I sit there thinking. Another wedding. Another contribution. Another Asobi. All my friends are married now even though only a few of them are genuinely happy in their marriage.
My friend Ismaila always tells me the idea of marriage is not about a union of souls anymore, it’s about the freedom to say “I am married”. Even if the marriage is in name only, so long as you’re married, you are a winner. My girlfriends persist in the misery of marriage because that’s what is expected by society. It’s what is desired by our religion. One of those is Sukai
I remember the day I visited Sukai at her home. The show she put on to convince me that all was well with her marriage was worthy of an “awards” most astounding actress award! We’ve all known her husband Sheriff since childhood and he’s always been violent with everyone and especially Sukai. We have all seen her emotional and physical scars that no amount of foundation and Mac SPF 15 could mask. But she persists in the misery because as her mother tells her: “it’s hard to find a good man these days; a woman’s worth is in her marriage. Look at me, I have been single since your father and I separated. Today, I would accept a man that occasionally loses his temper over being a divorcee.”
When I raise fears of settling down with a man, my aunts are quick to tell me: “Marriage is supposed to be about enduring the miserable side of it; it’s about perseverance they say. It’s ok if the dark days outshine the bright days. A woman is supposed to be strong when it comes to suffering in marriage and child birth! A woman’s worth is in her ability to be resilient in the face of hardship. That is how you will produce worthy children; successful children. Why do you think our elders say the quality of a mother’s work is seen in the goodness of her children? Suffering is a prerequisite for good children.” That’s what they tell me.
And so I despair for my own man too. I just want to get married and share my life with a man. But the idiots of men that abound are not my cup of tea. Hardly a day goes by without some guy trying his luck with me. I know I’m beautiful and I know I don’t want to just settle for any man. Sadly, the type of men that seem to abound are all too shallow for my liking. The type of men I would want all seem to be married or not willing to settle down! And so the pressure of family and society persists. You’re of age, my mom’s sisters and friends remind me at every meeting. The glaring from my father needs no translation.
It seems as if I am carrying a burden of society’s expectations on my fragile head! What a load of a burden. Constant headaches of stress are my only reliable friend! Every time someone gets married, it seems people make it a point to remind me that “all my age-mates are getting married”; or as they say it, “so and so is also off the market”. It feels as if even my fellow women see ourselves as just another commodity in the “market” to be “picked off” by men.
As my aunty Ramou told me when her daughter married a Chinese contractor last month: “Awa is off the market now; Allah decreed that she would marry a Chinese man. And you know in these days, you have to go with any man that comes along, Chinese, Indian or anything.” I remember when Gibrill wanted to marry Awa and my aunt Ramou said over her dead body because Gibrill is a griot. I wonder if the Chinese husband is a freeborn; but I kept my thoughts to myself and congratulated them both. A lack of exuberance for people’s marriages in translated as jealousy especially if you’re not married!
Meanwhile the pressure to get married kept escalating with every Ramadan and with my friends living their marriage on social media. Slowly, I began to succumb to the desperation. I decided that since finding the right husband is not exactly science but luck, I’ll put my trust in God and marry the next decent man I come across. I may just be lucky!
And then I met him. Far from perfect. Far from ideal. Far from my dream man. But he was available. He was ready to settle down. Give him a try I tell myself. Cant let this one get away too. The marabout did say someone will come into my life soon. May be he’s the one! We had some conversations. Because we talked so much and he made me laugh, I got used to him. I felt close to him and sometimes mistaking, other times, manufacturing our closeness for love. We shared dreams of the future. We made promises. I was the most special person he’s ever met he assured me. All the others don’t matter to him. I’m the one he wants to be with. He was the consummate gentleman. It’s always so great when it’s new. And great it was talking to him; longing for him. Even missing him felt good. He opened my eyes to a world I knew very little about. I marveled at his genius. He’s so intelligent. Memories of him brought smiles to my face. I lighted up when people teased me about him. It felt good. Mostly.
But there was something. Something that did not feel so right with him. About him. Something. Something amiss. But I want him to be perfect for me so I stopped looking for that something. Even though my gut feelings were screaming wrong man, it felt good to just have a man. It just felt good to say I love you and hear “I love you too.” It felt good to introduce someone as “he’s the one”; with a wry smile of accomplishment. It felt good to have someone check on me and tell me how beautiful I am. It even felt good to be in denial that all was not well with him. Fantasy is comforting. Reality can be discomforting. They say nothing is as titillating as denial. I wallowed in the readymade fantasy. Everyone asked when the big day will be. He was more in a hurry to get married than I was. Something, a voice perhaps, kept whispering to me that I wasn’t very ready. But I told him to give me time. Ever so understanding, he agreed!
And so we claimed to be in love. But I seemed more active in this love thingy than he is. He wanted marriage. I must work harder to be the center of his attention, I tell myself. I am duty-bound to make him happy, I hear all the time. More importantly, there are other vultures hovering in the “market” and good men are like a “carcass”to the hovering vultures, a friend once told me! Don’t give your man any breathing space for they all have wondering eyes and a very curious libido that knows nothing about curiosity killing the cat! You must protect your man from himself girl, friends remind me.
Then we got married. It was the usual fanfare and pomp. I changed into 20 different outfits and my friends and family hailed my ceremony as the best they’ve ever attended just as they told the last bride too. We took pictures gazing into each other’s eyes resplendent of manufactured love.
We got home, exhausted and knackered from all the preparations of the wedding. I took a quick shower and went to bed. That was the night of my first misery! He was hurried, rough and soundly asleep six minutes later. I lay there wondering, amidst the salty tears and pain, what the hell did I get myself into?
The next morning, the congratulatory messages poured in. Our pictures were the status of friends and family.
Everyone marveled at what a cute couple we were. Some said we were made for each other. To march along the drums of expectations, I took to social media to say how lucky I am to have him as my husband. I thanked all of my friends … I shared jokes about our first night and gushed at how wonderful everything is…
There’s always a stoping point; no story ever ends. Hope to be able to share the man’s perspective too.
