_
Hello, Abishola.
Now, I don't want to alarm you,
but I have alarming news.
What is it?
My cousin Dipe called me
early this morning to tell me that her friend Ngozi
was at Balogun Market to buy a new DVD player
because her baby jammed it with slices of toast.
She was furious because she was on
on the second to last episode of Narcos season two.
Anyway, the stall is right next to
the man that sells knockoff Samsonite cases.
Now, if you look closely, they actually say "Samso-tite."
But when you go inside...
Kemi.
Can you please get to the point?
Will you not allow me to build up the suspense?
No.
Fine. Your husband is coming to America.
- What? - How you know that
from a clogged DVD player?
Well, if you had let me finish.
Dipe told me that her friend Ngozi told her
that she saw Tayo... Abishola's husband...
buying a large suitcase, with four wheels.
Oluwa mi o.
And he was seen buying a coat with mittens.
Oluwa mi o.
He also bought five pounds of dried fish
and made the man wrap it twice.
Oluwa mi o.
Why are you olo woo-ing that?
That is Uncle Tunde's favorite.
And it's an 18-hour flight.
Wrapping it twice will keep the fish stench
off of Tayo's underpants.
Oh, come on, all these Nigerian Murder, She Wrote clues
tell you Abishola's husband's coming to Detroit?
- Yes. - Yes.
And on his last Facebook post he wrote,
"I'm going to Detroit."
Oh.
Oluwa mi o.
_
It's been eight years. Why is he coming to Detroit now?
It is a business trip.
Really? So the minute we get engaged,
WellStar International suddenly sends its VP
all the way to America?
How do you know where he works?
Are you crazy? I googled the hell out of him.
There's also a Tayo Adebambo who's a funk bass player.
Thank God you weren't married to him,
I wouldn't have stood a chance.
He will probably want to see Dele.
That makes sense.
Which means he will be at the apartment
for several dinners.
Can't you just dangle Dele out the window
so he can look at him from the street?
Bob.
I really don't want to see him.
Maybe this is for the best.
He comes over, sees his son,
you ask him for the divorce,
you bring me Olu's leftovers the next day.
It's a win for everybody.
That's true.
Just remember one thing.
Thank God
you married the wrong Adebambo.
Funky, right?
_
Ugh. Sushi. Boring.
What do you guys got?
Something African and spicy?
- I have a ham sandwich. - I have a Lunchable.
Want to trade?
This is $30 worth of sushi.
Throw in the Capri Sun, you got a deal.
Fellas.
- Mr. Wheeler. - Ah, Mr. Wheeler.
Hey, let me ask you a question:
how long does it usually take to get a divorce in Nigeria?
Do you mean how long does it take
for the paperwork to go through?
- Yeah. - I have no idea.
I have never met a divorced Nigerian.
- Me, neither. - Really?
Divorce is very rare, something like one percent.
- Come on, that can't be right. - Mmm.
Divorce and good sushi:
two things you can't find in Nigeria.
Well, what about you?
You said your parents haven't spoken since you were a child.
- But they stayed married. - Are they happy?
What does that have to do with anything?
They just celebrated their 50th anniversary.
Daddy in Hawaii, and Mummy in Costa Rica.
Says here the Nigerian divorce rate is 0.2%.
That's pretty close to zero.
I don't care if it's one in a million.
Abishola's getting divorced.
Actually, she would be the one in 4,120,000.
Did you do that math in your head?
- Yes. - Yeah, next time, keep it there.
- Ah. Here's something. - What?
One in 500 people have either 11 fingers or 11 toes.
How does that help me?
It gives you perspective.
At least you're not one of those weirdos.
Excuse me.
He has an extra nipple.
Please don't tell him I told you.
_
That's a nice dress.
Tayo will like it.
It's not for him.
I just grabbed any old thing from the closet.
Well, your old thing
has a tag from Nordstrom's.
I did not want him to come here.
Ah, ah. A father must see his son.
Would you rather they eat at the home of the Whopper?
I know my sister did not raise you like this.
