listened to it, the finer the picture I posted became. Bolaji then sent a text.

Bolaji said, "Should i give her your number?" I replied, "Wait first! Send me her picture." Bolaji took some minutes and sent me seven pictures of Eno. Seven!

If you had seen how beautiful Eno looked, you'd understand why I had to ask Bolaji,

BJ, are you sure this was the person that sent the voice note to you?

Bolaji said yes. I said okay. Send her my number. That was how Eno and I started chatting. Now Eno liked me before she even met me. Her first attraction was my looks, but when Eno heard my baritone, Eno's love tripled. It was like my baritone was the icing on the cake. Whenever we chat on WhatsApp, Eno will say

Can we switch to voice call instead? I am tired of typing.

And trust me, the moment she picks up my call and says hello, I will make my voice extra deep, just so it gets into her head.

Eno was sharp and interesting. A lover of movies, culture, and history. She understood my dry jokes and made me laugh a lot. We would spend hours on the phone talking about African Art and African history.

The first time I saw her in person was when we agreed to meet at the National Museum on a date. It was obviously her idea. Eno was so excited about everything Art. She basically turned me into her photographer and her student. There was nothing Eno did not tell me about all the art pieces hung on the walls.

Edgar. Do you know the Benin Bronzes weren't even made in Benin, the country? They're from Benin City, right here in Nigeria; your own Edo people made these centuries ago, and the British stole thousands of them in 1897. Most of them are still sitting in museums in London right now, not here.

I said okay. This girl was blushing when she saw the famous Jema'a Head Nok artwork. She was just shouting

Edgar, look at the Nok art; it's so beautiful. It's Nok Art. I love Nok Art.

If I knock you. Aunty, stand well; let me take your picture. We took pictures, had ice cream and popcorn, hugged, and then she went home.

The second time I saw her in person was at her family's house, two months after our first date at the museum; she told me her father wanted to see me. Apparently her father was a fan of my baritone voice, and she spent a lot of time talking to her siblings about me. So her father wanted to meet the young man that kept making his daughter smile every day.

Now, Checkmates, let me introduce you to this man properly, because he deserves an introduction. Eno's father was, without argument, the nicest man in the room. Every single time. I have been to his house four times, and I will tell you my experience visiting him.

The first time I visited his home, he was not around. Eno introduced me to her younger siblings and her house help. They were so warm and sweet. They were all surprised that my small body could produce such a deep voice, and I get that a lot, so I felt normal. I sat on the chair facing the TV; Eno sat beside me on the same chair, holding my hands as we watched a Nigerian movie on African Magic.

Not long after, I heard this sharp knock on the door; Eno went to open it, and for the first time, I saw the man. It was her dad. Immediately, I got up to greet him.

Good afternoon, Sir.

Afternoon.

Eno introduced me to her father as Edgar, her friend with the deep voice, and immediately he realised I was his guest; he became excited and happy to see me. He started laughing and trying to imitate my voice. He was so friendly. He told me to sit down and feel at home. He asked about my parents and my life in general. Then he asked if I had eaten; I said no, that I had just arrived. He became upset and asked Eno to give me food immediately, with two huge pieces of meat. He asked if I liked to drink beer; that sounded like a trick question. Luckily for me, I don't drink. So I said no. He smiled and asked if I was a born-again Christian. I said yes. He nodded his head and asked his daughter to give me a chilled bottle of Chapman with the little umbrella still in it. He kept smiling at me. I was getting uncomfortable. After some minutes, he told me he was going into his room to freshen up and that he would see me later. As he walked to his room, I quickly imagined my parents; this man reminded me of my mother, because what he did is something my mother can do. Treat a guest like her own child. Anyways, I didn't see him again that day; Eno said he was asleep.

The second time, I was at his house. I came in and saw him washing his car. The moment he saw me, he rinsed his hands and ran to hug me. As usual, he asked about my parents, my well-being, and if I would love to eat anything. Before I could answer the question, he called his daughter

ENO! ENO! Where is this girl? Edgar is around oh! He said he wants to eat Pounded Yam and fisherman soup.

I was shocked. I wanted to help him wash his car; he told me not to bother, that I should go inside and play with his daughter Eno, that he loves washing his car himself, and that nobody can wash it to his satisfaction except him. I insisted; he refused and even made a joke about me being too skinny to wash a car. He said.

If you use your small strength to wash the car, what will you use to eat pounded yam? Come on, go inside, my friend; don't worry, I will join you shortly.

I also didn't see him again that day; Eno said he went to visit a friend.

The third time was the most interesting. I caught them listening to the news on TV. As soon as I entered the house, he was so excited to see me. He asked Eno to excuse us because the men wanted to talk. And we did. There is no question this man did not ask me. He asked about my background, my family, my job, and my plans and even asked about my feelings for his daughter. At one point, it sounded like I came for her hand in marriage. This man asked me about everything; he even asked me if I pay tithe in church and enjoy preaching the gospel. I said yes. He was just smiling. When Eno got back, he got up, hugged me and said to her.

