You can call it 12 years of slavery if you like and you won’t be wrong. I was married to my husband for 12 years, not once did I get pregnant and lose it. As in, mine wasn’t a case of miscarriage, threatened pregnancy, or even abortion. It just never happened.
Was my husband not tested along with me?
You are jumping the gun here. Let me open the chapters of my life one after another and if you find it too long, you know how to edit stories. Please, don’t edit the important details because this is what I plan to show people who will not stop talking about me.
I said 12 years a slave, right?
Yes, I married late. I was almost 35 years old when I married my husband, who by the way is five years younger than me. I married him in the church because after fasting and praying add many night vigils. I finally succumbed to a man, who I knew was way beneath me. I was getting old and like they tell us spinsters, “Your biological clock is ticking.”
I wanted a child. Even if it’s just one child.
I met my husband through one of his aunties. I met her in church. She had advised it was safer to get married to someone in the church. She said it would be better than marrying a “worldly man.” I am no religious fanatic but I figured a church guy would have the fear of God in him, abi?
I met a brother who qualified
She pointed me to her younger brother, who worked as a civil servant. He was younger than me but that wasn’t even a problem. If he could be advised to do business; to change jobs from public to private corporations…he would, you know, look better. Instead of the threadbare shirts and trousers he wears on a Civil servant salary, he could …what’s the word now, more attractive to women.
I saw he had potential, he just needed help in the right direction. So I allowed myself to be “encouraged” to get close to him.
And I was a good catch. I had bought my own home, though I told people it belonged to my father. I drove my own car; though I told nosy people it was a company car…lies, just to appear “humble” for men to consider me “wife material.”
To be honest, I liked my husband, which is why I even considered marriage.
I saw immediately we had few things in common. He assured me, while we were courting, that he was a liberal man. He promised he wouldn’t stop me from pursuing my career or doing whatever I wanted to do. He told me, after all, he too would benefit from it.
I thought that was sensible. We got to know more about each other and a few months after my 35th birthday, we got married in a quiet ceremony in court. We also had both the traditional wedding, which was quite big but not too big, moderate, and a small church affair.
Here comes the bride
He paid for the court wedding. I paid for all the traditional and the small church wedding. I paid for the reception venue, the décor, the band, the cake, his suit and that of his best man, my wedding gown and that of my chief bridesmaid. The only thing I refused to pay for, which I insisted he should pay for was our wedding rings. These he paid for through one of his colleagues who travels to Dubai to buy gold.
I will be honest with you, this was my wedding, even though I wasn’t going to insist on certain things knowing he just couldn’t afford it on his civil servant pay. The wedding rings were important to me and he pays for them.
More so, I didn’t want him to feel bad or feel pressured by me or my family. So he and I itemised what we needed. I gave checks or transferred funds to him as we went along and he did exactly what we agreed we ought to do.
We settled in my house, aka father’s house. We agreed that we should be paying my “dad” something, no matter how small, for the flat. We paid N150k for our three-bedroom flat in Omole…where the normal 3-bedroom flat rent went from between N1.2 to N2m.
Marital bliss…
All good, because, after all, it’s “dad’s flat.” my husband brought N35k, I paid the balance…we have lived there for almost 12 years now. We paid into my dad’s account.
For the first five to six years, I would say, we were happy. Not deliriously happy but we got on as husband and wife with our small, small, issues.
Now, in the midst of these so called happy years, my husband never brought any money at the end of every month. The reason is, his salary. Many times before month end, he would be borrowing money from me. He earned N183k…after tax. I of course earn more, more than 15 times his salary.
We didn’t have children so the pressure wasn’t much on him to give anything at the end of each month.
But he comes home to good food because I will not starve myself because I want to teach someone a lesson. If I can afford good food outside, I will cook the same at home. So I spared no expense on food at home. He would come and eat …but one day, he told me I was getting fat…on my money! That’s talk for another day.
Let me tell you how things began to disintegrate. I knew I made a mistake in the marriage but I wanted a child. This was the trade-off. I didn’t want to get a child from married men. I wanted a single guy with good genes. And my husband is no dullard, he is just lazy and entitled.
He is after all he is my husband!
I was the one who bought clothes for my husband, I mean clothes that he wears when we have events. It would look bad if I am well dressed, well turned out and he is wearing his threadbare clothes. So I took over his wardrobe. I convinced myself that if roles were reversed, he would do the same for me.
His shoes, hankies…perfumes…I always replaced them when I bought things for myself.
I didn’t know I was touching him up for Lagos girls. He began to look attractive to other women and before I could say, where is my child…he was never home Fridays through to Mondays. It was always one event after another. It’s one party with babes after another, with friends and family sending me photos of him and several women.
When I complained, it was to remind me I was the one rushing into marriage.
Choose one-a child or a husband?
Now you’ve got to understand that, when you are in my shoes, you wouldn’t be able to imagine you could do a lot better being alone than in a relationship that is almost forced. I wanted a child. I didn’t want to be jumping from man to man. “Worldly” as I may appear, I was still deeply concerned about having children out of wedlock. This was important to me. I also didn’t want my child to come from a married man I couldn’t be sure would want to have my child a part of his life. So I stayed but I knew once I had a child, I was done with him.
So what does a woman looking for a child do?
Everything!
I cooked and cleaned. I lowered myself and pleaded. I cried and prayed. I paid for everything he wanted me to pay for…car, I bought; change the décor in the living room, before he even said it, I did. Pay for my flight to Dubai for my leave, I did. All I wanted was his seed.
The first few years, our lovemaking or should I call it sex wasn’t regular. He told me he wasn’t all that into sex. I think it’s true because I didn’t see him or think of him being with women. It was years later I found out…and I kept it from him when I did, that he had a low sperm count but he was treating it.
I waited, at least he was in treatment.
Barrenness can feel like a curse
If you have no child in marriage this long, you know the scorn, the hate speech, and the nastiness from people. When I clocked 41, I knew my chances were slipping out fast, especially with a husband who wasn’t keen on kids.
My friends began to take me out. They encouraged me to go out more often and enjoy my life and not die because I had no child. These friends had children already in secondary school with a few preparing for university. So I joined them at the picnics. I took part in the parties. The shows, the reunions…and I met someone.
That’s how it began. The first year of meeting him, nothing happened.
We were just friends.
I was too afraid to have extramarital affairs. I still had a phobia of married men. In the second year…things began to happen. He was more of a familiar person. A friend I could call and rant to who wouldn’t judge me. Our friendship grew and my need for meaningful sexual contact also grew.
It came as no surprise that after three or four encounters, I was pregnant…at almost 43 years old! Unfortunately, a few months after, I lost that pregnancy!
Did my husband know I was pregnant before the loss? He did. He thought he was responsible. A woman who got pregnant outside must know how to make it look like she got it from the inside. Are you a child?
I mourned my loss
But this made me more determined to do it again….I wanted a child desperately!
I went to the doctor who told me the danger of having a normal child at my age. But I was determined to have one. I ate right. I exercised. I read books and went online to research how to improve my chances of having a healthy child.
I was 44 years old when I got pregnant again. My child came out healthy and strong and that’s all I ever wanted.
We became happy again, my husband and I. He stayed home more often. He even gave us money for diapers every month…that’s all he could afford to give and it was ok by me.
Trouble began when he wanted to take my son to his village for some ritual they do for first born sons…I said no.
We dragged it for weeks, then months and he reported me to his family, then mine…after which I had to confess to him why I couldn’t release my son. I told him the facts of life, this boy is not your son!
(Series written and edited by Peju Akande and based on true stories)