For the
first time in my life, I had nothing.
Very unlike me, as I always had something to hold on to…something to keep me going.
All the excuses I used to give myself to go on seemed to had expired the day before.
Very unlike me, as I always had something to hold on to…something to keep me going.
All the excuses I used to give myself to go on seemed to had expired the day before.
“I’m
sorry to say this, you were careless Keji…you were very careless.
Haba! How
could you hide such things from me?
Fine, you like being
private and I never intruded in your home but still…you could have said
something.
Even the Bible says “in the multitude of counsellors there is safety”.
I know you are a prayerful woman but you could have watched as well.
Yorubas will say “À ì
lè s'ọ̀rọ̀ ni ìbẹ̀rẹ̀ orí burúkú”. A closed mouth is a closed destiny.
Extremes are never
good…when I used to beg you not to be vicious I didn’t mean you should be this
gentle either.
This is what happens
when you are too gentle.
Everything goes, with
you…even if someone is using you as a doormat.
Being a wise woman
should not put a padlock on your mouth
Wisdom knows when to
speak up or when to seek help...it’s not every time that quietness brings
peace. There is time for everything…a
time to be quiet and a time to speak up.
Is it not the same
Bible that says we should be wise as serpents, even in our dove-like gentleness?
It’s a powerful
metaphor that suggests balance…a serpent is wise, with keen eyesight and is
quick to learn. A dove is innocent, meek and gentle. Lose this balance, and you
will be devoured by the world”.
It was my uncle’s
voice, tearing through the false walls I had put up in my mind. His tone was a
mix of anger, worry and sadness.
I looked in
his direction and wiped my tears with the back of my right hand.
“Careless?
That’s what you
believe?
You think I was careless?” I almost said
I had the
words in my head but my mouth could not make the sound. I was overwhelmed and
my soul heavy.
How could
this even happen to me?
I was only
being a good wife…building my home like a wise woman.
Doing my
best to be a Christian wife…following what I was taught about marriage.
Word on
this street is that everyone pays something to get the marriage of their dreams.
I knew
things were not supposed to be so, but what else could I have done? Every home has its issues, they say, and I
saw it as my own cross to bear. A price to pay, a sacrifice, to keep the
fabrics of matrimony intact.
Maybe I was
quiet but I wasn’t silent…I prayed, Oh I prayed, I fasted and I believed God
for a miracle. When I didn’t see it, I prayed some more. After all, the Bible
says to pray until our joy is full
“I totally
understand you sir but let’s not cast blames.
This is not the time
for that.What has happened has happened.
We can only call unto
God for mercy at this time”
our Pastor chimed in, with his palms together as if he was appealing to my uncle.
Pastor Austin
had been quiet all along. I’m sure he was also dumbfounded at the revelations.
He must have thought he knew us well since he had pastored us for over ten
years.He was not oblivious to our struggles but never got the full picture.
I had reported Dayo to him many times but I never went beyond the periphery.
Why didn’t I tell him everything?
Why was I hiding behind a finger?
I guess because “It didn’t feel right to expose my home and my husband like that”…a statement that is now sounding very dumb to even me.
When other ladies at work talked and castigated their husbands for being irresponsible, I used to feel like telling them I would gladly switch places with them. What they were complaining about would have been a miracle, an answered prayer in my own marriage.
Pastor Austin and my uncle continued to talk as I slipped back into my mind…it was like pulling the slider of a zipper to lock things out. I might not have answers in there but I could pretend and muster some false, yet transient serenity. It was like a state of mental numbness to distract me from reality but I liked it, if only I could make it permanent...
