No Hope of Emancipation

If she had time, she would say another nasty thing to me. I couldn't really tell why she decided not to; perhaps it was a sign of positivity, meaning that tonight she wouldn't turn me into a horse or unicorn before allowing me a toast of love in bed. Of course, she had ridden on me for years, but I still felt that was what true love looked like. Even my friends were afraid of her, and they dared not utter a "why," all in support of me, their best friend. I enjoy love, I swear, she is sweet. That was what I used to say when my dear friends came to me and warned me about her.

"She is sweet. I don't ever think there is a woman like her." Exactly my words, but this got Malik to rise and go calling me all sorts of names like a woman-man. He had always gossiped to the others, and they constantly discussed me in their sittings and addressed me by that name, a woman-man. But I didn't care very much, if you were the one with the best of love, would you listen to friends? Of course not. She landed from work, and my heart pounded in my chest in alert at her presence. I switched off the TV in an instant and rushed out, no, rushed into the kitchen to heat the palm nut soup. Already, I had cooked it in the afternoon and immediately stirred banku and stored them inside the fridge. Whilst the soup was getting heated, I met her at the entrance with a sweet welcoming tone, "My love, you are welcome", and whilst one of my hands gently took her bag from her fingers, my lips offered a peck on her left cheek. 

She still didn't show that she liked it, even though she did. He who possessed a dog knew it well. She didn't want to feel weak, and all the time, I was the one losing. I had always been the loser since our wedding. We arrived in the bedroom where she usually changed whenever she came back from work. 

"Pull them out quickly and don't always wait for me to tell you." She said after her big butt had pulled her onto the bed. I wanted to tell her something, but I would have ruined this marriage. I wanted to say why must I pull your mokes out of your feet when you are still bouncing on the bed? 

"Oh my gosh, I am tired today. I will need a soft massage before dinner. Get ready, Adam." 

"Oh, this one too you are saying? I know." And I stood up after I pulled out the footwear. She stood up, too. "Your buttons are beautiful. This is the real suit." I had grabbed her suit as she turned around, breath by breath, for me to gently pull it out of her body. She wanted to plop down onto the bed again, but she noticed I had to open her zip as well and help her pull out the pair of tight trousers. She kept praising me as I did my job. Sometimes, she would vex, but I still felt happy. I even thanked her on top just to make her feel good. Otherwise, I would be fed with hunger. Not the usual one that caught or killed the poor. This hunger was only meant for couples. At night. In bed. At dawn. Or anytime, depending on what time you would like it. I packed the clothes and matched them up to the wardrobe where I arranged them neatly. They were still clean and meant for the entire week. At least, that had saved me from the extra stress of mid-week laundering. I returned and held her by her fingers, her eyes falling on mine, and I was immediately swallowed by positive sentiments. I meant good sensations. I was surprised. Was she becoming good? Was she not going to ride me today before we would do the thing? Oh, but it was a penalty. She immediately pushed me aside and said, "Stupid, you think you will get it cheap?" That made me chuckle even though discouraged. She passed by me into the washroom. She returned shortly, remarking that she wasn't too dirty today. 

When she joined me at the dining table, I served us, and we ate together. She asked me something weird during the process, "I have heard you are telling your friends about your wife. I want to believe that what you are saying is positive." I waited for her to finish, but she said she was done and waiting to get my reply. 

"Friends? About my wife?" I wanted to vex on her, but I couldn't. "Well, they are my friends, and I have to let them know who my wife is."

"To mean that she is what, negative?" Her eyes were locked up on mine, her lips bouncing up and down slowly for the food in her mouth and at the same time waiting to hear something good.

"No, rather, good," I told her exactly what she needed to hear. She was rich, extremely. But she had one principle; no man could enjoy her wealth. Not even other women. As for the men, they had a better chance because what a woman could do for her, a man could equally do and even do other things the women were short of. 

