All that glitters!
Dear God,
Have you noticed that bad news never knocks?
“Have you heard?” Chelsea asked me, lips curved in that half-smile that means, I am about to ruin your day.
“If it is not how to close this deal giving me high blood pressure, I will pass,” I replied, eyes glued to my laptop. Numbers were chasing me like masquerades in a village square.
“Chiamaka is divorced.”
Silence did not just fall between us. It unpacked its suitcase, arranged its socks, and made tea.
I blinked. “Which Chiamaka?”
“As if you have many Chiamakas that married perfect abs,” she rolled her eyes. “Arinze and Chiamaka naa. Over. Finished.”
Father Lord.
The spend on that wedding alone could have easily funded electricity in a small town. If it cost less than $140,000, then I am Alien. Even the aso-ebi had its own personality. There were fireworks, drones, champagne pyramids tall enough to require oxygen at the top.
“Two… three years?” I whispered.
“There about,” she said, leaning back like a seasoned storyteller warming up for act two. “Word has it… Arinze is gay.”
I sat up so fast my chair protested.
“Word, has it? As in rumour? Or as in confirmed broadcast?”
Chelsea gave me the look. “Babes. This is not rumour. This is a revelation.”
My mind ran straight to Arinze…. Ariz as we fondly called him. Tall. Sculpted. Skin like a premium skincare advertisement. He walked like the soundtrack of his life was playing from Heaven. Ivy League graduate. Family wealth so old it had ancestors.
And Chiamaka’s mother? Ah. Ugo.
My mind reeled to when she introduced Ariz to us that day, she floated. “My in-laws,” she kept saying, as if we were peasants privileged to breathe the same air. She hardly acknowledged the rest of us that evening. She was already living in the future mansion in her head.
Chai, some mothers don’t just want sons-in-law. They want status upgrades.
The wedding was less “holy matrimony” and more “economic summit.” I later heard both families tried to outdo each other in a silent war of prestige. My Mercedes is bigger than yours. My champagne is colder. My designer is more expensive.
I remember Aunty Gloria whispering to Ugo one afternoon, “Is this not rushed? These children barely know each other.”
She almost excommunicated her from the wedding committee. “Love does not need time,” she snapped.
Hmmm.
At the traditional wedding, I noticed something. Chiamaka’s father wore a smile that did not reach his eyes. He moved like a man who had swallowed a question he could not ask. I assumed it was the financial haemorrhage. But looking back now? That man had smelled something.
But when one parent smells gold, and the other smells rat, gold usually wins.
“Tell me everything,” I urged Chelsea, closing my laptop. The numbers can wait.
She lowered her voice theatrically. “Ariz came out to his parents before the wedding. Full disclosure. Freedom declaration. He wanted to marry his boygal friend”
My mouth opened. “BOYGAL?”
She rolled into hysteric laughter……..” Boy-Girl-Friend…. BOYGAL” she explained trying to hold the laughter down.
I shook my head in pain.
“Anyways, his parents panicked. You know the kind of families where reputation is oxygen? They needed a solution. Fast. A good girl from a respectable family. Someone who would never suspect. Someone who would play the role.”
“And Chiamaka……became the chosen one.” I whispered.
She nodded.
Father Lord.
“Did she know?” I asked, hoping, praying, bargaining with heaven.
Chelsea shook her head slowly. “Nope. Carefully packaged deception.”
My mind reeled again. How? Please how? What is wrong with our society today? Marriage is not a costume drama. You cannot use another human being as your public relations strategy.
“Apparently, Arinze was told, “Just marry. It will pass. You will adjust. It is a phase.” I sighed. “As if sexuality is malaria that needs paracetamol and positive thinking.”
“Yep, and they staged perfection on the poor girl’s head.” Chelsea said rolling her huge eyes.
They courted fast. Too fast. Dates in high-end restaurants. Surprise gifts. Instagram captions that droves singles to fasting and prayer. Within months, introduction. Engagement. Wedding planning.
I once teased her gently, “Slow down. Let this love marinate.”
She laughed. “When you know, you know.”
Chai Dad, sometimes what we know is what we are allowed to see.
“Under two years, cracks began whispering. No children. No visible chemistry. Stories of constant “business trips.” Emotional distance disguised as busy schedules.”, Chelsea continued her Nollywood tale.
“And then the final confession”. She barked out loud. “I heard that Chiamaka asked him, trembling, “Is there someone else?”
After a long pause, he said “Yes”
You can imagine that her heart would probably break in manageable pieces at first. The kind you think you can sweep away. But he was not done yet……..
“It’s not a woman.” He said nonchalantly when she pressed him for details. “I don’t like women, I am gay”.
The poor girl’s world tilted.
Chelsea and I sat silently for a long time. The words too heavy to sound out. Father Lord, imagine discovering you were never loved the way you thought. That you were a shield. A disguise. A solution to somebody else’s fear.
Now, here is where I must speak plainly. Gen Z oo, all that glitters is not gold. Sometimes it is polished brass.
Seriously Dad, we are raising a generation obsessed with optics. The right surname. The right wedding hashtag. The right curated life. But marriage is not an event. It is an ecosystem of truth.
Parents, zukwanuike. When parents push children to “marry up,” they sometimes push them into cliffs. When society treats sexuality like a scandal instead of a reality, people hide. And when people hide, innocent lives become collateral damage.
Yes, Ariz was wrong to deceive. But he was also a product of fear. A system that says, “Be anything but yourself.” And when truth is suffocated, it does not die. It explodes.
Chelsea leaned forward when she finished the story. “You know the saddest part? Ugo still says, ‘At least she married well, the boy can still change.’”
Married well? How? If peace is absent, what exactly was well?
Honestly, marriage today is under pressure from many sides. Social media illusions. Financial competition. Family interference. Silence about hard truths. We glamorize the wedding and neglect the work. We investigate the caterer more than we investigate character.
Chai, Poor dear Chiamaka. She learnt the hard way that “All that glitters is not gold, sometimes it is simply desperation wearing designer.”
Ah Dad, teach us to value authenticity over appearance. Teach us that marriage is not a trophy, not a family merger, not a reputation management plan. It is two whole people choosing each other freely and truthfully. Anything less is glitter.
This is your daughter, not done yet, I am just checking in.
