How Did We Get Here?

I glanced at the file my assistant had just shared with me. Peering over my glasses, I noticed their name. It wasn’t familiar. 

“First time?” 

“Yes, ma. And they are already here.” 

Ten minutes before their scheduled appointment. They must have been cut from a different cloth. 

My typical experience? Most of my clients arrive late. I could usually tell who was responsible by observing their dress style. Then there were the couples who arrived separately. It often depended on who cared more or was genuinely looking forward to resolving whatever issues they were going through. 

In some cases, the partner who preferred the status quo would typically arrive late, with all the attitude in the world. I’ve seen some come to sessions only to sleep while their frustrated partners poured out their grievances. 

It always fascinated me. The pattern was usually the same. They would observe quietly, offer monosyllabic responses and eventually open up, either defensively or simply to tell their side of the story. 

Then there were couples whose partners never showed up. Those were the worst. I often ended up spending the entire session consoling the partner who had shown up, who would sometimes cry throughout the meeting. 

The men were generally more composed, but I could still see through the façade. They were either livid or embarrassed. 

“Oh, it’s nothing, Yeside. It’s fine,” the macho men would claim. 

I had also encountered men who were more vulnerable. In such cases, I deliberately kept my distance while offering words of encouragement. 

Let me share one of my experiences from when I first started in this profession. 

A particular gentleman was having serious issues with his wife. He suspected her of infidelity, or so he claimed. They had been at loggerheads over transparency about where each of them was during the day. 

I overstepped my boundaries and moved over to the couch where he was sitting and sobbing. My thinking was that being closer and offering words of encouragement would make my support feel more genuine. 

Before I could say “Shalewa”, he had rested his head on my shoulder, then against my chest. 

I still thought nothing of it because he was crying uncontrollably. Looking back, perhaps it had all been a ploy. He stayed there for what felt like a few days and a half. He kept adjusting his head as though trying to get a feel of my bust. 

I eventually sprang up and returned to my seat. 

He never stopped calling me. 

I was engaged at the time, and his calls often caused friction between me and my man, who is now my husband of five years. I kept dismissing his concerns, but he kept telling me I didn’t know men. 

It wasn’t until the gentleman started showing up unannounced at my office, sending gifts on Valentine’s Day and leaving romantic messages that I realised what my man had been talking about. 

All along, I had thought he was simply a man who badly needed counsel and the friendship he wasn’t getting from his wife. 

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” my man would challenge me back then. “Why are you encouraging this? And please don’t say it’s because you don’t want to be rude to a client. That would really tick me off.” 

I eventually had to draw a firm line and make my position clear. It didn’t stop him, and we eventually had to involve the police. 

That experience alone taught me some hard lessons: never judge anyone or either party until you’ve heard their story, always draw boundaries, and redesign your office if necessary. 

My office now has see-through glass walls, although the middle sections are frosted. Anyone could still stretch over the frosted section to look into my office or kneel to peep. No sane person would do that, of course. It was my way of creating a mental barrier for anyone with funny business. 

I’m often amazed by how many people say “I do” without carrying out their due diligence, laying out their expectations or discussing what matters most to them. 

“Welcome, Mr and Mrs Cardbury.” 

I stood up and shook their hands with a smile. 

The lady was diminutive but larger than life. She had style and didn’t seem apologetic about it. Her husband, on the other hand, was more reserved. Average height and clean-shaven. For a man who had just clocked 50, he was blessed with a full head of hair. His hairline was intact, although I suspected he might have been dyeing his hair because the hair on his forearms was a mixture of black and white. 

This was their first visit, and my pastor had recommended that they come in for a session. 

“Happy belated birthday, Mr Cadbury,” I said. 

He looked at me with a polite smile. It was obvious that something about my remark made him uncomfortable. 

“Thank you.” 

I made sure they were comfortable and assured them of the practice’s strict confidentiality policies. I presented them with forms to sign as an assurance, but they both declined, saying they trusted whoever their pastor recommended. I ensured they signed anyway. And so we began. 

“My dear Yeside, how did we get here? Last week, I pulled off a successful 50th birthday party for my husband. The stress I went through, ehn!” 

She was emphatic and animated, like Jerry the Mouse recounting his latest encounter with Tom. 

