She heard her baby yell from the other room. It was 3:45 a.m. and this was the fourth time he had cried this night. Ngozi gently touched her lips; it was no longer bleeding but sore. Okafor had beaten her to a pulp again that night as per routine, the last combat was just 2 days ago, and the reason was he had a dream where she cheated. He believed his dreams were true; that was God’s way of revealing things to him. Sometimes, she wondered how she ever ended up with someone this pig-headed.
It had been a long Thursday for her, from taking care of the kids to grocery shopping alongside other household duties. This was her routine, but today had been tumultuous; she had spent the entire day in the hospital trying to vaccinate her 3 months old Ifeanyi. God had decided to wipe away her tears with a baby boy this time. According to her mother-in-law, she just secured her spot in the family despite being married for over 7 years. She was fagged and couldn’t prepare the meal he had requested for dinner, so
she quickly heated some leftovers from the fridge.
Her heart skipped a beat when she heard him drive in; she had silently wished he would come back ‘high’ and doze off. Sounds strange, right? Describing the same man as Joseph, the dreamer, and a chimney. Today, he came home from work blotto, so she anticipated being beaten. Ngozi wanted to leave, but what could she do? Her family lived in penury; her marriage to Okafor was the blessing they had hoped for, but it was at variance. He never failed to remind her how he rescued her from the claws of poverty. The next place she could turn to was the church but would that end well?
For better or worse, my dear.
That which God has joined together, let no man put asunder
Women pray harder; our homes are under attack
The devil shall not prevail
Her Pastor’s wife, a dark-skinned woman in her early 40s, screamed from the pulpit. Ngozi looked at her with so much disdain and giggled a bit at the fashion mishap; her dress, shoe, and scarf were all of varying patterns, and it was a disaster. Mrs. Odiran’s outfits always amused her; she wondered why no one ever told her how ridiculous she looked almost all the time. Getting away with chaotic fashion choices seemed to be the perk of being a Pastor’s wife.
She was irritated by hearing this sermon repeatedly; when it was time for prayers, she could see these women wailing, asking God to touch their husbands, such a sorry sight. When did marriage get this unbearable? Why is it endured rather than enjoyed? Has it always been like this?
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There was a loud bang on the door, and Amy woke up. This was the 4th nightmare in 7 days. Nick had asked for a break for ‘them’ to figure things out. She knew it was hogwash.
Who goes on a break after 7 years together??
They should be planning their wedding, not this. Amy sighed and proceeded to get ready for work. She could only deal with one loss at a time; getting a query from her job right now would further send her down the black hole. Amy had met Nick during her second year at the university. It was love at first sight. She still remembers how shy and cute he looked in his navy polo, khaki trousers, and blue toms. Forever was the dream,
she had never imagined life without him, but here she was at 27 with no man and a mid-level role in a bank.
She hated her job so much, but Nick thought it was okay, and she stayed. As long as he approved, she would do anything. Amy wanted to be a music tour manager, but he said she would be too exposed and uncontrollable. These were all the signs; she could feel and taste them, but why was she stuck with this? She let out a sardonic laugh; this was a good thing if only her heart would see things with her head. Then it just might not ache
so much. Everyone should have butterflies in their belly when they think of spending forever with “The One,” but she had pangs of fear whenever she thought about forever with him.
How do you walk into hell with your eyes open?
She wanted to end this long ago, but family and friends told her to stay. “Be patient,” they said, with no consideration for how miserable she was. “You know how men can be,” a statement she has heard repeatedly said to women of various age groups. It was a long ride to work that day. A truck had packed up on her route, causing a gridlock. Alone with her thoughts, she remembered her nightmare this morning and reached for her phone. It would be interesting to point out that this was no nightmare but
the reality of her elder sister Ngozi.
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Next!!!
The nurse yelled, jolting Ngozi back to reality. Her cesarean section stitch was taking forever to heal, and she was in severe pain with the manhandling from Okafor. It was unbearable last night, and she quickly came to the hospital once he left the house. The examination lasted about 20 minutes, with the doctor repeating his prior instructions.
“Mrs Ngozi, do not do anything strenuous; please take it easy till the wounds heal properly,” Dr Kalu said. “Tell that to the devil I married,” she muttered. She impatiently waited for her test results, it was almost noon, and she had barely started any household chores for the day.