No, Auntie.
So stop talking nonsense
and prepare the pounded yam.
Ah. Tayo prefers rice to yam o.
Does he, now?
- Dele. - Yes, Mum?
- Did you vacuum the front room? - Yes, Mum.
And display my nursing certificates
and your mathematics trophy where your father can see them?
- Yes, Mum. - Good.
He may have abandoned us,
but that does not mean we're not thriving.
Do you want me to say that to him?
Don't be ridiculous. That's what the trophies are for.
You are a good son,
and your father will be proud of you.
I am proud of you.
Thanks, Mom.
You look really nice.
I look the same as always.
Put your books away.
_
E kaale, Uncle Tunde.
Tayo.
I brought you something, Uncle.
- Stockfish? - I know how much you love it.
I wouldn't say "love."
Ah.
I suppose you can come in.
Ah, my son.
E kaabo, Dad.
Look at you.
You are a man now.
Abishola, you look beautiful.
This dress is old. I look the same.
Kaabo, Tayo!
E kaale, Auntie.
Come, come. Dele, take his coat.
We are having your favorite: jollof rice.
Abishola begged me to make it.
_
This is nice, huh?
Just sitting around together,
watching TV as a family.
It is. It really is.
Oh. Popcorn's ready.
I'll go get us all bowls.
Great.
How long do we have to sit here?
As long as Abishola's on her date.
It's not a date.
Of course it isn't, honey.
Any dinner that lasts longer than three hours is a date.
I've had shorter one-night stands.
Come on, you guys. This is tough for him.
Thank you, Christina.
You are welcome. I understand your pain.
I've been the other woman.
What are you talking about?
They're at dinner with their family,
you're waiting for them to text,
it takes everything in your power
not to rush over there and peer into their windows
and watch them unwrap their Christmas presents.
Oh, God, why doesn't that sound crazy to me?
Because we'd do anything for love, Bob.
Anything.
It's not the same.
Abishola knows she's in a relationship with Bob.
And I think it's cool. You're her side piece.
Or a "goomah."
That's what the Italians call it.
All right, this isn't working. You guys can go.
Yeah, Mom, Douglas, you are not helping.
They don't get us.
How is your sister Blessing?
Ah, still crazy. She's vegan now.
Oh, no.
This madness has reached Nigeria?
I will pray for her.
While you are there, pray for Dele. He supports Arsenal.
They will just break your heart.
I must say, Auntie,
you're an even better cook than Abishola's mother.
When I tell her, she will be furious.
- So, you are in town for business? - Yes.
My company has sent me to consult
with the Ambassador Bridge Authority
for our new billion-dollar mainland project.
Wow.
Yes, your father is very successful in Nigeria.
Had he not given up, he would have been successful here.
Well, perhaps you had more faith in this country than I did.
Perhaps I had more faith in you.
- Let me help you clear the plates. - Uh...
I've never seen you set foot in the kitchen.
Well, I've changed a lot over the last eight years.
This is like one of your soap operas.
So, Auntie Olu still refuses to buy a dishwasher.
She says what is the point when we have a child in the house
with two hands?
You know what kind of rental car they gave me?
What?
A Jeep.
Oh, no.
That day in Mexico, it was the most rain
I have ever seen in my life.
It would have been fine
if we had a car with a roof on it.
Ah, and you persuaded me to wear my white dress that day.
Even angry and covered in muck,
you were the most beautiful woman in Acapulco.
Mm. So beautiful the hotel doorman thought I was homeless.
Ah, it's good to see you, Abishola. I've missed you.
A good way to keep from missing someone
is to not abandon them and take a second wife.
You have every reason to be angry with me.
I know.
But I was unable to give you and Dele
the lives that you deserved.
So you left us.
I am back now.
And I can provide for you both.
Tayo...
I know you missed me, too.
Don't do this.
I'm sorry.
I don't want to make you uncomfortable.
If you want me to, I will leave.
Get back to work.
_
- Good morning. - Hey.
So, how'd it go?
