I grew up in Kano State, northern Nigeria, though I am from Osogbo, in Osun State. My parents are both Muslims; they love each other so much that up till now, no force seems strong enough to separate them.
Even when it took them some time to have another child after me, and family members were mounting pressure on my father to take a second wife, which is acceptable in his culture as well as religion, my father was solidly with my mother, asking his relatives to allow him run the affairs of his family himself.
A few years after the battle to have a second wife began, God opened my mother’s womb again, and she had three sons in quick succession. She had a girl again after my three brothers. While growing up, people always said that I took after my mother in beauty and complexion, though I had a lighter skin. Some even took me for a half-caste because of the texture of my hair and I enjoyed it.
I was very brilliant as a young girl and grew up with that academic excellence. My parents also did everything to make sure I followed the right path with respect to everything that concerned me.
As such, I did not have a boyfriend until my third year in the university. Immediately I met my man, and he told me his intention, I told my mother about him. She, in turn, advised me on how to deal with a man and warned me not to have any sexual relationship with him until we were properly married. He was ready to wait. He kept on telling me how lucky he was to have been the one to win my love when everyone around town admired me and wanted me at all costs.
He was a Master’s student in the same university that I attended at the time, but was working in one of the frontline new generation banks. We got closer by the day, and after my National Youth Service, he said he could no longer wait, that we had to get married.
So the two sides started the preparations for a wedding ceremony that turned out the talk of our town for many months. I got pregnant immediately after our wedding and my husband was all over me. He was his usual loving self until the baby clocked two and IÂ started working .
On my part, I made sure that my job as a wife and a mother did not suffer. But my husband just became unnecessarily bossy and insecure. He complained about my dressing even when I tried to be very modest. He never met me as an unruly lady anyway. He gave me rules on when to leave the house and get back home after work. He would complain endlessly that our child was not having the best of a mother and that I should be a full housewife, ideally. But I always reminded him that we agreed, even before I agreed to date him, that I would be allowed to work.
He knew I was the best in my set then, and did not oppose the idea. I had another baby after my son, a girl, and things became even worse. My husband said I was deliberately keeping my tummy flat because I wanted men to still chase me. He complained about everything and told my parents that I had to stop working to take very good care of him and the kids.
Whenever I returned from work, he would go through my phone and start asking questions about every male name or text even when they were strictly work-related. I started getting really irritated but I managed the situation with the help of my mother, who kept on telling me to see him as my friend, just like my father was her only friend on earth. But it was very hard.
There was a day he offered to pick me from work because my car was faulty. Since I knew he was coming, I rushed my work and was ready for him about 30 minutes earlier than usual.
As he was driving into the compound, he saw me shaking hands with one of my male colleagues, who was talking about our department’s proposal and how it was discarded by the top management. We were talking and laughing as we spoke, and I was careful not to fidget when I saw my husband’s car so that he would not read any meaning to it.
When I got into the car, I greeted him warmly, but he answered me with a very hot slap. He asked me why I always came home much later when I knew I could be earlier. He also accused me of flirting with my colleague, saying that was the rubbish I was always waiting behind to do.
I cried all the way home and told him I was tired of him monitoring all my texts and actions. I told him that if I had been wayward, he would have seen or known that even before we got married.
Would I then start something I never did while I was younger at this time, when I had started raising kids? He did not even listen; he kept on ranting and calling me names. I reported to his parents. They tried to talk some sense into him, but it did not work. He said I should stop wearing knee length skirts or dresses; that I had to start dressing like a good Muslim. I listened to him and changed my wardrobe. My colleagues at work actually said that I looked more beautiful with my new look. But instead of my husband being satisfied and making peace, he became even more insecure.
Eventually, he told my parents that I had to choose between him and work. He said he, as the husband, would not allow me to work again and that I had the right to choose to continue being his wife or working.
So, I chose the former to allow peace reign in my family. One day, he came back from work and met me outside discussing with our neighbours. There had been a big fire incident in the neighbourhood and we were talking about it. Instead of greeting the man and his wife, he stormed into the house and I ran after him.
That day, he beat me black and blue, saying that he sat in the car for over 10 minutes, watching the man flirting with me with his eyes, and that I was enjoying it. I cried all night and refused to eat.
I, however, made up my mind that I would endure some more and pray to God to intervene and make him feel secure and appreciate the good wife that God had given him. But something happened the very next day that made me change my mind.
