Wednesday, 27 February 2013

A Quarter Of Our World..... 5

Three days after I got home, I noticed that there was a difference in the house. As if someone was there while I was at the hospital.. I ran up the stairs as much as my now-big-tummy could take me. I was only 20 weeks pregnant but it seemed my baby was trying to punish me for the months I tried covering it. When I got to Jide's room, I didn't notice anything at first but when I looked at his wardrobe closely, I noticed he must have dropped by while I was away to pack a bag. His overnight bag was missing and so were some of his clothes. I didn't know whether to be relieved or sad, but a deep part of me was glad. I called his aunt to tell her what I noticed the next morning and she also informed me she got news that Jide was in Nigeria!
Nigeria? How? When? Why? What if he went to see my parents? What would my father say? What was I to do? Stay back here or go to Nigeria to meet my husband! I was confused, and had no idea what to do. I didn't decide, but I had no choice than to stay back. My pregnancy was having complications, and I had to stay on series of bed rest, and fluids. At 28 weeks however, my mother called me and asked what was going on. They had seen my husband in Nigeria and he hadn't even come to the house. They also heard he had been home for about 2 months now. I then told my mother that my pregnancy was not safe, and my husband and I had been having issues. She said my father was very unhappy about the whole thing and that I should come home as soon as possible to stop the rumours flying around town. I assured her I would be back in 2 weeks. I needed time to pack things I needed and to shop for my baby boy on the way!

When I got to Nigeria, I had to hire a cab and lodge into an hotel. It wasn't wise, but I dared not go home with my bags. I went to visit my parents the next morning and my father as good as ignored me. I pulled my mother aside and summarised what had been going on to her. She told me she was surprised by Jide's actions, but she knew someone that went through worse and her husband turned around with prayers and they now live happily. She then continued by telling me that if the lady had not had patience and be very prayerful, she would have lost her husband. She said she would take me to a church in the morning to see a man of God. I went back to my hotel room suddenly having a very bad feeling. I prayed that night, that nothing should happen to my baby. The next day, I went home and my mum took me to the church. The man of God prayed, said it was the devil that was at work, and asked me to fast for 21 days. I had to tell him I couldn't fast; my pregnancy was scaring me and I couldn't afford to be dehydrated even for a day! My mum shut me up and assured the pastor that I would fast and be very prayerful.

Two weeks went by, and we had been fasting (my mother and I) but I was getting weak and I voiced out my concern. I went to our family hospital, and stopped for a few items on my way back. That was were I came face to face with the object of my fear... Jide was there, with a beautiful woman hanging by his side (not that I give a care about her!) And staring at me like he could strangle me. He strode to me and asked what I was doing in the country. I told him I couldn't have the child alone in the United States, and I had a right to be where my husband was. As soon as the words left my mouth though, I knew I had made a grave mistake. Right in public there, in front of over 30 people, 'his woman', and God; he gave me a resounding slap that made me loose my balance. I was weak, tired, and quite heavy so I just sat on the floor there silently nursing my wounds. A few people came to my rescue and helped me up, some even verbally expressed their displeasure towards Jide's behaviour but I heard none of it. All I could think of was "If the man I call my husband could disrespect me as such in public, then the best thing for me is a divorce". I went back home to tell my parents what had happened. My father would not even listen to reason, he only said over his dead body would I get a divorce and shame him! My mother said I had not been patient and prayerful enough and that she would take be back to the pastor. Only my sister, who was in the conversation via conference call supported my decision.. We went back to the pastor, my mother and I, and he preached about the wrongness of a divorce. He went ahead to tell me that my sin if I divorced my husband would be greater than the sin of that who had committed suicide!. He said to complete the 21 days fast and return for "deliverance".

It's been less than a week, and I'm currently hanging by the thread. I went to my husband's family to plead with them (on my mum's advice and urge), at least to let me give birth my child in their home (as my father cares more about his image than his daughter), I begged n begged that Jide could marry as many wives as he wanted as long as he left me in peace with my child bearing his name. It was as if I had asked for the impossible the way Jide and his mother erupted. His mother kept screaming at me about not wanting her son to be happy with the woman he had loved for years. I wasn't even sure I heard her right, as Jide was determined to manually abort my almost-eight months pregnancy. None of his family members did anything but watch, none of them even tried to stop him. They all seemed to have reached an understanding that what he was doing was the best. His mother did not even cast any pitiful look on me even with the fact that I was carrying her 1st grandson, she just kept screaming about how long Jide has had to wait to marry his girlfriend of 10 years (I haven't even known him that long!). Jide stopped beating me long enough to go get something, and I didn't want to find out what it was. I hurried up, as fast as I could manage, in pains and I knew I may not make it out of the house alive. I dialled the last number on my phone and told my sister I would be dead in less than 2 minutes in Jide's family house. Just as I opened the door to rush out, something hard and painful struck my back and that was the last I remembered.
I woke up about 2 hours ago, yet to see my family, but in enough pain to know the doctors are fighting for my life. I'm being taken into the theatre any moment now to have a caesarian section. My baby is barely 8 months, and I have to bring him out prematurely so he doesn't die due to the impact when I fell unconscious. I have a displaced lumbar disc in my lower spine and will need surgery, that is, if i survive. The doctors have been battling to save my life due to the internal bleeding I suffered. My knee cap will have to be replaced as it is broken, and worst of all, I am weak, too weak to bear all this; too weak to believe I will survive; too weak to even pray for strength!
My family was allowed in to see me, and I saw tears in my father's eyes. I kissed my sister goodbye and gave her a brave smile. My mother prayed for me while trying to remain strong for her family, and my father just stared at me saying sorry with his eyes (almost as if he didn't believe what was going on). I smiled at them, before being rolled into the theatre. I do not blame my parents, and I certainly don't blame my father. They loved me and provided the best for me while growing up. They continued instilling discipline in me, and always wanted the best for me. Who I blame is myself, I should have taken more time to know who I wanted to marry; I should have suspected something was amiss when his attitude towards me changed. I should have stood my ground and let my father know I was old enough to make wise decisions on my own; I should have divorced him when I had the chance, when he first hit me; I should have stayed back in US, at least until I had my baby before coming to risk our lives here.... And as I said the last prayer for my baby to survive, I blanked out staring at the bright light on the ceiling.....

Con amor

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