Tayo came, he saw Dele, he ate food,
He went back to his hotel.
Great. I mean, it would have been nice if you called.
- I texted you. - At 1:00 a.m. You said "Went well."
You know how many ways you can take "went well"?
- That's how it went. - So, did you ask him about a divorce?
- No. - Oh.
It was not the right time.
Is it ever the right time?
I mean, I asked my wife for a divorce
halfway through her Grand Slam breakfast at Denny's.
Do not push me. I'll deal with it.
Okay. Well, I made a call to my lawyer
just to see where we stand, and he said that we sh...
I do not care what your lawyer said.
He's not the one dealing with it.
And neither are you.
I'm just trying to be proactive.
Well, don't. I will handle my husband.
What I need from you now is to be patient.
I am the side piece.
_
Uncle,
the seasoning on this suya is good,
but I'd forgotten how American meat feels like
chewing on a wallet.
Just throw some more pepper on it.
You'll forget again.
So my son has grown up not knowing what real food tastes like.
He also grew up without you.
Oh! Fancy seeing you here.
Hey, Uncle Tunde.
What a wonderful coincidence.
I just happen to be having lunch
with Abishola's husband, and you show up.
Yes, what a wonderful coincidence.
Small world.
Bob.
I know who you are.
I looked you up on LinkedIn.
There's another Detroit Bob Wheeler who's a dentist.
Yeah, I get his mail.
You mind if we talk for a second?
Of course.
Uh, look, we both know what's going on here.
Yes, you are engaged to my wife.
Well, I like to think of it as you're married to my fiancée.
In Olu's soap opera,
you would discover you are brothers.
Pass the fufu.
The point is, you left her.
Is that what she told you?
Well, am I missing something?
Have you been in Tunde's basement this whole time?
You make it sound like I left in the middle of the night.
I wanted my family to come back to Nigeria with me,
but Abishola refused.
In a way, she is the one who left me.
Is that true?
In a way.
There was no abandonment.
I've been in constant contact with my son the entire time.
Okay, I didn't know that either.
You did not know this because it is none of your business
what goes on with my family.
Whatever your side of the story is,
you've been gone for eight years.
She's with me now.
She's moved on.
Abishola and I were happy once, when we had nothing.
But now I have a large house,
driver, staff.
And I have picked out a wonderful
private school for Dele.
I can provide her with everything that she wants.
And that is why I will be taking her back to Nigeria.
It is time for you to move on.
In the soap opera, you would storm out now.
You could also turn over the table,
but I am still eating.
Gorgeous day, huh?
Yes, it is. Very pretty.
So, you're gonna find out eventually.
I met Tayo.
- You did what? - You heard me.
I specifically asked you not to do that.
You did.
And yet you went behind my back.
You know he wants to take you and Dele back to Nigeria.
Why are you smiling about this?
Because I know you're not going.
But he's my husband.
This isn't about him.
Or me.
This is about you.
You have a life you've created.
You've got a job you love.
You are in charge of your own destiny.
You're not gonna give all that up
to go back to Nigeria and be some rich guy's second wife.
First wife.
Whatever.
You're not the same woman he left eight years ago.
Tayo doesn't know it.
But I do.
So you have me all figured out.
- Not at all. - Good answer.
Yes, it was.
_
- Karo. - Karo.
E karo, Dad.
Hey, are you ready to go?
Yes. Let me grab my stuff.
Okay.
We are going to play chess with the old men in the park.
Well, Dele's going to play.
I need him to win back the money that I lost.
It's good you are spending time with him.
Yes. We are a family again.
We will never be a family again.
I am not the same person you left eight years ago.
- That is all right. - I am not
asking you if it's all right.
I am telling you
I think it is best we get a divorce.
You do not know what is for the best.
I do.
And that is what I've been working for
- all this time. - Tayo...
And that is why I will never,
ever give you a divorce.
Okay, my son.
- Are you ready? - Yes. Bye, Mom.
We will be home for dinner.
_
- synced and corrected by sot26 - www.addic7ed.com