The Second time around

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This time I was so sure I had figured out my husband, no more surprises. I knew when to stop and how to get anything and everything I wanted. I knew what reaction I would get out of him at any time and I had started to become quite confident in my marriage.  I was a mother for the third and fourth time at once with the birth of my twins. According to some people, my name had been written in ink in my husband’s home, which meant that I was rooted and going nowhere.

Life was beautiful and I had also started to combine my duties as a home maker with a full time job. I was coping and doing my best at holding both grounds.

Vic was doing great too and things never got that heated up as that last time, we would remember that night and even laugh at the intensity and how we both became like strangers at that moment living under the same roof and how we were able to settle our issues amicably indeed.

That night taught us that in marriage, a lot of things must come to play if it should work; there must first be a commitment by both parties to make the marriage work, parties must be willing to forgive and forget because a lot of issues in marriage spring from hurt caused by a misunderstanding which a party in the marriage has neither forgiven nor forgotten. That is one thing that does not exist in our union.

We forgive and keep forgiving, we forget, and keep forgetting and that has worked well for us, most of all, we have made a commitment that we will stick it out come rain, come sun, “we die there” as the latest Nigerian phrase captures it. There are exceptions though; no abuse of any form, no second wife or husband, we must always be on the same side and disagree only in private. The only thing that remained a shock to me was how Vic went from someone who would eat out in the best restaurants to one who loved to chill at home over home made food. He fooled me there, I never knew that it was one of his toasting strategies and it always shocked me each time he insisted on eating at home. He would always say, “you know I love your food” and I used to fall for that till I got older and wiser.

The times we ate out, you could tell that he genuinely did not have a nice time, at buffets, he would eat only the pepper soup and rice dishes, he wouldn’t experiment with any other food and I did not quite like that, after a while, I stopped bothering him and would indulge on my own or with the kids or my girlfriends and with him on special occasions.

Anyway, we were having a decent conversation one evening and Vic said something that didn’t go down well with me. I felt so unappreciated and like a typical woman, I blurted something, I am still learning to swallow some things for the sake of peace, I will get there I know.

Something went like a flash across my mouth and I had a hard time believing that Vic raised his hand on me, I felt so helpless and violated that I began to cry uncontrollably. It was like a quick breeze across my mouth and a finger touched my mouth, the way you would poke a little child’s mouth for talking too much and that even made me feel worse.

I ran outside the house and called Ferdinand (Ferdinand is my father), I couldn’t talk well because I was wailing and I could tell that Ferdinand’s heart was racing. He calmed down after I told him what happened, he asked if Vic beat me, and with a loud cry, I said “yes!” Ferdinand asked how he beat me if I was only poked in the mouth. He said he would ask my brother who lived in the same city as me to come and see what was really going on. That wasn’t the response I expected and so I called Beatrice (my mother) and I could hear the worry in her voice when she heard me cry. “Nwamaka, where’s your husband, where are your children?” I answered and told her that they were home, “are they fine?” I said yes and Beatrice gave a long hiss. “So, what is the problem?” she asked, and I narrated what happened. She asked if he beat me and I said, "not really" learning from my experience with Ferdinand, I didn’t want her to question the credibility of my story and my integrity like her husband did.

Beatrice just said, “so Nwamaka, what did you say to him?”, I told her what I said to Vic. I had called him "an ingrate" and the word had not even left my mouth completely when that poke came crashing on my upper lip. Beatrice said to me, "next time, if you must utter such, make sure you have an escape route or you are very far from him" I was not sure if I should laugh or cry harder at the advice. 

By the time, I went in the house, covering my mouth like I was in pain, Vic was laughing, he had received several calls from my brothers and sisters, and also Ferdinand, asking him what happened. He said to me that I was such a baby and was more concerned about the anxiety I had caused my parents than the violence he meted on me. He wanted us to talk and I told him that I had nothing to say to him till my brother arrived. I went into the bathroom and began to wash my upper lip, like I could wash away that violation, and all the while, Vic was standing over me at the sink, laughing and telling me how it was just reflex. if only eyes could kill.

It finally registered in my head that my brother was not going to show up after I checked the time and saw that it was past midnight. Ferdinand played a trick on me, he knew it wasn’t that serious to intervene; both parents never interfered in our marriages. He had called his son in law and they had a meeting on me. Vic apologized and pleaded with me to never bother my aging parents in that way again.

When I was calmer, Vic said to me that he thought I was a tough cookie and expected a different kind of reaction. In my mind, I had a quote, “He who fights and runs, lives to fight another day!”. I also had a revenge plan. Look out for the Revenge!

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