WHEN I look around and listen to stories of how men turn their wives to punching bags all in the name of insecurity and inferiority complex, I always remember my own story. I have shared it with some friends and made them laugh throughout the day. But, to me, it is not a funny story, but something I had to do to end a trend that could have led to my untimely death.
There are so many women out there, who have become handicapped as a result of constant beating. Some have even lost their lives. Yet, many of those stories have not been told because those involved are not celebrities. While some celebrities come out bold to expose this anomaly even when it would splash some mud on them, others still keep quiet to avoid scandal. I was also like the latter group during my first few years in marriage.
We were a group of three friends, who got married to three friends. We all attended the same university and were known almost everywhere as one family. The men and two of us (ladies) graduated at the same time, while I graduated a year after them. Despite the fact that they served in different parts of the country, they maintained their relationships, and I maintained mine too.
However, out of the three male friends, my husband was the one that treated his partner (me) anyhow. I was also the most gentle among the three ladies. After my university education, I aborted two pregnancies for him. When the third one came, and he said I should abort again, his friends, who had settled down with my two other friends, stood up against it, saying they would go and tell his family members about me and the pregnancy.
They were very angry with him and accused him of being wicked. One of them actually told him that he would have allowed me to go since if he knew that he was not ready for marriage with me. Truly, they went to his mother and she called for me. Somehow, the wedding plans started and we got married in a quiet ceremony.
I was five months gone when we got married, but I was happy that I would have the baby as a legally married wife. My two friends, who had two children each for their husbands, never left my side. But they were always not happy the way my husband treated me. The first day he would beat me mercilessly was in my eighth month.
Our pumping machine had a fault, so I usually fetched water directly from the well very early in the morning for the two of us to use. He had taken a bath that morning, so I went to fetch my own water, so that I could also take a bath and go to work.
He was rushing out of the room to go to work because he was already late when he hit his foot against the bucket that I mistakenly kept at the entrance of the room.
I had dropped it there when I rushed to the kitchen to turn off the gas. Unluckily for me, he fell flat on the floor and soaked his trouser. When he shouted, I knew I was in big trouble. He ran inside the kitchen with his wet clothes and started punching me all over my face. He beat me black and blue and took me to the hospital himself when he thought I had passed out. That night, I fell into labour (three weeks before my Expected Date of Delivery) and delivered a baby boy.
When I told my friends about it, they were really angry. His friends rebuked him, but he was not sober. He only apologised as if something very little had happened. He threw a very big party to welcome the baby. He was also a good father but a very horrible husband. That combination was so odd to me. He beat me over little things everytime, but I refused to tell my family members even when one of my friends insisted that I had to do so, so that they would call a family meeting on the matter before he killed me. But I was blindly in love.
I would take excuse from work whenever I knew that I might not be able to explain a swollen eye or battered cheek. I got pregnant again one year after my first baby and got good beating three times during that pregnancy. Unlike the first child, our daughter’s naming ceremony was low-key. Right in the presence of visitors, he slapped me hard because he had told me twice to give one of his friends a property flyer that I showed him a week before I gave birth to the baby.
That was the first time my sister saw him in his true form. Everyone was dumbfounded that he could do that to a happy mother on her big day. That day, I refused to come out again until all guests had left.
He travelled out of the country on an official assignment three weeks after that. So, I went, with his permission, to stay in my friend’s house, so that I could rest well and also get some help. Since her husband was also his good friend, he did not mind.
While in my friend’s house, we ruminated over my husband’s behaviour and how it was affecting my health, and my friend said her husband was also afraid that I could be killed soon if nothing was done urgently. She then said her own advice might seem crazy, but that she had thought of it and concluded that that was the only solution at hand.
She reminded me that I was fatter and taller than my husband, saying that if not for the traditional superiority of men over women in this part of the world, my husband could not withstand me in a fight. She said if he should attempt to beat me again when he returned from his trip, I should take him unexpectedly and beat him mercilessly, punching his head and manhood at the same time. She said I should use all the energy in me and see who would win the fight.
When he returned, he behaved the first day. The next day, I forgot to pump water when there was power supply. Then he started shouting and reminding me of how stupid I was. I kept quiet and said it was an error. But he refused to stop and was angry that I was no longer saying anything. Then he stepped forward to slap me. As he raised his hand up high, I held it and started punching him hard everywhere.
The shock could not let him retaliate. He just started shouting ‘ha, ha, ha’. As he was shouting, I was beating him more. When he fell flat on the floor, I went to lock the children and myself in the room and said that he should go and call his family members to chase me out of the house.
To be continued…
