“My children look like my wife's Oyibo ex-boyfriend” — UK-based Nigerian man cries out

He wrote: “My people, I don't even know where to start this story. My hands are shaking as I type this, and wallahi, my heart has been heavy for months now. I need to pour out my mind before I run mad. Please, I need your advice because I don't know what to do anymore.

My name is Emeka, and I'm 34 years old. I met my wife, Adunni, almost 2 years ago at a friend's birthday party in Birmingham. Chai, the first time I saw this woman, e be like say na angel waka pass. She was sitting alone in a corner, nursing a glass of wine, and her eyes were red like she'd been crying. Something just pulled me to her that night. When I walked up to her and said "Hi, are you okay?" she looked up at me with those beautiful eyes and tried to smile, but I could see the pain behind it.

We talked for hours that night. She told me her boyfriend of four years, James - oyibo man that she worked with at the accounting firm - had been cheating on her with their colleague. She'd just found out that week. The way she was pouring her heart out to me, a complete stranger, I knew this woman was broken. But something about her vulnerability, her honesty, it just drew me in. Before we knew it, the party was ending, and we'd spent the entire night just talking. 

The connection between us was like NEPA light - instant and powerful. We started seeing each other every day after that. She would come to my flat after work, and we'd cook together, gist about everything and nothing. She made me laugh with her Yoruba proverbs mixed with her British accent. I'm Igbo, so we'd joke about our tribal differences, but love no get tribe, abi? Within two weeks, I knew I wanted to marry this woman. She understood me, my struggles as a Nigerian man trying to make it in UK, the pressure from home to marry and settle down. She got it all.

Three months. That's all it took. Three months and I paid her bride price. My family back home thought I was mad - "Emeka, which kind rush be this?" But when you know, you know, abi no be so? Her family was skeptical too, especially after what she'd been through with James. But we convinced them. The chemistry between us was undeniable. Even her mother said she'd never seen Adunni smile the way she smiled with me.

Our traditional wedding was beautiful - we did it Nigerian style with all the works. The white wedding followed two weeks later. Small, intimate, just the way we wanted it. Life was sweet o. We moved into a bigger flat in East London, both of us working hard, sending money home, planning our future. Everything was going perfectly.

Until I started noticing things.

About six months into our marriage, I saw James's name pop up on her phone while she was in the shower. My heart skipped, but I told myself, "Emeka, don't be that husband. Trust your wife." When she came out, I casually asked about it. She said they still worked in the same office, different departments now, but sometimes they had to collaborate on projects. "It's strictly professional," she said. "You're the one I chose, remember?"

But the calls kept coming. Sometimes she'd step out to answer them. "Work stuff," she'd say. "You know how these oyibo people like to call after hours." I wanted to believe her. God knows I wanted to believe her. But that seed of doubt had been planted.

One night, I confronted her properly. "Adunni, this thing is not sitting well with me o. Why is your ex still calling you like this?" She got angry, said I was being insecure, that she'd never given me any reason to doubt her. We had our first major fight that night. She slept in the guest room. The next morning, she apologized, said she'd limit contact with James to only absolutely necessary work interactions. I thought that was the end of it.

Then she got pregnant. Ah, you should have seen my joy! Finally, we were going to have our own family. I called my mother in Nigeria, and she was shouting prayers on the phone. Adunni's pregnancy was smooth, and we found out we were having twins. Double blessing! I was on top of the world.

But when she gave birth...

My people, how do I even describe what I felt when I saw those babies? They came out with pale skin, straight hair, blue eyes. The nurses were looking at me with pity in their eyes. One of them, a Nigerian sister, even pulled me aside and said, "Brother, are you okay?" 

Adunni was weak from the delivery, but when she saw my face, she started crying. "Emeka, I swear on my mother's grave, I never cheated on you. These are your children. Sometimes these things happen. Genetics can skip generations. Please, you have to believe me."

Skip which generation? From where to where? My whole family is dark-skinned, proper Igbo people from Anambra. Her family too, correct Yoruba people from Ibadan. Where did these oyibo features come from? 

It's been eleven months now since the twins were born. 11 months of hell. I look at those children, and I don't see myself. I see James. I see the man who broke her heart, the same one she claimed was just a colleague. When we go out, people look at us - a black couple with white-looking babies. The questions in their eyes are loud, even when their mouths are quiet.

She still swears she never cheated. She says we should do a DNA test if it will give me peace of mind. But part of me is scared. What if the test confirms my fears? What happens to our marriage? What happens to these innocent children? But then, what if she's telling the truth and I'm destroying my family with baseless suspicions?

I can't eat properly anymore. I've lost weight. My mother keeps calling from Nigeria, wanting to see pictures of her grandchildren, and I keep making excuses. How do I tell her that her grandchildren look nothing like us? My colleagues at work have started noticing something is wrong. "Emeka, you don dey look somehow o," they say.

Last week, I found her crying in the bathroom at 2 am. She said she can't take the way I look at her anymore, like she's a stranger, like she's dirty. She said the man she fell in love with would have trusted her. But how can I trust when the evidence is right there, crying in the cot, needing to be fed every three hours?

I love this woman. Or at least, I loved who I thought she was. But this thing has scattered my head. I'm thinking of doing the DNA test without telling her first, but I hear it's illegal here in UK without consent from both parties. I don't even know the legal implications if the children are not mine. Do I have to keep paying for them? Can I send her back to her family? But we're legally married here. 

My people, what would you do if you were in my shoes? Should I do the DNA test? Should I try to forgive and forget, even with these doubts eating me up? Or should I just walk away from everything - the marriage, the children, the life we built together?

I'm tired. I'm confused. I'm angry. But most of all, I'm heartbroken. The woman I thought was my angel might have been playing me for a fool all along. And these two innocent babies are caught in the middle of this wahala.

Please, I need your advice. I don't know how much longer I can carry on like this. Every day feels like I'm dying small small. Help a brother out, abeg.

— Chukwuemeka (Surname withheld) from my inbox 🖊️