This is a million and one question. At what point should she check your phone. This was the question I threw at a group of guys. All married men, all cheating with very young and sweet nubile girls. The kind that the Emir of Daura and Oshiomole are married to.
Immediately that question came, they all screamed in unison. Face squeezed and the imagined physical pain from the expected slap on the face from a pained lover firmly etched on their ugly cheating faces. I looked round the table and saw a group of philanderers who will go to any length to cover their misdeeds.
They all looked at me, like I had just ran mad. Like I was overdosed on cocaine and all concluded that I must be out of my mind and as such I should head to the nearest MFM church for deliverance. Why would such a thought come into my head, let alone say it out. Your sweet young girlfriend going through your phone, you must really be crazy.
Kai, the contents of a philanderers phone, the naked pics from a new conquest, the picture of a shriveled and old penis laced with gray hair that was sent earlier in the night but has found its way to the outbox, the xrated chats with the young tea girl in the office. The one with the ass that could melt cold butter. Yes that one. The one your best friend and fellow cheat was staring at when he came to visit you. The chats asking for money to embark on the fourth abortion from the hapless housemaid, the one related to your wife and the one you saw your son trying to touch the other day. 
The phone of a cheat, is deadlier than a hurriedly prepared bomb by the heartless Boko Haram. That bomb would kill twice as many people as the most deadly bomb thrown by those bastards. It is that phone that a young and sweet virgin wants to play a game on. She ask for the phone and with a sweaty hand, the cheat hands the phone over. With sweaty shaky hands, he drops the phone and immediately starts reciting the psalms hoping that for once, the psalmist would intercede on his behalf making the sweet young girl concentrate in her childish foley instead of going through more mature endeavors like the picture gallery. 
The conversation immediately moves to the how. The how to keep the phone away from the wife, the young sweet thing and the housemaid. With fear and sweaty dirty faces, the group conspires and exchange ideas. Have two phones, pull the battery as you approach home, delete all be contacts as you get near her, throw the phone into the nearest lagoon, change all female names to male names, put the phone on silent, lock it up in the car booth and never take it home, give it to the driver and finally don’t even have one. 
In their panic, the thought to change their ways never crossed their minds but instead stories of near misses and embarrassment in the hands of the wife, sweet young thing and housemaid get exchanged. At the end of the evening, the drinks remained untouched, the sweet young thing stayed alone in the paid for room, her host and paramour, distracted and hobbled in fear has lost his libido and rather stays with his group of fools to further share this fear and seek comfort in the midst of castrated predators. 
Finally, they all stand up, walk towards their cars and like arrested coup plotters drive ever so slowly home. Pictures of disgrace, smashed egos, depressed libidos continue to cascade in their tired brains leading to vows of celibacy to avoid imminent guillotine. 
But seriously, should she go through your phone? Your wife, the sweet young thing, the house maid? Should she go through your phone?  Na who I dey ask. ‎
Joseph Edgar is an investment banker who writes as a hobby. He comments on trending issues in Nigeria and around the globe from a satirical point of view. He blogs at