My husband was crying. I was crying too. I was waiting patiently to hear what he would say after the tears.
He swallowed a lump down his throat while staring into my eyes. I saw the movement of his throat. I knew what that meant. He wasn’t saying anything so I asked, “It’s over, right? You’ll never forgive me, right? Say something. I know men don’t forgive these things, so go ahead and tell me.
He turned away and for several seconds, he uttered no word apart from silence, the movement of his fist and the legs he was standing on. Silence is a loud statement. I got it but I wanted to hear from his own mouth. I didn’t know what that would do for me. Maybe closure. Maybe a spell of finitude for what we started five years ago. Maybe…maybe something to hold on to as the price I had to pay for my infidelity.
Marriage brought us luck. A few days after our wedding, everything in our lives started changing for the better. My husband had a promotion. Something he had been waiting for for over six years. I remember him telling me, “Or they don’t give such promotions to men who are not married? If I knew this, I would have married you long ago.” The promotion came with a lot of benefits that changed our lives instantly.
We were grateful to God so good things started flowing ceaselessly like water from a broken well. We started diversifying our life investment. We bought taxis. We bought land, we opened a shop and employed three people. We started building a house we would move in by the time children started coming.
The only problem was, children never came. We gave it some time but three years after marriage, I became desperate. I questioned my fertility and that of my husband so we sought medical care. I questioned the intensity of my spirituality so I turned to God in fervent prayers. When my junior sister, who married two years after my marriage conceived, it became my prayer topic, or you can say an indictment on the supremacy of the Almighty. I questioned his powers and fair judgment.
God, you said you love all of us the same so why have you taken your eyes off me? Am I also not your child? What did Cindy (my junior sister) do that I haven’t done? Is she more righteous than me?” While I was desperate for a miracle, my husband took it cool as if nothing was happening. Even when I woke him up at dawn for us to pray, he told me I was disturbing him. I branded him as an enemy of my progress and took things into my own hands. I started moving from place to place for a miracle.
I listened to friends. I followed the direction that led me to the next powerful man of God. I followed their orders: the dawn bathing, chewing fertility leaves, sowing seed, fasting and praying, following them to the stream for spiritual cleansing. I did all that. Four years after marriage, I still didn’t have a child. The closest I got to pregnancy was when my period delayed for five days. My heart was beating faster.
I thought I was pregnant. I interpreted every discomfort in my body as a symptom of pregnancy. I lived my life like a pregnant woman until one dawn, I woke up and felt the red visitor in my pants.
I called it a miscarriage. My husband told me not to be delusional. One more visit to a new man of God didn’t hurt so when my friend told me about a young powerful pastor in her neighborhood, I dressed up in white and followed her to the church. I was prayed on until I fell to the ground, something that had never happened in my life. He prophesied into my life and gave me a reason for the delay in getting pregnant; “So you’ll experience a different God who lives in this church.
I came to believe this pastor so much there was nothing he told me that I didn’t do. I sent my husband’s boxer shorts to him when he asked for it. He told me to come to his place for a spiritual bath and I went. I was in the bathroom bathing when this man of God walked in. He was reciting some words.
Suddenly, I started feeling dizzy. I felt weak in my knees. He took off his clothes to reveal my husband’s blue boxer shorts I gave to him. He said, “I’m your husband. In spirit and in flesh. I’ve been ordained to give you what you lack.” I couldn’t fight him. I stood quiet and cried as this man took me from behind.
After, he gave back the boxer to me to give it to my husband. I couldn’t come out of the bath afterwards. I was so embarrassed and broken if there was something to make suicide easier, I would have done it. I later took my walk of shame home. I didn’t even look back when I heard his voice calling me. I walked slowly out of his place, never to go back again. I became jittery around my husband.
Anytime I saw his face, my heart leapt out of my chest. Out of fear and guilt, I decided to confess to him. It wasn’t an easy thing to do because I knew after the confession, everything could come to an end but I was determined to buy back my freedom and clarity of my conscience, so that evening, before we went to bed, I held his hand and prayed, “God, be my help in times of trouble.
Calm my husband’s heart so he will take this confession in good spirit.” God hadn’t listened to any prayer I’d offered but I was counting on him on this one because it was clear in the Bible that those who receive the gift of forgiveness are those who confess their sins. I told my husband everything with a trembling voice and tears in my eyes. After my confession, the scene I described in the first and second paragraphs happened. “Yes, I will never forgive you for this. I told you to calm down but you never listened. This marriage is over,” he said. I nodded repeatedly while saying, “I understand.
You’re right. I won’t blame you for your decision. The blame is all on me.” I begged him not to broadcast the incident. “If you do, I might have to end my life. I can’t stand the judgment of the gossip. I can’t look in the face of my parents and feel proud as the daughter they raised. My life would be ruined forever.
He had already left my presence when I was saying all that. He didn’t sack me from the house. He was the one who left the house to live with a friend in their company bungalow. I was scared to be alone so I also left the house to live with my sister. I confessed everything to her and like a loving sister would do, she gave me a shoulder to cry on and a shelter to keep me away from the raging storm.
Going through this phase of my life took every awareness I had of myself from me. One day, the calendar on my phone flashed in my eyes and I remembered what date it was. My menses had delayed for over a month. I didn’t want to check but my sister forced me and I obeyed. I was pregnant. I few hours later, while thinking of what to do and not do, I passed out. I woke up in the hospital with my sister next to me.
I told her I wasn’t going to have it. She whispered softly, as if she was gossiping about someone next to us “You’re crazy to say that. You waited for five years and don’t want to have it? Ako, you’re mad! No matter who’s responsible, you’re going to have it.
I wasn’t going to have the child so what she was saying felt like an empty threat. When I got home from the hospital, I saw my husband’s call on my phone. He hadn’t spoken to me for weeks. He asked, “So who’s responsible for the pregnancy?” I looked at my sister’s face. She turned away mischievously as if to tell me, “Yeah, I told him what are you going to do about it?”
Source: legitpost.com.ng