“There was nothing I didn’t do to ensure that this man had the best birthday ever. And guess what?” 

I obliged her. 

“What, madam?” 

“All I got was complaint after complaint after complaint.” 

It was almost melodic hearing her say that. 

“It was a surprise party. Getting him to even leave the house, nko? Hmmm.” 

She went on about how she had pulled out all the stops to ensure her husband had the best celebration ever. 

And, in truth, she had gone all out. 

Wow, I thought to myself. If I did even a quarter of what she had described for my husband’s 50th birthday, I would have made his day. 

Not a chance, guys. 

I couldn’t wait to hear Mr Cardbury’s side of the story. He had barely said a word. Even his body language gave nothing away. Throughout her narration, he maintained the same posture, staring into space with his hands folded across his midsection. 

He began by saying that he had agreed to come because the recommendation came from someone he held in high regard and whose judgement he trusted. 

“My wife and I are two completely different people, which is an obvious statement. What isn’t obvious is how she keeps doing the same things that irk me time and again. For exam—” 

She interrupted him. 

“You see? You see what I mean? He never appreciates anything. Nothing!” 

Mr Cardbury threw his hands in the air before continuing. 

“Like I was saying, we have been married for 22 years. We dated for three years before that, and one would think there are certain things that shouldn’t still be happening. For example, I do not like extravagant parties. I would rather be around a few close friends and share a quiet even—” 

His wife hissed loudly, shaking her head and bouncing her legs as though she had run out of patience. 

Mr Cardbury buried his face in his left palm. 

I looked at Mrs Cardbury. 

“What did I do? I didn’t interrupt him tis time, nau?” 

“Please, ma’am, we are here to resolve issues. We cannot do that if we don’t allow everyone to air their opinions. It doesn’t matter whether you like what you’re hearing or not. Just listen would you?” 

“If she interrupts me again, I will not speak. I’ll just leave.” 

“That’s how he does, oh. Before we can resolve anything, he will threaten to walk away.” 

I gave her a look that said it all. Not another word, ma’am. 

“For example, a saxophonist to play at my birthday? And those Yoruba drummers doing my head in. She knows I detest unnecessary noise. It gives me a headache.” 

“You’re fifty, for God’s sake! It’s just one day. What’s the big deal?” 

“It felt more like your birthday. The music, the setting, the décor. I don’t recall seeing a single picture of myself at the venue without you by my side. You celebrated a birthday by proxy!” 

“Learn to appreciate the things people do for you, Mayowa. You’re ungrateful. Look at all his pictures in City People magazine and on social media. Just frowning all over the place!” 

“Right! I’m grateful for a surprise party I don’t even like. A surprise party that cost us ₦46 million, money we could have spent on better things. I could count my own friends on two fingers!” 

“Mrs Cardbury, are you aware that your husband doesn’t like surprise parties, loud noise or extravagant celebrations?” 

“You turn fifty once in a lifetime, for goodness’ sake! He needs to relax, learn to be flexible and enjoy life. Will he carry all that money to heaven?” 

“Anyway, I have learnt my lesson.” 

“And now I can’t spend above a certain amount without his approval. There’s so much to do this Christmas, and now I have to keep explaining what I plan to do, all because I, Modupe, tried to celebrate my husband Mayowa. This life, ehn!” 

It was clear to me what the issue was. 

“Mrs Cadbury, celebrating your husband is one of the most admirable things a woman can do for him.” 

“Help me tell him, oh!” 

“Wait, ma’am. Please let me finish.” 

I had to nip it in the bud before she assumed I was taking her side. 

“However, you shouldn’t do it at the expense of the celebrant’s happiness. The party was over a week ago. The attendees have moved on, but look where we are today. Was it all worth it? 

“I’m sure he wants to be celebrated on his own terms. It’s his birthday, after all. You can then agree on what extras need to be done because celebrating his 50th isn’t just about him. Be open, have no hidden agendas, and he will come around to making some concessions as well.” 

I spoke to Mr Cadbury, too, about the need to be more flexible and remain principled but with a human face. I emphasised the importance of communicating regularly, committing to learning about each other and prioritising each other’s needs. 

I enjoyed today’s session and look forward to seeing what comes next with the Cadburys.