About

People think being the wife of a famous artist is glamorous. They see the private jets, designer clothes, luxury cars, sold-out stadiums, five-star hotels and vacations in places most people only see on Instagram. My husband, Kairo Adeyemi, is one of Africa’s biggest Afrobeats artists. He was born and raised in Lagos, Nigeria, and started making music long before the world knew his name. I’m different. I was born and raised in London. London is home to me—the rainy mornings, the Underground, the little cafés and the life I had before fame became part of mine. We met in London years ago. Now we’re married, and we live in New York City. Our apartment overlooks Manhattan. It sounds perfect. Sometimes it is. Sometimes it isn’t. ⸻ 6:18 A.M. I wake up and reach across the bed. Empty. I already know. Kairo is in Los Angeles for a recording session. I grab my phone and see a message. Kairo ❤️: Morning, beautiful. Me: You didn’t come home. The typing bubble appears. Kairo: I know. Me: You promised. Kairo: I know. I’m sorry. Then another message. Kairo: Come to LA. I laugh. Me: I have work. Kairo: Take the day off. Me: I can’t just— Kairo: The jet is waiting. I stare at my phone. Me: You’re ridiculous. Kairo: You love me. Me: Unfortunately. Kairo: That’s my wife. Three hours later, I’m on a private jet. That’s the glamorous part. The part everyone sees. They see me stepping out of expensive cars beside him. They see the designer clothes, the jewelry and the vacations. They don’t see me eating dinner alone while he’s performing in another country. They don’t see the nights I wait for his call. They don’t see how exhausting it can be when every part of your marriage can become somebody else’s entertainment. ⸻ That night, I stand backstage at his concert. The arena is packed. Thousands of people are screaming his name. The lights go dark. Then his voice fills the stadium. The crowd explodes. Kairo walks onto the stage dressed in black, chains around his neck and a microphone in his hand. He’s magnetic. Confident. Untouchable. The entire stadium sings along to his songs. I watch him from backstage. Then, during one of his biggest songs, he turns toward me. He finds me immediately. His eyes meet mine. He smiles. For those few seconds, I forget about the cameras, the fans and the fame. He’s not Kairo, the superstar. He’s my husband. ⸻ After the show, he comes backstage exhausted. “Baby!” He pulls me into his arms. “Did you see that?” “I saw.” “Was I good?” “You were okay.” He looks offended. “Okay?” I laugh. “You were amazing.” “That’s better.” He kisses my forehead. “I missed you.” “You were gone four days.” “I know.” “You barely called.” “I know.” “You promised.” “I know.” I stare at him. Then he pulls me closer. “I’m sorry.” And that’s the side nobody sees. I know the man behind the music. I know how he gets when he’s tired. I know how he laughs when he’s embarrassed. I know how he steals food from my plate even when he has his own. Millions know Kairo. I know my husband. ⸻ “Because millions of people are talking about our marriage like it’s a television show.” He goes quiet. I look away. “Sometimes I hate this.” “The fame?” “All of it.” I swallow. “I miss London. I miss being able to walk outside without cameras. I miss being anonymous.” He takes my hands. “I know.” “And sometimes I feel like I have to share you with the whole world.” He looks into my eyes. “You don’t.” I give him a small laugh. “Everyone wants a piece of you.” “But they don’t get me.” He steps closer. “They get the artist. You get the man.” I look at him. “You’re my wife. You’re my home. Everything else is noise.” I finally smile. He kisses my forehead. “Come here.” I wrap my arms around him. For a moment, the superstar disappears. It’s just us. His childhood is filled with memories of Lagos, African music and family traditions. Mine is filled with London streets, British culture and rainy afternoons. But somehow, we fit. ⸻ Being Kairo’s wife means living between two worlds. It means airports, concerts, cameras and attention. It means missing him when he’s away and protecting the little pieces of our marriage that belong only to us. But when the stadium lights go off, the cameras stop flashing and the crowds go home, he comes back to me. Everyone else gets Kairo Adeyemi, the superstar. They get his music. His fame. His performances. His image. I get the man behind all of it. I get the sleepy man who steals my blankets. The annoying man who eats my food. The husband who calls me just to hear my voice. The man who chose me. And after everything, that’s all I ever wanted. The world gets the superstar. I get my husband..