At least, I did everything she was talking about. Household chores and I still played the role of a husband. A dedicated husband. She loved me for that, only that, she would never give me the chance to lead. The next day, she left for work. She was the manager of the Real Time Insurance Company in Abetifi Estate. She was also very intelligent. At least, she gave me everything. She left early in the morning, and I thanked my God. What was sex? Food? At least, that thing smelt in my nose every time she came back home. She gave me instructions to go her way whenever we were in bed. When I became tired whilst she was still enjoying it, I had better not unplug myself from her. However, anytime I sacrificed to please her too, I usually won a lottery. She would buy something on the way for me as a surprise. But now, it smelt in my nose. Everything was smelling. If it were this alone, I could manage, I could do something about it. But her strictness, on the other hand, was my main point. It was another thing I hated. I invited Malik home. I feared walking out to his house for me to be penalised if she later figured it out.

And she did figure things out. I didn't know where she had always set her cameras, which mostly caught me. So I was a houseman. Of course, a houseman. 

"Boy, what's up with marriage?" Malik had just arrived. 

"I didn't call you here to mock me," I said. He laughed but controlled himself. 

"Oh, naa, I didn't come to mock you, Adam. Just asking you a simple question."

"Let me bring you champagne. That's what you always took." I entered a certain room and came back briefly. 

"Thanks, boy, so what are you up to?"  

"I’m here, I’m trapped. But I still don't want to believe that this is what marriage is like."

"How many times do you want me to tell you this?" 

"Hey, cut the shit, Malik, you don't even have a wife yet."

"But it doesn't mean I can't advise you about marriage. "

"That's exactly what it is like; you are not fit to teach me anything. I’m the one to teach you."

"Ok, teacher, then never complain again." 

"I will," I said, and we both laughed. Malik and I rose after we took some food and went out. I was stubborn. I was escorting him. As we stood along the street, someone called my phone, but when I answered, the person hung up on me. I waited for some time to see if he would call again, and he did call. He asked me where I was, and I told him. When I jerked, I saw the person right opposite us across the street, but he quickly noticed it and slipped into a certain curve. Cars honked past, and I never saw him again. Malik asked me why, and I told him someone was spying on me, so I objected to his idea of me reaching their house. He usually told me his father had three wives. Mostly, Malik told me those wives lived happily, like the way I was enjoying my marriage. Somehow, although I was enjoying it, I still felt something was off. But it was always hard to know what exactly. After all, if I should be complaining about poverty, I was out because I had married a rich woman. If it were household chores, I would say every man did the same to help his wife. If it were bowing for your wife, equally, every man did. And even when it came to letting my wife turn me into a horse or donkey to ride 51 times or more across the tiny space of our bedroom, I believed all other men did. What, then? So I was well and enjoying it. That was why I would never listen to my friends. 

I returned home, worried. My wife's camera had caught me, and I was sure she would soon be calling me to ask whether I was home or not. 

Oh, she had called. I told her I only escorted Malik up to the main street, but I never crossed it. She was ok because it was exactly what I did. I was lucky. 

As a poor guy, marrying such a rich woman was like the right option. It was the perfect match. I met her at an event during my national service. She was one of the panellists, so I asked a sensible question, which caught her attention. All the panellists were proud. She was very young and vibrant. It was like she had the intention of being with a poor graduate, not a tycoon who might want to turn things around; letting her cook and do everything in the house whilst he (the tycoon) did the go-to-work-come-back-home duty. 

She came in the evening, and I received her with again a snatch of her bag and an offer of a sweet peck. She smiled at my style before responding to my welcome. We budged inside, and I again helped her pull herself out of her clothes. There would be a massage today, too. 

The next day, she went to work, and bad news came that she was involved in a car accident. I rushed to the hospital she was sent to. When I arrived there, I was told her condition was severe and I wasn't allowed to see her. 

"She is my wife," I yelled, but one of the nurses replied that they knew of it. Only that I wasn't allowed. They had given me a few hours. As I waited, some of my friends came over, and shortly after, her family also came. Shortly after, an ambulance thundered into the hospital yard as I watched to see who would be moved out of it into the emergency ward. I rather saw a body, like my wife's, being moved out of the emergency ward into the van. I shuddered, unable to respire. Malik and the others who came around could not allow me to lift a second foot, and they grabbed me tight. 