This one is a good boy o. Don't let him go anywhere Oh.

We all laughed. He prayed for me and walked to his room. Eno was surprised about the whole thing. I remember her saying

Do you know you're the first male friend my daddy likes?

Checkmates, I was just blushing. The man was friendly and relatable. He was the nicest man in the room. I want you to hold onto that phrase, because it is going to mean something very different to you by the end of this story than it does to you right now.

So for four months, everything was perfect. Our friendship was growing stronger by the day until one random Tuesday in March; everything just stopped.

I remember exactly where I was. I was in my car, in traffic on the Third Mainland Bridge, when my phone buzzed. I opened it expecting a good morning text from Eno, one of her long voice notes, or maybe a meme.

Instead, I got this: "Please do not call or text me anymore. I am done with this friendship."

Checkmates. I was confused. Did she mistakenly send me this message? Did someone hack her phone? Or was it a prank? Because at the time, I was quite famous for phone pranks. I was really confused. We didn't fight or argue the day before, so the message was completely strange.

I read that text maybe eleven times. Something said, 'Edgar, call her number.' At first it rang, but she ended the call almost immediately. Then I tried again; this time it went straight to switched off. My head started overthinking everything; I was just praying she was safe.

So immediately, I told the driver to change direction towards her house. That it was an emergency.

When I got to her house, luckily for me, I saw her come outside to throw trash in her dustbin. I immediately called out her name, "Eno," from the other side of the street. "Eno" "Eno". Eno looked around; the moment she saw me, she became very upset.

Edgar, please, I don't have time for this. What are you doing here?

You don't have time for what? What's going on?

Please just go, Edgar. I'm begging you. I dont want trouble. Go away!

Trouble how? Eno! Eno! Eno!

Eno entered her compound and slammed the gate on my face. And that was it. That was the fourth and final time I visited her home. A woman who had spent four months telling me her secrets and even prepared pounded yam with fresh fisherman soup for me to eat told me to my face she doesn't have time for this. That I should go away.

I stood on her street for a long time after her gate shut behind her. I had no idea, none at all, that this would be the last real conversation I would have with Eno for five years. I always wondered what I did wrong and why she suddenly hated me with so much anger; I had no idea that the answer I was looking for had been sitting in that house the whole time. We'll be right back. Let me drink water and clear my throat.

Welcome back, Checkmates.

That day, I left her house, confused, feeling rejected and completely lost as to what I had done to a beautiful young lady to make her hate me so suddenly. By the time I got home, there was no question I hadn't asked myself. My brain went to work, building theory after theory for why she must have turned on me so suddenly.

Theory one: maybe she'd found someone else and had fallen for him overnight, and suddenly my existence started to irritate her. You know how it is when you newly fall in love; everyone else around you starts to feel like a nuisance. But if that was the case, why hadn't she blocked me? A woman who's moved on blocks you. A woman who's been told to stay away just goes quiet. I didn't know the difference yet.

Theory two: maybe my big mouth had finally put me in trouble. I must have said something. I replayed every phone call, every joke and read every single WhatsApp message, looking for the offense. And to be honest, I couldn't find one, because, and this took me years to accept, there wasn't one. I hadn't done anything wrong.

Theory three: What if she'd reconnected with an ex? Fela once said women only run from something good if their ex comes back offering something better. That they are simply wired that way. Now, Checkmates, at this point I hadn't even told Eno I liked her or that I wanted a relationship. So why would she cut me off entirely? It wasn't making sense.

None of my theories was correct. Not one.

I called her repeatedly. She never picked up. I even tried random numbers, she'd answer those, but the moment she heard my baritone, she'd hiss and cut the call. The same voice that used to turn her on had suddenly become a warning sign. The thing pain me. After a while, I told myself to move on. I stopped sending her messages or checking her Instagram. I stopped wondering what i did wrong.

It wasn't easy, but life did what life does. Months became a year. A year became three. I got into podcasting, into TV presenting, into becoming the version of myself you all know now, the one who tells you these stories instead of living them quietly and bitterly like a normal person.

By the time 2026 arrived, my memory of Eno was already fading away. I had met so many other interesting women that her case had become a "one of those things" kinda story.

Until yesterday, when I saw her at the mall, and my body forgot every single thing it had ever learned. It was like my brain forgot how English worked. I couldn't speak.

Edgar, I knew it was you. You're still as skinny as you have always been.

Eno, Hi. How are you? Long time, no see.

Yeah! It's really been long. What movie did you come to see?

