Miles Away from Home

In the home of the Adebolas’, Ada sank into the couch, her body aching with exhaustion. Toys were scattered across the living room floor, food stains marked the walls, and the sound of her toddlers’ laughter echoed through the house. Dami was climbing the back of the couch, Dara was tearing pages out of a book, and Tobi was wailing because his toy had broken again.

She glanced at the clock. 9:30 p.m. Tunde was late. Again.

The front door opened, and Tunde walked in, his shoulders slumped with fatigue. Ada didn’t even look up. “You promised you’d be back earlier,” she said, her voice flat.

“I had to work overtime,” Tunde muttered, loosening his tie. “We need the money.”

“We need you here, Tunde,” Ada shot back, her voice breaking. “I can’t do this alone.”

Tunde’s face hardened. “You think I have it easy? I’m working my butt off to keep us afloat, and all you do is complain.”

“All I do?” Ada’s voice was sharp, tears pooling in her eyes. “I’m stuck here, day in and day out, with three toddlers who won’t sit still for a second. I don’t sleep. I don’t rest. I don’t even have a moment to myself. And you think I have it easy?”

Tunde’s anger faltered as he looked at Ada really looked at her. Her hair was messy, her eyes tired and swollen, and her shoulders slumped under the weight of endless responsibilities. Guilt twisted in his stomach. “I didn’t realize…”

“No, you didn’t,” Ada whispered, wiping her tears. “Because you’re never here.”

They stood there, the space between them filled with anger, pain, and words left unspoken. The triplets’ giggles and cries echoed around them, a constant reminder of the life they had built and were struggling to maintain.

Days turned into weeks, and the tension only grew. Ada felt trapped, and isolated in a foreign country with no family to help. Her mother and sisters were thousands of miles away in Nigeria, their comforting presence only reachable through blurry video calls.

Tunde, overwhelmed by pressure at work and the strain at home, started coming back even later. The distance between them was no longer just physical it was emotional, and it was breaking them apart.

One night, after a terrible fight, Tunde stormed out, slamming the door behind him. Ada sank to the floor, sobbing, feeling defeated and alone. She was tired of fighting, tired of feeling like she was failing as a wife and mother.

The next day, Tunde didn’t go to work. He spent the day with Ada and the triplets, determined to understand what she was going through. It was chaos. Dami climbed everything in sight, Dara refused to eat, and Tobi threw tantrums every other hour. No moment was peaceful, no task was easy. By evening, Tunde was exhausted, his body aching, his patience worn thin.

He looked at Ada, who was moving through the chaos like a ghost, her movements automatic, her eyes hollow. Shame washed over him. He had been so focused on providing financially that he had abandoned her emotionally.

That night, they sat together in the messy living room, the triplets finally asleep. Tunde took Ada’s hand, his voice breaking. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know how hard this was for you. For us.”

Ada’s tears fell freely. “I feel so alone, Tunde. I miss home. I miss myself. I miss us.”

They knew they needed help but didn’t know where to start. Tunde suggested they look for support, and for the first time, Ada felt a glimmer of hope. They began researching online, finding parenting blogs, support groups, and even virtual workshops for parents of multiple.

Through these resources, they learned to communicate better and share responsibilities. Tunde adjusted his work hours, coming home earlier and helping with dinner, bath time, and bedtime routines. They created a schedule that allowed Ada to have some time for herself, even if just an hour to breathe.

They also found a local Nigerian community group. Meeting other immigrants who understood their struggles helped them feel less isolated. They started attending virtual meetings, gaining support and advice from people who had walked similar paths.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was progress. The fights lessened, and the resentment began to fade. They learned to lean on each other, to face the chaos together.

One evening, as they watched their triplets finally sleep peacefully, Tunde wrapped his arm around Ada. “We’re far from home,” he said, his voice soft, “but we’re not alone. Not as long as we have each other.”

Ada rested her head on his shoulder, her heart lighter. They were still exhausted, still overwhelmed, but they were facing it together. And together, they would make it through.