Writing Contest Entry-- EMANCIPATED @daakye

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I’m still in shock as to how some of you decide to play on the emotions of others. You lead them on and crush them along the way as if they never mattered. This isn’t fiction. Someone’s story just flashed before your eyes and you are close to tears. But you said you loved her or you just intended to use her for the short while you needed her? And then what happened next? You threw her away after everything. She sacrificed the little she had to make you comfortable. It was at her expense. She would do literally anything for you but when you got tired of seeing her and when you had drained her of all that you could then you remembered that your eyes were fixed on yet another maiden. Well, for me, I just hope that she is able to make it through what you put her through. Thank you for the several years of tears. But remember that what goes around comes around.

The above were the words of the Counselor as I finished narrating my story.
This is what I told the young, beautiful, and elegant presenter.

I woke up the next morning in our bed. He had carried me from the couch where I had fallen asleep the previous night. It was very early. Earlier than I usually woke up. I looked over to the other side to see if there were creases on the sheets. It didn’t look like he slept next to me. I dashed to the study. He was fast asleep. I unobtrusively tucked myself under the sheets next to him. Then I tossed towards him and watched him breathe in and out. I loved doing that. I couldn’t tell why. It probably gives me some sort of satisfaction and inner peace.

He woke probably because he could feel me watching him. He smiled and held me closer to himself. “How’s my princess doing?” It had been ages since I heard him call me his princess. At this point, I was experiencing what I’ll call lovegasm. I felt my heart sink and all I could do was smile back. That day didn’t end well anyway. His mother called us and just when we hanged up the phone he told me he wasn’t going to have that conversation with me.

We were both fixing lunch. I looked back at him and we were both silent for a while. The food was ready. I turned off the stove and walked past him out of the kitchen. I was lying on our bed, glaring at the ceiling when he walked in. I knew that if I allowed us to have that conversation, it was going to trigger a lot of emotions. We didn’t want that at the time when everything seemed to be on course and I felt I was finally getting back the man I said yes to on the altar.
He was just about to speak when I sat up and told him it was all good and that I was fine. I was hurting. I could feel my heartbreak, literally. The subject of children? No, not that conversation again. I would rather live in an empty house, devoid of children running around, which I sorely yearned for than argue with my husband over why after three years of marriage he still didn’t want children.

He never complained when I fantasized about having many of them with him before we got married but suddenly such fantasies became irritating to him and he wouldn’t have me even imagine being pregnant. I know. I don’t understand him either but what could I do? So no, this was not a conversation we were going to have.

Things got worse by the day. Nothing seemed to please him. I did everything my mother and aunties asked me to but nothing worked. I finally decided that I wanted a divorce but my conservative mother wouldn’t have any of that. She said I could fix things with him. For two more years, for the sake of my mother, I endured the emotional and psychological torture of having to live under one roof with my husband and not be treated as a wife. He never beat me physically but I was too empty to endure any more of it, anymore of the emotional torture. When I told him I was filing for a divorce, he asked for the papers he was going to sign. I stood there. Was this supposed to be a prank? Was I just some footstool all these years for him? So many things were rushing uncontrollably through my mind. He didn’t even question my decision. Where are the papers? Just like that he asked me. The divorce wasn’t hurting me as much as his reaction. I was still glaring at him in disbelief. I was feeble all of a sudden. I fell on my knees and wept my heart out. He walked past me and slammed the bedroom door to my face and I couldn't tell where he went afterward but he came back home late in the night drunk and with lipstick all over his neck and shirt. I was confused. What was happening?

But just like in almost every African society, I was seen as a woman who had “lost her glory” because I allowed my husband (my pride) to dump me either because of bad character or childlessness. I was tagged “barren” and the newscasters, oh these humans, did what they do best; spread fabricated stories about my ex-husband and me far and wide. But I cared less. I was used to seeing such demeaning things. Was I supposed to be shaken?
I was freed, liberated, and emancipated and that's what mattered most.

“Divorce isn’t such a tragedy. A tragedy’s staying in an unhappy marriage, teaching your children the wrong things about love. Nobody ever died of divorce.”
― Jennifer Weiner

Cc
@nattybongo
@njaywan
@mcsamm
@oppongk