My snoring husband, My bedwetting wife

About this book

I grew up around families like the Adewales and the Okafors loud, loving, occasionally merciless with a joke, and endlessly, stubbornly committed to seeing their children settled and safe, even when their methods left something to be desired. I have sat in parlours much like Chika's, eaten chin chin at engagements much like Ngozi's, and watched aunties like Bisi turn a private matter into a public performance before anyone could stop them. I wanted to write a story that laughed at all of it honestly the mockery, the meddling, the sheer chaos of two large families colliding without ever laughing at the two people underneath it. Tunde and Ngozi are, in their own way, everyone who has ever been made to feel like a burden rather than a person; everyone who has built a sharp tongue or a quiet silence as armor against a world too impatient to look closer. What I hope this book says, underneath all the noise and the jollof rice and the rooster-covered notebook, is this: the things we are most ashamed of are very often the exact things that, once shared honestly with the right person, become the sturdiest foundation we ever build anything on top of. Thank you for picking up their story. I hope it makes you laugh, and I hope, somewhere in the middle of the laughing, it makes you feel a little less alone in whatever you're carrying too. With love and plenty of pepper,