“I love you.”
We are snuggled on the couch in my living room. My favourite love songs collection is playing on the stereo and he is whispering sweet nothings in my ear in between songs. These are my favorite moments: when we sit and just be.
I smile. “That’s kind.”
I feel his smile. I do love him. And he knows.
The way my face lights up whenever he comes into the room shows him. The fact that I’ve spoken to him everyday for the last 2years is proof enough. Every time I look into his eyes, he knows.
What he does not know is that by this time tomorrow, there will be no more ‘us’.
I know that the movies say I should fight. The novels say that I’m a coward to give up; that if I keep at it long enough then something/someone will give.
But this is no PG13 Romantic Comedy.
I have fought and I’m tired of fighting. The parents will not have any of it. An ‘ngbati ngbati’ will not do. Especially not one with a polygamous muslim background and without a fortune in wealth or name. It does not matter that he has long since converted to christianity and has probably said more ‘hail Mary’s’ than both my parents combined. “Polygamy is contagious…muslim…poverty…mba nu! That will not do for one such as yourself; a highly educated, extremely good looking Ada.”
It is hard to fight them. They gave me life, showed me love. They did not scrimp, they spared nothing, and went without so that we’d have the best of everything.
Mummy sold all her shares to make sure I had pocket money. So when she pleads with me, tears in her eyes, that she just doesn’t want me to “go through what she went through”, the fight leaves me.
Daddy worked day and night, jumping buses to and fro because he could not afford to buy a car when the school fees had not been paid. Day and night. Night and day. So when he sits me down, look of heartbreak in his eyes, saying that he just “wants what’s best for me”, I cannot fight.
I remember their sacrifices and I cannot fight anymore.
And so tonight I savour. I savour and taste and feel. I hold longer, kiss deeper.
But I will do one thing in defiance before I leave. Before I get on that plane tomorrow to America; a healing trip if you will. Before I come back home in a month to get married to Chekube, Chief Okoroji’s offspring. Before the morning comes. I will give myself to him. He will wonder, he may reject at first. We decided to wait till marriage. But he will have me tonight. He must.
I press the ‘skip’ button on the remote control and India Arie’s Long Goodbye starts to play:
Tomorrow we’ll pick up the pieces
Try to mend our broken lives
Soft kiss, sweet lies
Let’s make it a long goodbye.
This is definitely no Nora Roberts bestseller. This is my reality.
Hey guys, ‘Dania here. What do you think? Was she wrong to give up? Should she have stuck to her guns, risking her relationship with her parents? Is polygamy really contagious i.e is a child from a polygamous background likely to take the same route?
Have you ever had a struggle between your heart and your head? Which one won?
Use the comment box, speak your mind.