Seated on the worn-out sofa in the hospital reception, her mind drifted to her life 8 years ago. A young graduate of Anatomy and Physiology, she had been lucky to get a position at the morgue in the Federal Medical Centre, Owerri. It wasn’t her first choice; coming from an average extended family of traders, there was no connection to secure a prime job. She was willing to work up the career ladder, but God forbid, if people found out she
worked in the morgue, that would spring rumors about their family. She resigned from the job and was married off to Okafor. Her marriage was the end of her career, she was now her husband’s property, and his decisions were to be obeyed without question. Okafor maintained his wife would not work, as it would cause her wings to grow, and she would start questioning him and be insubordinate. There can only be one head of the house; she will take care of the house, he would say to anyone who asked. And
here she was; she practiced only anatomy and physiology after he had battered her.
“Mrs. Ngozi !!!”
The nurse called out, “Your test results are ready. Take it easy, my dear; there is nothing God cannot heal”, a woman in her late fifties said with a warm smile. She smiled back at her and proceeded to the counter. Indeed, she needed healing from the trauma. She walked back into a gloomy Dr. Kalu, “am I dying?” she chuckled. “Have a seat, he said to her. We ran a couple of tests, and one came back positive. I’m sorry to inform you that you are HIV positive. You must ask your husband to come in for tests and stop breastfeeding immediately.” She went numb, and in that second, a crescendo of pain swept through her entire body. She wanted to scream at the top of her voice and jump off the first floor of the hospital building, but she was too weak to move. “It is not a death sentence; build up your immune system and take anti-retroviral drugs.” Dr. Kalu
advised.
It was a long ride home; all she could think of were the numerous women her husband was involved with. How could he be this stupid and careless?
She thought of the last time she wanted to leave this sham of her marriage, and her mother asked her to stay. “Marriage is for better and worse, my child. He is just a man, keep praying and be patient. He will change.” Alas, a change did happen; he had changed her life forever.
Ngozi had taken her kids to her parent’s place to pick them up on her way back from the hospital. But she went home instead; she needed to get some answers. She tossed all his belongings one after the other and found where he hid his retroviral drugs. Her mind flashed back to a Sunday evening two months ago when she walked in on him taking these drugs. He said it was a multivitamin for men when she inquired. It felt like she had been stabbed in her heart with a knife. How could he do this to her? Filled with rage,
she planned to end both their lives that night. She waited patiently for him to get back. This evening, Okafor had an outing with Bianca, his side piece, and had come home to change.
How long have you known?
Ngozi asked him with tears running down her eyes. He looked perplexed, and then she threw the test result to him. He opened it, read it, and walked towards the kitchen. Running towards him, she pushed his head against the wall and screamed.
Devil!
Useless man!!
Demonic agent!!
You have finally succeeded in ruining my life!!!
Unhand me, woman, Okafor yelled, removing her hands from his shirt. Better go and treat yourself, and stop throwing tantrums like a child. Can’t you be mature for once? Ngozi couldn’t believe her ears. All she could think of in this moment of indignation was sending him back to hell where he came from. She ran to the balcony and grabbed a keg of gasoline and a lighter from the kitchen; she would set him on fire.
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It was 4 p.m. and Amy was fast asleep, her phone was ringing for the third time in a row, and she wondered why a stranger would call her incessantly. She reluctantly picked up and heard the voice of a middle-aged woman.
Hello Dear
My name is Mrs. Voke
I’m your sister’s neighbor
Ngozi and her husband have both been rushed to St. Theresa Medical Centre; please come quickly.
She got to the hospital as fast as she could and paid the initial deposit for them to commence proper treatment and not the first aid charade they had been doing. She entered the ward and cried upon seeing her sister burnt beyond recognition. Ngozi could barely open her eyes; she had suffered a third-degree burn. A nurse escorted Amy out of the ward.
On the third day, Ngozi gave up the ghost; a lot of her vital organs had been damaged by the fire. Okafor suffered a second-degree burn and was responding well to treatment. Amy thought of finishing the job her sister started. She was gone, and this devil was breathing. Amy looked at her parents sobbing with disdain; she tried to keep calm as she did not want to create a scene in the hospital but couldn’t.
Why are you crying?
She cussed out to her parents. You killed my sister, she tried to leave that hell, and you refused to support her and threatened to disown her if she brought shame to the family but here we are. Her roasted body is there; take it, feast, and enjoy. You did nothing and watched your child suffer every form of abuse, yes, we may not be financially buoyant, but you could have defended her. She is a woman condemned to a life of misery because culture postulates that a man would complete her.
It ends with me!!
I will not subject myself to a barbaric culture of abuse. I want love and companionship, but I will not settle for less. I am more than my gender or societal standing. And on this day, I promise to liberate every woman I can.
