We got married six months after the most beautiful proposal, in a very glam ceremony. People came from far and wide to be a part of our day, as well as celebrate with us. It was exceptional! Life was beautiful, as you can imagine…
Three weeks later, and I had begun to question everything I knew. Folahan had become a totally different person. He spent his days making me feel worthless and spent the nights giving various doses of “discipline”. I began to question my knowledge of what love meant. I wondered if this truly was how men portrayed their affection to their wives.
Once, after a really long day at work (before I was forced to resign), I got home tired but still attempted doing all my chores for the night for the fear of being slapped against the wall. I put in the extra effort that night to make his favourite meal, just to avoid any sort of confrontations, pounded yam and egusi soup. That night, the first slap I received was because I did not get to the door as fast as he wanted. My explanations of getting dinner ready for him earned me a second slap across the cheek, “why is dinner still in the kitchen, and not already served on the table?” he said. At the end of that day, he dragged me out of the kitchen where I was cleaning to bed, had his way with me forcefully regardless of my tired state, woke me up an hour earlier than usual with an early morning beating because the kitchen was untidy (forgetting that he stopped me from doing just that). A typically normal day, now that I think about it.
An example of a bad day would be one where he beat me blue and black for visiting a friend or speaking to a man- any man. A truly terrible day would have him come home drunk and unleash all his anger on me. On days like these, I get to be verbally abused, beaten thoroughly, and raped by my husband.
This is a man I have loved passionately for many years. All the efforts invested, and the emotions?. I entrusted my life to this man, I gave him my all- my body, my soul, my spirit. I sailed on a journey to forever land with a complete stranger. A stranger that I vowed to love and cherish, above everyone else, till death do us apart. I am completely spent and drained from so much hurt, from pain, and all the tears. I have willed myself to fight back for the sake of my unborn child. I should probably tell you about my other pregnancies. Four times…. Four freaking times, Folahan has beat my babies out of me, all in the space of 3 years. This is my fifth conception and I'll be damned if I give him the power to take it from me again.
Then leave, many of you would say. Well, I tried to once, after I lost my third pregnancy. In fact, I had resolved to divorce him. I went home to my parents and told them my plight. Naturally, they were angry and disappointed in Folahan so they sent for him. When he came, what I saw totally shocked me. Folahan had changed; his attitude, countenance, talk, walk, everything took me back 5years. He was the absolute gentleman that chased me relentlessly years ago. He was sweet, kind and romantic. In short, he was the total opposite of everything I told my parents. He had made me look like a liar in the presence of my family. He gave them some bull story about us having a lovers spat, and got them empathising with him. It was like a drama unfolding before me, and even before it happened, I knew where it would end:- me, going back to his house as a patient and tolerant wife.
A small part of me hoped, really hoped that my husband had changed for good, possibly at the thought of losing me but my gut kept telling me it was shortlived. And it was. As soon as Folahan drove me back home from my parent’s, the beatings came more frequently and worse. I covered up my pain, my bruises, and my heartbreak.
I had gotten to the point of being suicidal until I found out that I was pregnant for the fifth time in my marriage. Loosing this was not an option, nor was letting him find out about it.
So, I made a plan and patiently waited.
It was one of those drunken nights that Folahan made a total mess of himself. As usual, I got a verbal insult when I opened the door and tried to help him. I really did not mean to hurt him that day, but all that changed when he looked up from the water I had just given him and decided it was my body he wanted for dinner. I tried to pull away, but he held on tight and I could see the anger rising in the depth of his eyes. So I changed tactics, knowing that a violent rape may kill the little one, I smiled at him and stripped (maybe it was a fantasy come true… ), because he smiled like a predator who had finally cornered its prey. I chose not to allow this one night get violent at all. I got atop my husband and gave him my genuine consent for the first time in our marriage. The sex was explosive, and orgasm even better. For a man that came home almost in a drunken state, Folahan seemed more alert and happy, but I had gotten my chance. It was time for my freedom and I wasn’t going to let it pass me by. He wanted to go another round, and if I refused, I would still get raped. I quickly told him I was thirsty and went to the kitchen. I made a cup of coffee for my husband and grounded some sodium cyanide into it. I got myself a glass of juice and did the same thing. When I got back to the room, Folahan was more than ready to go the second round, he was actually stroking himself. His manhood seemed to spring alive when its owner looked at me. I sat beside him on the bed and gave him a bright smile, told him I made him coffee for his tipsiness and he accepted it. He drank the coffee halfway and immediately dived for me. I left the mango juice I had poisoned on the bedside table, and next to the coffee. I gave him what he wanted so badly- a consented sex, with him on top. I told him to take it easy because I was going nowhere, and he obliged. Eventually, we ended up making love and a part of me was beginning to regret my action. Maybe it was too soon? Maybe I shouldn’t have? maybe he would change for good? As I battled with my conscience, Folahan climaxed and hung on to me for a few seconds before he rolled off me and took a large swig of the very cold juice. I slept in his arms that night. When I woke up, my husband had stopped breathing beside me. He was dead! Finally! But I felt no joy, I wasn’t elated, nothing… I just seemed indifferent somehow. I got out of bed and made the phone calls I was expected to make. The police, his parents, my parents and his best friend. I removed the cup of coffee and juice that I had poisoned, poured the remnant away and washed the glasses. Then, I went back upstairs with a half glass of water to replace the poisoned glass. I removed the unused cyanide from the kitchen and flushed it. Afterwhich, I put my pregnancy test result on the bedside table close to Folahan’s body. Then I waited calmly for the tears to come, his family, and the ambulance.
My story?
He was angry that I did not make his favourite meal the day before, so throughout today, he refused to eat my food. He then went out clubbing with his boys, got back really late and tipsy, but was elated when I gave him the news of our unborn child. We made love and slept in each other’s arm until I awoke and found him dead.
Con Amor
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