We stood there a while. I told her I couldn't see the movie I came to see because of traffic and the bad road in Lagos. She told me about the movie she came to see and gave me a lot of spoilers I didn't even ask for. Eventually, I bought my popcorn and hot dog, and then she suggested we sit somewhere and talk properly. We found a small coffee shop somewhere in the mall, not so far from the cinema.

Now I don't drink coffee, so I ordered juice, while she had coffee. We continued having our small talk as if both of us did not remember that there was a serious issue to discuss. I didn't want to bring it up; I was waiting for her to say something about it. And then, somewhere between my first sip and my second, she said,

Edgar, I need to tell you something. I seriously owe you an apology.

I immediately put my cup down and looked at her with a lost expression, like I didn't know what she was talking about. She continued.

I know you have been wondering what happened to us some years ago and why I sent that text message to you.

I didn't say a word; I was just looking at her, waiting for her to get to the real story. What she said next confused me and touched me somewhere in my liver. She continued.

Edgar, I liked you. You know I did, but my father wasn't in support of it. He liked you at first, but after you told him you were from Edo State, something in him changed. He was never the same about you again. He was the one that told me to send that message to you. I didn't want to, but I can't disobey my father; he will kill me.

I sat there, genuinely stunned. I thought about everything: the pounded yam, the fisherman soup, the Chapman with the little umbrella, the prayers he made for me, and most importantly, his last message to her about keeping me. Her father was in awe of him. How can she say he didn't like me? That's impossible. I reminded her.

Eno, were you not the one who told me I am the first male friend your father liked?

Edgar, calm down!

I am calm; I just want to understand what is going on.

That was how Eno told me some interesting things about her father. She said that a few moments after I left her house the third time I went visiting. Her father took her into his room and told her he did not want to see her around me again. When she asked him why. He said to her that I was cursed. He asked her to sit beside him on the bed, and then he told her a family secret she didn't even know about. So apparently, Eno has five other sisters, and three of them got married to Edo men, and all three of them have suffered one form of physical abuse or the other from their husbands. Eno told me that her eldest sister was beaten to a point where she was hospitalised, and her elder sister has refused to get married again after her experience with her husband. As a matter of fact, the sight of men traumatises her. After everything her father said, Eno said she tried to defend me. She said:

Daddy, Edgar is different.

Eno said her father looked at her and said, "My Daughter, all Edo men are the same."

Eno said that when she told her father she wasn't going to cut me off, her father gave her two options.

Look, let me tell you, it is either you marry a man from Cross River or you cease to remain my daughter. The choice is yours.

Her father begged her not to make the same mistakes her sisters made. He told her that he could not stand another Edo man beating his favourite daughter. He said he would rather die than watch it happen.

When Eno heard 'death,' she knew there was only one option, and that was the option she chose. By the way, she said all of this calmly. Not with anger. Not with tears. Just the flat, settled tone of someone who has made peace with a decision that was never hers to make in the first place. Then she started apologising.

Edgar, I am sorry. I am sorry I ignored your calls and sorry for not responding to your messages. I still regret the way I treated you the last time I saw you. Edgar, I am asking for your forgiveness. I am sorry.

I sat in that coffee shop and said nothing for a long time. The more I listened to her, the more I realised that I was only a casualty of another man's error. Just because I am from Edo State doesn't mean I will beat my wife; sadly, the Edo men who have married before me have ruined my chances of marrying the one who could have been my soulmate.

I want you to sit with that for a second, the way I had to. I took my time to look at her, and then I noticed she had a ring on her finger. I didn't know how to feel.

Are you married now?

No, but i am engaged.

And where is he from?

He is from my place, Cross River.

I smiled at her and congratulated her. She hugged me and told me she had to leave. The hug felt different. It was the kind of hug you give someone when you both know it's goodbye for real this time, not goodbye-for-now. She wished me well. I wished her well. And then I watched her walk back toward the cinema, toward whatever the rest of her Tuesday looked like, and I took the remaining popcorn and ordered a ride home.

Checkmates, I don't think I need to tell you what this reminded me of. If you were with me for the story before this one, you already know.

My own father spent his whole life proving, quietly, without ever needing anyone to notice, that an Edo man's hands could hold every kind of restraint a woman could ever need. My father, an Edo man, showed me that not every Edo man is a beast. Eno's father spent his whole life watching the opposite happen, three times, to three women he loved, and of that fear, he built a wall, brick by brick, disguised the entire time as hospitality. As pounded yam and fisherman soup. As "feel at home." As a chilled Chapman with the little umbrella still in it.

He was never protecting his daughter from me.

He was protecting her from a story that had already happened three times before, in three other houses, long before I ever knocked on his gate with good intentions and a deep voice.

But I'll tell you this. Somewhere in Cross River, there's a man who still believes every Edo man is the same story waiting to repeat itself. My father once told me, in this world, there are only two types of people: good people and bad people. You could be the nicest man in the room and still not be a good person.

There are amazing Edo men in this world, and my father is one of them.