The sound of the alarm makes you stir from sleep. You are surprised it’s dawn. It seem like you had only gone to bed.

“Put the alarm off nah”. Your voice laced with irritation. The generator your neighbour kept on all night provides enough noise. “Ogechi” you call. Your voice slightly raised. The only sound you hear in response is the whirring sound of the generator outside. The alarm had momentarily stopped its wake-up call.

You throw your legs apart. Your right hand rests between your legs, while the other run slowly over the empty space by your side. It rests on a part of the bed you assume her buttocks would have laid. You caress the sheets, desire raging in your loins.

The door squeaks. You hear footsteps. Your fingers have ceased from the caress, but desire still rages in you. You are still. The only motion comes from the occasional jerk in your shorts.

“Olamide, shift” she says. You wonder if she knows you are awake.

“You no go go work” you say, feigning concern. You adjust to make space for her. You adjust again as she settles in. Your body in close contact with hers.

“Five-thirty never knack. I set the alarm early so I fit pray”. She paused, heaved a breath, and then added “I even wake before the alarm ring”

“Wetin happen na” you ask. You edge closer. Your hand finds her waist. Your fingers pull at the hairs below her navel.

“Olamide” she says.

“Yes, my……” she didn’t let you finish.

“You don call that man wey promise you job?”

“Emm……” you hesitate, not sure what to say.

“You don call am?” she asks again.

“I go call am”

“Ah, Olamide” she quipped. “Why na?”

“I go call am” you say. You edge closer. Your movement stems more out of desire than a need to reassure her. Your fingers try to slide under the loose elastic band of her short. She yanks your hand off, as she lifts herself off the bed.

“Na only for woman body man fit show him strength, eh?”

“Ogechi” you call. Your voice truly raised. For a moment, you are grateful for the noise from your neighbour’s generator.

“I dey hear you” she responds.

Nibo ni oro pe onlo?” you ask in Yoruba. “Where you dey go?”

“You think say everybody dey jobless?” she replies in pidgin, though she speaks Yoruba well. You smile. A wry smile.

You hear her footsteps. She is walking away from the bed. “Ogechi” you call. She stops. She stops to pick something from the table. You feel less a man when she refuses you her duty as a wife, even more, when she ignores you. You leap from the bed, marching towards the open door. You are the man. She dare not disobey you. You have restrained yourself from beating her since you were joined as man and wife three months ago. That record you are about to break.

“Olamide, comot make I pass”. You grab her waist, trying to overpower her. There’s a slight struggle. The tenacity of her strength makes it a difficult task. She pulls from your grip.

Your hand reach for her shoulder, not to struggle, but as a plea. “Come nah” you say. The struggle seems to have drained your strength and anger. She shoves your hand away. Her hand mistakenly hits the space between your legs. It felt more like a caress. Your bulge stretching the expanse of your shorts.

“Olamide, I no wan go late oh”.

“Abeg na” you say. The softness of your voice surprises you.

“Make I pass jare”. She charges towards you. The struggle lasts only for few seconds. You look on as she walks past you. You blink, only to shed a tear. Maami said a good wife never refuses her husband.

You make a dash. A dash for the wardrobe. Your mobile phone is there. You forgot to remove it from the trouser you wore the previous night. You returned home too tired and drunk to care about your phone. You almost trip as you approach the wardrobe. You kick at the pile of dirty clothes that almost made you fall. Ogechi has refused to wash them.

You dial a number. A few rings and a woman’s voice comes alive. You smile. You are Maami’s favourite. She always respond to every cry and need of yours. You must inform her about Ogechi’s misbehaviour. You also long for her presence and comfort. If you are lucky, she might help you wash the dirty clothes too.

“Hello” you say. Your voice breathy and appealing. “Maami……..”

20 thoughts on “Maami” by namdi (@namdi)

  1. hian! nawa for dis bratty husband sha….is he actually going to report his wife to Maami?…hehe
    I will give you a B for this Namdi cuz I like it.
    very well done..

    1. namdi (@namdi)


      Lolzzz………the guy wan report him wife o.

      B ke? Sir, mark my script again o.

      Thanks for reading.

  2. Nalongo (@Nalongo)

    Haba! He should not have married. Mama’s boy, go suck breast!

    1. namdi (@namdi)


      Lolzzz………..Some guys get married because mummy told them to.

      Thanks for reading and commenting too.l

  3. I really like this Namdi.
    Someone needs to tell your MC what century it is.
    I blame Maami sha, seems like she raised him to think he can get away acting like a king when he doesn’t even have a job.
    This is good. I just can’t blv it is flash fiction.
    You like leaving us craving more.

    1. namdi (@namdi)


      Thanks for the nice words. I really appreciate them.

      Maami oh! What have you done to him?……lolzzz

  4. bunmiril (@bunmiril)

    Nawa for this kine immature man o.
    He got married before his time.
    And the girl sef! of all the men in this world.
    Nice one.
    Well done.

    1. namdi (@namdi)


      Hehehe…..of all the men in this world.

      Well, as they say “love is blind”. I just wonder how come one gets to see clearly later on. Hmmm.

      Thanks for reading and commenting.

  5. Why is his voice breathy and appealing for his mum, as though she is his lover?

    1. namdi (@namdi)


      Same way a child’s voice would sound when (s)he wants a favour.

      Thanks for reading.

  6. Blackgold (@Blackgold)

    @ Namdi well done. this Olamide na man so? If Maami don die nko?If him he cannot handle his home,he shouldn’t be married to any woman

  7. Blackgold (@Blackgold)

    On a second thought, if he doesnt have sisters or never had a relationship, maybe Ogechi is his first; he might not have experience, considering they are newly married ,then he sure needs Maami’s tutorial. Moreover Ogechi should not be starving her husband oh!

  8. Very interesting piece, the Yoruba wasn’t worded accurately though. And you need to keep an eye out for punctuation slips.

  9. namdi (@namdi)


    Thanks a lot.

    Someone helped with the translation. I’m not a yoruba dude. I’ll search for the slips and make the necessary corrections.

  10. namdi (@namdi)


    Lolzzz…..Olamide na man o. A big bros sef.

    I understand your second thoughts. Though, whether its his first relationship or the tenth, its no excuse to be lazy.

    Thanks for both comments.

  11. This was thoroughly enjoyed, it read true. Such things happen. You’re good at flashing fiction. It’s an A from me.

    1. namdi (@namdi)



      It does happen. Maybe, everyday.

      Wow, an A. Yeah!

  12. namdi (@namdi)



    It does happen. Maybe, everyday.

    Wow, an A. Yeah!

  13. lol!

    A heartwarming story that’s very realistic in its telling.

    Nicely written. But I think it deserves a better title. The title you gave it was way too misleading; as though the story was all about the protagonist’s mother but we only get a hint of her at the end. Meanwhile the story is all about something else…

    1. namdi (@namdi)


      I’m happy you like the piece.

      About the title…..hmmm, I wanted to show the effect of “over-protective/ always-ready-to-please-their-child mothers”. The effect is what the story is all about.

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