For some days, I’ve been plagued with very poor network so I’ve been unable to bring you the third part of this story. Network seems better at the moment, so here I am with it. It is still dawn but I’m super excited for some unknown reason and I do hope you enjoy it.
Please don’t forget to drop your comments and do have a fabulous Saturday.
Fast forward to 8 years, 3 children, numerous slaps and kicks later, not forgetting the 6 stitches on her arm and the countless lies she had had to tell each time she had to wear sunshades indoors. Dave hadn’t gotten better, he got worse. He was like a raging tornado, destroying everything while in the rage of the moment, and returning contrite and apologetic after the deed was done.
She loved him, he was her first love, the father of her children, and divorce was out of it. She just couldn’t. Amara would say, “This man will kill you and marry a fresh faced 21 year old with standing boobs that would come and begin to maltreat your 3 wonderful kids. He doesn’t deserve you. You have to leave him before it’s too late.”
Amara almost always said the same thing each time they met. They had to meet in secret because Dave forbade her from seeing Amara.
It had happened like this, after her first child, Amara had advised apply for her Masters. Dave was enraged, accusing Amara of filling her head with radical ideas. He had insisted that she was a bad influence and was teaching her un-Nigerian ideas of feminism. Barbs wasn’t allowed to work or further her education. She was to be a house wife, cook his food, wash his clothes, keep the house, take care of the children and fuck him whenever he felt like. Finish. Foolish, grandiose ideas of feminism had no place in Nigeria, least of all his house. He was earning enough to take care of her and their family so her financial input was not needed.
Barbs had tried to protest, insisting calmly, almost pleadingly. He had known her dreams and aspirations before they got married. There was no way she was letting them rot in order to assuage his ginormous ego.
“I need to work. I need to find my place in life. A woman’s place isn’t only in the kitchen and her husband’s bed,” she argued, taking a few steps backwards towards the door as she began to notice the angry redness creeping into the white of his eyes, the flaring of his nostrils and the way his teeth clamped down on his lips, all of them tale-tell signs of his rage.
He tried to hold it back, but everything was blurry, there was a sound in his head, like the static of radio stations as one tried to tune into a frequency. The sound grew into a relentless angry buzz and then he was striding towards her, to his beautiful wife who was now trembling with fear. He was striding to where she stood, his fists clenched so tightly, all he could feel was rage. She dared to challenge him. What did she mean by what she just said? A wife had only one place, one wish, only one purpose; to obey and please the husband.
That was all he could think of as he stalked towards her in a crimson haze. She turned to flee, as she ran out of the room, she slammed into a metal sculpture that stood guard by the stairway. She fell and the sculpture landed on her, slicing her left arm. Dave approached her, defenseless and bleeding on the floor, he had descended on her as she cowered at him, helpless and small, lifting the heavy sculpture, he had tossed it away like a piece of scrap and began to pummel her. Even in her state, he beat her mindless. She came out of the encounter with 6 stitches on her arm and a black eye that made her wear sunshades at her parent’s anniversary party, a party which was held indoors so she had no excuses. Throughout, she had had to dodge with the ease of an expert, all the probing relatives and their never ending questions.
“I’m leaving him,” Barbs declared to her mother some days later. Amara was there too. Her parent’s house was the one place she and Amara could meet peacefully without fear of being caught by Dave. Her mother blinked rapidly, removed her spectacles and set them aside on the table before her, as though the reading glasses were clouding her vision.
“Why?” she asked finally.
That’s all for now.