"I don't like beans, and you know it." My brother, Sola hissed at his wife, Bisola pushing away his plate of uneaten food angrily to one side of the dining table.
"How about you go into the kitchen to prepare what you would like to eat for yourself?" She replied, pointing towards the kitchen.
I looked at their exchange in silence and wondered why they had to quarrel over something as trivial as food. I had only spent one night in their house, and already, I was exhausted. I had arrived the previous evening, happy to come and spend my semester break with my brother and his newly wedded wife at their invitation. His wife and I are very close, and she always wants me around.
"You could have at least eaten the beans considering the effort she put into preparing it." I told Sola later in the day after he arrived from work.
"Bisola knows I don't like beans, she's the one that does, so, why would she cook it for me?"
"You could at least try to develop a tolerance for it because of the effort she put into cooking it."
"If only it were that easy, I can't stand the taste nor smell of beans for any reason. She knows it, she should have channeled the energy she put into cooking beans to preparing rice for me so I can be on my way." Sola insisted, his fingers furiously typing something on his phone.
"You knew all these beforehand, why complain now?"
"I never thought something like this would be an issue. A man is the head of the house. Why am I being stressed like this for God's sake? How many times did you see our mother query our father over anything?"
"I hope you know times have changed and what's to say our mother was happy doing all of our father's bidding? She's your wife, not your slave."
"I knew you were going to be on her side. Imagine her telling me to go and prepare whatever I like to eat in the kitchen, a whole me!" He tapped his chest incredulously and stamped his foot on the floor.
My brother is a stubborn man and has never been the one to tolerate other people's views, it had to be his way or nothing. I knew he was madly in love with his wife, but building a home with your lifetime partner is not an easy task, and certainly not one you delve into with a rigid mindset.
"I'm sorry, but you can't tell me who to vote for." Bisola fired at Sola in their living room, interrupting the program I was watching.
The argument had been going on since they were upstairs, I pretended not to hear, only now, they have come down the stairs to continue.
"If I am still your husband, you will have a rethink on who you want to vote for. That man is a thief"
"It's none of your business who I root for, you picked your choice, I picked mine, how's that a problem for you?"
Sola picked up his briefcase and stormed out of the house.
"Your brother always has to be right, and that's the problem right there. I'm not sure how long I can continue with this. It's like we don't have any common ground since we got married. I never foresaw this." Bisola confided in me, tears rolling down her pretty face.
I felt her pain, but I didn't know what to say. I wasn't married so, I didn't know how to console her. I said the first thing that popped into my mind, "But you love each other."
"Yes, we do, but lately, it seems it's all buried under our arguments. Hardly a day goes by that we don't argue. Maybe love isn't enough as I earlier thought." She said regrettably, slumping on my shoulders, crying. Here I was, thinking love was the most important quality in a relationship, and now, my role model couple who used to be madly in love are having issues.
I opened the door to my brother's room when I heard Bisola wailing from in there. Sola had earlier left home on that Saturday to go for a naming ceremony. He was supposed to go with his wife, but after another round of arguments, he went out alone.
I heard his wife crying immediately afterwards and I just had to enter the room uninvited. I can't pretend I didn't hear, my heart was torn for her.
"It's okay, Bisola. What's the matter?" I asked sitting beside her on the bed.
Sniffing, she wipes her face with her palm, "Your brother said my make-up is too heavy for the outing we are supposed to go. He said I look like a masquerade. Is it true?"
How was one to answer such question honestly without offending God? She did look like a masquerade, the make-up was a tad too much. It was a mixture of sluttish and party animal, giving "pick me" vibes. I love makeup as much as the next girl, but common, there's a reason why the word, "classy" exists. Her eyebrows were drawn with a thick, black eye pencil, so thick, it looked more like an artist's best work. She had on a combination of green and red eye shadows that would have best been highlighted under club lights. Her lash extensions were so thick and long that they could pass for a hand fan used by some royals in Africa. Her eyeliner was color yellow, and the blush on her cheeks didn't help matters, it was so much, that one would think she was going for an audition to be a clown in a movie. The lips? I'm not sure it's safe to go there. Believe me, when I say, a one-year-old child learning how to use watercolors would do a less disastrous job.
The truth has been known to set people free right? "As much as it displeases me to say this, I think he's right this time even though I don't approve of his methods."
"The makeup is too much?" she asked looking genuinely surprised. "I thought it looked beautiful, I was experimenting with some new makeup hacks and thought it would look beautiful."
"In all sincerity, I liked you better when you used subtle makeup. I know my opinion doesn't count, but I thought I should let you know."
Surprisingly, she hugged me and held on tightly, "Thank you, Seyi, for telling me the truth. I wish your brother could be less harsh when telling me things like this."
The truth does set one free, I can testify to that now, even though some truths have been known to keep one in bondages.
That was not the end of their numerous arguments and fights by the way.
"Bisola said she's leaving me." My brother announced one morning, looking distraught and ill-composed.
"I saw that coming a mile away. A woman can only put up with so much. She's a woman that knows her value, and I wish I could kiss her for that."
"Why would you say a thing like that? You are supposed to be my sister, my family. What did I even do wrong? I was only trying to correct her."
"I don't defend wrong things, you should know that by now. You were only correcting her? How come you conveniently forgot to make amends for your bad attitude? Using derogatory words on your partner, putting her down, rejecting her food, and being a selfish husband is not the right way to correct the love of your life. You don't deserve her."
"I'm madly in love with her, I only wanted her to do better and be perfect."
"She's a human being, she has a mind of her own. You could have tried a more diplomatic approach, it would have guaranteed a better result. Good thing she's leaving, I suggest you get a robot after and have it modeled to your taste."
He stood up resolutely, a determined look on his face, "Bisola is my wife, we signed forever and she's not leaving no matter what." He left me there and ran back up the stairs to meet his wife.
The outcome? He apologized, they made up, and found common grounds for all their differences, i.e. accepting and respecting each other's opposing view(s) and moved ahead as a couple. For instance, rather than cook rice or beans for each person's preference, they took to cooking rice and beans together, that way, they could meet each other halfway and eat together. I'm sure it wasn't easy at first, but it's become a tradition in their home now.
That was sixteen years ago, and they have four beautiful kids to show for it.
The best part, they are the strongest and most loving couple I know, and I'm proud of them, even more proud to say I was a part of it.