Don’t Judge A Man That Sleeps With His Housemaid

By Anayo M. Nwosu

I pray that the virtuous women and Pius people who would read this article will not curse or judge me harshly.

It all started about the fourth year into my marriage, the very year my wife was pregnant with our second child, that Utonwa, a teenager from Awka, Anambra state was brought to our Lagos home as a housemaid.

The arrangement was that while she would be helping my wife with household chores, we would after a probation period of one year, get her a place to learn a trade or enroll her into a part-time educational program.

But Utonwa came prepared and I could read her inner motives using my number six.

Right on the day of her arrival, my wife screened Utonwa’s clothing and seized all her body revealing or skimpy clothes while buying her those dresses that would cover all her temptation-inducing endowments.

Utonwa also received specific codes of conduct from my wife as regards the no-go areas.

She was banned from entering our master’s bedroom for whatever reason or to serve my food unless madam was not at home.

The housemaid was a beautiful pleasant girl who treated our firstborn very nicely. She stuck to the instructions as decreed by my wife and never went beyond her boundaries to the elation and high rating approval of the madam of the house.

But that was to last for about six months.

I was soon to notice the measured but dragged sweetened tone of Utonwa’s voice anytime she greeted me when my wife was not around. I had also observed that she would take time to arrange herself especially the upper areas of her body anytime she noticed that I was looking at her direction.

I also noticed the relish with which she served my food those days my wife traveled out or went for career training.

My house was a three-bedroom rented apartment in which the only toilet and bathroom therein were contained in one small room.

Anyone so pressed to use the convenience would have to wait until the person bathing had finished.

“Imechana!” meaning “Are you done!” was a normal question in my house

The fact that the key to the door of the toilet/bathroom recently spoiled and the convenient behavior of spreading towels on the bathroom/toilet door as someone bathed, prolonged my inertia to fixing the spoiled lock on the door.

The easy-to-open door provided an opportunity for Utonwa to speak to me in parables.

She chose one Saturday morning when her madam was out for training and was not expected home until after 6 pm to go for my fall.

Utonwa opened the toilet/bathroom door feigning ignorance that I was inside even though I had asked her to boil and discharge hot water into my bathing bucket some minutes earlier.

I had barely washed off the soap in my eyes when I heard the door fling opened.

“Who is that?” I managed to blurt out.

“Brother, I am sorry. I didn’t know that you were still in the bathroom. I wanted to use the toilet. I’m having a running stomach!” was all I could hear her say.

I recall that Utonwa artfully pulled off her wrapper as someone actually suffering from diarrhea who upon getting closer to a water cistern or toilet seat to ventilate a bottled stomach pressure.

What startled me was that instead of beating a quick retreat, she stood inside the bathroom looking at my Adamic state while needlessly begging me “Brother, please don’t tell aunty. Please forgive me”.

Utonwa was yet to tie back her wrapper as she kept begging for forgiveness.

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I was now receiving a naked plea from my naked housemaid while I was naked.

Was she trying to entice me with her full, rounded, tantalizing and succulent mammalian glands?” I wondered.

“I will soon finish” was all I could say to her as hurried up to clean my body while assuming that she indeed had a stomach upset.

I righteously reckoned with the fact that diarrhea could make someone behave abnormally.

After deep introspective consideration, I decided not to mention the incident to my wife and to truly forgive Utonwa’s indiscretion.

But the temptress was not done yet.

The second temptation happened so soon. This time, Utonwa threw caution to the wind.

I was in the living room, watching English Premier League as Chelsea were impregnating Arsenal when Utunwa rushed out of the bathroom stark naked to the parlor. She came straight towards my direction crying.

An obviously possessed housemaid said that she had noticed a lump on her right breast while she was bathing and would want me to touch and reconfirm it.

“From where did this girl get the boldness to tempt a whole bank manager?” I wondered. Even if I wanted to mad madness, I should reasonably mad it outside not at home, not with my maid.

With clothes off, Utonwa validated her name which means “the sweetness of a child”. All I could see were as fresh as they could ever be even as they looked untampered with.

The young girl was a bomb and she knew it. She had all that was needed to fell an iroko tree.

I could see in seconds that which had been locked up in those factory workers’ dresses my wife had bought to conceal the beautiful work of God in Utonwa.

I had to muster an act of spiritual courage to invoke the God of Joseph to deliver me from this daughter of the wife of Potiphar.

I ignored Mr. Nwosu who by this time had stood erect waiting for a go-ahead order to proceed.

I was pleased to hear myself command the 19-year old girl, as would an exorcist man of God, to go dress up so that I would take her to hospital.

My effort-sapping triumph was proof that the “spirit of the prophet is subject to the prophet”.

The young girl emerged from her room well dressed only to claim that she could no longer feel the supposedly painful lump again.

I could no longer fight this dangerous war as my John Thomas seemed to have started taking sides with Utonwa. I was no longer convinced that I could survive the next onslaught.

That very evening, I had to narrate to my terrified wife what happened during the day and all that had transpired in the past.

Trust my wife, the girl left our house by dawn the next day.

My wife has never engaged any young lady as a housemaid ever since. It is now either an old woman housemaid or none.

Sometimes I imagine how Abraham, the father of faith and his grandson Jacob felt when they were offered their housemaids to enjoy in lovemaking.

Considering that the male organ is not like a finger that needs no inflation to enter a hole, the mere thought that these men of God had to do some mental exercises for their organs to rise to the occasion was a puzzle to a man of little faith like me.

I also wondered why Nnanyi Abraham didn’t object to her wife’s gift of the housemaid to sleep with. Could it be possible that our father of faith enjoyed that intercourse that led to the birth of Ishmael?

Jacob, also known as Israel, had a good fortune of being bombarded by his two wives with their maids for him to enjoy.

Bible didn’t record any refusal or unwillingness by our great holy ancestors to sleep with their wives’ maids.

I can imagine that Abraham and Jacob must have slept with those maids on many occasions until pregnancies were achieved.

Even in the traditional Nnewi society, housemaids who did so well were promoted by the man of the house to a position of a junior wife or “Mama Obele”.

One of my uncles had to upgrade a wonderful housemaid to his wife. She bore him nine beautiful children. The maid is now a wife.

The civilization in today’s world has closed the gender gap between husband and wife and has also abridged men’s marital fringe benefits.

One of the side effects of the new world order is the installation of a glass ceiling by modern wives on the career progression of well-behaved housemaids. They come as maids and leave as maids.

While we all claim the blessings of Abraham and still address God as the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, our wives have cordoned off the other blessings accruable to us through their housemaids quite unlike it was in the days of Sarah, Leah, and Rachel

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