"Take heart, boy, take heart. We plan, but God does what He likes, and none of us can question Him." 

But before I knew it, we had even done her funeral. Time had travelled, unlike I wanted it. Amina was gone, just like that. A beautiful, vibrant, career-driven woman. She had died at the age of 37 without a child. She wanted us to start childbearing after three years of our marriage, but she was gone. 

Six months later, Malik and the others mobilised themselves and visited me. I was still living in that house, the self-contained house my late wife had hired for us to live in. They came to console me further and to suggest that they wanted to help me.

"I will soon leave here," I said, but I didn't even know what kind of help. "What are your plans for me a widower?" I said. 

"We can't watch you live like this. We must find you a new wife." This specifically came from my senior sibling, Alhassan. He believed in polygamy, and he had always warned me to have a second plan due to issues like this. "You can lose your wife at any time." He once said. But I had always told him that my wife could equally lose me at any time. How about that? He would keep quiet, believing that I still didn’t understand. Now, I understood. So I always told him that my marriage was great. I would always argue. 

But they had already fully prepared, and a wife was ready. That was one thing about our tradition I loved. Your siblings could sacrifice anything to get you a wife after your first wife was dead. She was called Ramatu. 

The day she arrived, I wanted to cook but she stopped me. I was shocked. Then I went into the kitchen to wash the utensils, and she came over again and told me to stop. The third time, she nearly got pissed off. "What nonsense, Adam, you are scaring me." 

At that time, I was in the middle of laying the bedsheets and dressing the bed. 

"What is what nonsense?" I looked up at her at the entrance. But before I knew it, she had snatched it from me and finished making the bed. I started recoiling little by little, "What is going on like this? Doesn't she want me to do my duties? Well, she didn't have a job, but I can be helping her and still go out and work to bring money back home." 

So when she finished making the bed, whilst I waited calmly to let her ride on my back the 51 times before bed, she shortly went out of the bedroom and came back. We had already had dinner and she was the one who served us. I didn't. 

She wasn't saying anything. I was expecting and waiting for her to let me ride her, but she was instead watching me sleep calmly. She drew closer to me each second, but I was still scared I hadn't completed my daily task. She drew in much further, and I felt her chilled hand on my left cheek. 

Then I also drew in. I was immediately taken in by love. I didn't know the time my clothes left my body. We canopied ourselves under the bedsheets. It was that simple. 

In the morning, before I could wake up to start my daily chores, Ramatu had already woken up and done the sweeping, washing, and breakfast. She was the one who even woke me up. 

After breakfast, she remarked, "Thank you for yesterday. I meant, yesterday night." 

"You are welcome," I said even though I still did not understand what that meant. I felt I should be the one thanking her for not letting me carry her like a horse for the 51 times before bed yesterday. I was confused. I went to Malik's father's house immediately. I wanted to confirm something about marriage in general because Malik had always said his father's three wives had never fought one another or quarrelled before. All of them had always been happy, especially his father, whom they had always treated well. I wanted to know why my new wife wasn't like the first one, why she left me free from those duties and elevated me. 

Then he told me that how my new wife was treating me was how most men were treated. That was the pattern of a successful marriage. What I used to experience was just being trapped in a hell with no hope of emancipation. Right away, I rose and sped out of the room. People were shouting at me while I crossed the street. Malik and Alhassan were behind trying to stop me. I was searching for where my late wife was buried. As soon as I arrived at the graveyard, I pulled out a short flail and started beating her grave. I thought the way she treated me, it was what every man went through. As I continuously beat her grave, believing that she would feel the pain, Malik uttered something from behind which destructed me, and he said, "Why waste your energy, Adam? She is already gone, and what you are doing can't change anything. It is like spilt milk, you can't restore it. You have found a new path, so use this time and energy to thank your God. Stop wasting them because, 'we don't have time for this.'"

I stopped, turned, and cleansed my heart of the rage, and we went back home so I could enjoy my marriage.