Twitter ruined my marriage (culled from Nairaland)

Efe and I got married two years ago. Before we got married he really wasn’t all into social networks but now he’s on all of them: Pinterest, LinkedIn, Twitter, Facebook and other silly social networks. I wouldn’t have minded if it was just Facebook, I can deal with that. Everybody is on Facebook. Normal people are on Facebook. But Twitter…

That’s a different thing entirely. All sorts of home breakers and husband snatchers are on there.

I started to notice something was wrong when Efe started spending more time than usual on his Blackberry. He’d come home from work, kiss me briefly before settling on the couch with his Blackberry in his hand.

I would tell him something like “Honey, I went shopping today and just guess who I saw.” And he would grunt. Or I would tell him to come to the dining for his diner and he would say something like “I’ll be there in a minute” and he would take forever to get up. He’d take forever to eat and still wouldn’t finish his meals because he was tweeting.

He’d go out with friends till late and fall asleep as quickly as he hit the bed.

The day that my suspicions were confirmed was the day he left his Blackberry on my reading table while he was in the shower. I did not intend to snoop. I was reading a book quietly with my mug of coffee in one hand and my highlighter in the other when his phone beeped.

I ignored it the first time.

It beeped again.

Then again.


My will to ignore it weakened with each beep and I reached for the phone. He had Socialscope notifications, direct messages actually, from @Ivy_L_Chick. Her avatar was quite small but the little I could see was cleavage. I was just about to read the rest of the direct message when I heard the door of the bathroom creak shut.

I jumped and dropped the phone like it had scalded me. Efe cocked an eyebrow my way.

“What were you doing with my phone?” he asked, coming towards me. I felt like a criminal.

“Nothing. I wanted to check the time.”

He nodded and continued dressing. I believed he believed me until he was on his way to work; a functioning clock was directly in front of me. It has always been there. I put it there myself.

By the next time I could lay my hands on his phone, there was a password on it. It was on my ninth try that I heard Efe’s footsteps in the hallway. I quickly pulled out his battery and restarted his phone so he wouldn’t know that I had been trying to enter his password.

Instead of the usual brief hug and kiss, Efe lingered awhile with me in the kitchen he even helped me do the dishes and he did not reach for his phone once. Not once.

He started noticing my new hair dos again, he started complimenting me again but I was not content with having Efe back.

A need to go through his Twitter consumed me so much that all I could see at night was @Ivy_L_Chick’s avatar. I could see it in the mirror in the morning, in the television in the afternoon and yes, in my dreams at night.

Finally, one morning, I decided to get a Twitter account. I was familiar with all the lingo because my husband used it so much. Oftentimes, he would refer to one of his friends as @thatblackboy instead of Tunde or he would say Ejiro’s avatar makes brain or something like that.

I opened a Twitter account on a Tuesday morning with the handle @barbiexxx and an almost completely Unclad avatar i found through Google. I started tweeting Efe and retweeting all his tweets. Soon after he followed me back and sent me a direct message.

@ThatEfeGoi: Hey. Wassup?

@Barbiexxx: I’m good. You?

@ThatEfeGoi: I’m chilling. Nice avatar.

@Barbieexxx: Thank you! Yours isn’t bad either

@ThatEfeGoi; lol i appreciate.

@Barbiexxx: you’re welcome

I wished he would say something flat out incriminating like “Want to hook up?” but he didn’t.

Not that day. Not the day after or even the following week. But my mind was still not at rest. Why did he put a passcode on his phone if there wasn’t anything he was trying to hide from me? There was and I was hellbent on finding out. I just never stopped to think about what I was going to do with the incriminating information but I wanted it as bad I wanted my next breath.

I got the evidence I wanted right in my lap two weeks after the first direct messages we shared. He sent me a message asking if I wanted to “hook up sometime on Saturday” He had told me that he was going to watch a match with a couple of friends at a bar on that same Saturday at the same time he wanted to “hook up” I told him that I would be available.

The next few days after that were the longest days of my life and when Saturday came, I was more than ready to face my two timing husband. We agreed to meet at Spicery hotel’s lobby. I got there at 2:15pm fifteen minutes after we agreed to meet. I can’t begin to describe the look on his face when he saw me walking towards him, swinging my handbag menacingly in my hand.

“So this is what you do behind my back ehn, Efe?”

He was speechless. I was so mad I caused a scene right there in the lobby in front of the receptionist and some of the cleaners even some people came out of their rooms to see the woman who was bashing her husband with her handbag.

We haven’t said two words to each other since that day. Efe now sleeps on the couch while I cry myself to sleep. Nothing Efe says to me will change my mind about what is happening between us. Things are no longer the same and I doubt they ever will be. The minute he walks out the door in the morning, the dirtiest images of him with another woman fill my mind.

Efe still denies that he has ever cheated on me but I don’t believe him because I can’t find the direct messages he exchanged with @Ivy_L_Chick anymore. I don’t believe.

I don’t believe!

I cannot say for sure that I am not losing my sanity. But I can say for sure that my marriage isn’t the same anymore. Efe and I aren’t the same anymore either…


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