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We woke up to the news that a soldier died last night on our street and his corpse has been taken away to the mortuary. 

There was so much panic in the air as residents were hurriedly picking their belongings and moving out. 

My baby Amara was just four months old then and my wife had just returned from the hospital where a third surgery was conducted on her. I didn't know what to do with my family, let alone breaking the news to my wife. 
Somehow she heard it as voices on the street became louder.

Honestly, my wife surprised me! She got up, took the parlour key and locked us in, instead of leaving the door ajar.

"Madam! But..."

"I know. Hold your Peace!"

"Its the military o! You know how they do here." I replied.

"Hold your peace, let's pray." She brought out her weak hands and held me. It was warm and reassuring. It was indeed the fulfillment of "let the weak say I am strong" in my family. 

Look at me na! Husband man, spirococo that's afraid. But sha my fear was genuine. Safety first.

After her very short prayer, she went back to the room and slept off. I was vigilant.

At intervals, I would peep through the window to see the now calm and almost vacated street. It seemed like a shadow of itself.

At noon, Policemen came around for investigation. They were top men of the Force. 

Still no sight of any military personnel.

Days past and life was gradually returning to the street.

It was learnt that the dead soldier was a resident on the same street. He was hit by a car.

It was his angry wife who couldn't bear his cheating habit any longer.


Now, whenever I look at my wife and hold her hands, I remind her that I love her and will never cheat on her on any fronts, including being a man in times of insecurity.

As for my baby, she's fine.

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