My sister and I used to be very close, but things have changed recently. Let me start from the beginning.
I was having marital issues with my husband, largely due to conflicts with my in-laws. My husband’s family never liked me, and the feeling became mutual when I gave up after several years of trying to please them.
Over the years, they tried to drive a wedge between my husband and me, and they often succeeded because my husband idolized his mother, can never see the wrong in his siblings. Reminded me of how his family mattered more to him than the one we were starting.
I could never compete with that. Despite my efforts to win his mother over, she had decided that no one would ever be good enough for her son.
We were married for 16 years before the recent issues began. Throughout those years, the person I confided in the most was my sister. She was my big sister, married with children, and wealthier than my husband and me. This had never been an issue. My sister always spent summer holidays abroad, either with her husband or her children. She also filled more than half of my wardrobe with the latest clothes since we were the same size, and she never wore her clothes for more than a year before discarding them for the latest fashion.
She was incredibly supportive, often lending me money when we were struggling and refusing to take it back when I tried to repay her. She was my confidante, and there were no secrets between us.
At some point, I learned that my sister and her husband were having issues. She discovered that her husband had another woman and two children with her. This revelation almost broke her. I was there to support her. She wanted to leave her husband and move abroad, but I warned her that she might feel lonely since her children were almost done with university and would soon be out of the house. I advised her to stay and endure it, not because I thought she wouldn’t have moneyโshe had her own business and would still live comfortably even if she divorced.
But I just kind of felt, like the typical naija woman, โHa, donโt divorce o, not in our family.โ I was ignorant, then.
A few years after my sister began having issues and considering divorce, my own marriage hit a rough patch. I had grown tired of the marriage. Applied to go do my masters in the UK and was permitted to stay and work for two years, bringing my husband and our three children as dependents. Despite knowing we had issues beyond in-laws, I was exhausted by the marriage.
One day, after about four years, in the UK, you know, we were just going through the same thing. No real joy. More importantly, all the years of belittlement in front of his family and the societal pressure in Nigeria to stay married were beginning to take their toll.
Moving abroad brought back memories of incidents that made me feel helpless, and I began to resent him.
Living abroad made us more equal partners. Even if I came home late from work, I didn’t have to cook. In Nigeria, it would have been a family affair, with my husband calling even my ancestors to see the “lazy wife” he married. But here, things were different.
I wanted to forgive and forget, but my husband had done too many things that I had to endure in Nigeria and not lose a marriage that should have long been lost.
Seeing him do household chores and help with the kids, things I did even after coming home late while he watched TV, made me sad and resentful.
So you can do this? Why didnโt you?
The final straw was when I came home from work and found my mother-in-law in our small living room. My husband, who works in construction and is well-paid, had planned for her to stay with us without informing me. It was a typical Nigerian man move, and I was blindsided.
I lost it!
“Why didn’t you tell me your mum was coming?” I demanded.
He replied, “Oh, because we’ve now become ‘oyibo’ where you need information about when my own mother comes to the house that I also pay for?”
In my mind, I thought, โBobo yi, bo ya lo manโ (You have no idea what record has been playing in my head!). His mum is in her 70s, so I knew sending her out that evening would be all shades of wrong. I didn’t greet her; I just walked to my room and went straight to bed, figuring that if I started the drama in my head, I’d win an Oscar. I said nothing to either of them.
The following morning, I addressed both of them: “Get out of my house before I come back or I’ll call the cops.” That’s the last thing any Nigerian man wants to hear.
They called me all sorts of names. I said, “Kukuma, you didn’t bring me here so you canโt go on Instagram and say stupid things. My sister sponsored half and I paid half. You didn’t contribute to my tuition or travel; you’re a dependent on my visa, so beware.”
I don’t know what concoction he drank overnight because he kept threatening me, and his mother said, “I’ve been warning you about this woman; see for yourself.” I told her, “Mummy, if I find you here when I return, this floor you’re on will be greater than you!”
To be honest, I had no intention of calling the copsโwho needs that? But after all the suffering they put me through in Nigeria, it felt good to be in a position to cause them sleepless nights and see fear in their eyes.
At work, I got a call from my sister. The long and short of it was that if I sent my husband and his mother out of the house, she wouldn’t speak to me again!
โHaaa, sistah mi, I love you but you’ve got it all mixed up. If you want to take sides with this guy, I’m ready to cut ties.โ
I tried to get my sister to understand but she was adamant. She said I should listen to my own advice. Well yes, but our situations were different. We quarrelled. She believed all the lies my husbandโnow my exโtold her and I was shocked.
Of course, my husband and his mother left the house before I came back. Even though it started as a bluff and yes, I was angryโoh yes, I wasโbut at the back of my mind, I wondered if they would actually leave. But they did.
My kids have taken to supporting their dad…I was like, โNa una sabi.โ
But you know what? I began to feel good afterwards. These people were unkind to me for years while I struggled to be a good wife. Now it’s their turn to feel unsafe.
I don’t bloody care!
(Series written and edited by Peju Akande and based on true stories)