Happy Anniversary, Ned.

Today, the 7th of August, marks our 10th wedding anniversary. Ten years of marriage. Ten years of this. This: where I have found myself. Ten years of bliss? I don't know about that..., more like ten years of gloom, of bondage. Well, you gotta see for yourself why I say so. I would survive today, just like I have survived every day I have spent with Nedu, for the past ten years. It's easy to judge, but don’t hop on the bandwagon and judge me. Hear my story first.

I love my husband. I am just a sweet person. The sweetest you’d ever meet. Not the over-the-top kind, I am not a people-pleaser. Seeing desperate people act, sends chills down my spine, ugh! I am just a darling, that's all. But, this thing called marriage is taking away that sweetness, and slowly replacing it with something else. Something- almost choking. Choking, emotionally. If you’ve ever choked on something, you’d understand. I have choked on a few headlines before. I couldn’t breath well, trying to read them. No punctuations. No breathing space. No air. It is like a claustrophobic person being trapped in a tiny room, full of spiteful people. The victim would likely choke on resentment, before help comes. That is what choking feels like.
Freedom was never free. They never told us. They never told us so many things. We just found ourselves here, and now we have to live, and in living, we have to learn and re-learn things on our own. Have you ever found yourself in a problem you can’t escape [or pretend to a escape] from, even for a second? It is much like the inability of people who have rhotacism to pronounce their problem. Like: "I have ghotacism, but I am finding it difficult to pghonounce it". Well, between me and you, whoever it was that named it, has got no chill whatsoever. Why put a-gh there, at the beginning for that matter, and not even a silent one? I'd consider the namer more dramatic, and more incredulous than Raymond 'Red' Reddington of Blacklist. That is a crime against humanity.
-----
Some would say marriage is not a bed of roses, others would say it is, because roses have thorns. There is beauty, and there are thorns. Ours is a bed of roses anyway, only, the colours and the beauty are gone. We have only the thorns left. The bliss, and all that come with it, left after our first week together. Abysmal, aye? I am not so sure, but I know for a fact that it couldn’t have lasted up to two weeks with us. I wasn't counting, because I wasn't expecting the turn of events, and in addition, so quickly, as a matter of fact. I always considered 'happily ever after' as fabled, but I never considered 'unhappily ever after' real, either. I thought it to be unrealistic pessimism- like an idea that is too bad to be true. I would like to consider myself a realist. But at this point in my life, I am beginning to re-think a lot of things, I am beginning to have change of opinions here and there, on this and that. Experience has taught me well.
*****

This morning, I woke up and looked beside me, and there he was lying, by my right. He looked so peaceful- the serenity of him asleep, the peace his inactivity brought with it. Hah! I'd give anything for that peace and quiet. Can someone sleep forever without dying? I am just asking for a friend. A friend I made up in my head just now.
It's amazing how some people are more appreciated asleep, than awake. Too harsh, huh? Once again, please, don't judge me, without first hearing my story. This is not a one-sided story. I'll be as objective as I can, and if you still feel I am wrong after all, then you can go ahead and crucify me with the nails and cross you carry around with you. The ones that burden you.
-----
Lying there, was my hubby, Nedu Valentine Ugokwe. We’ve been married for a decade now. Yes, a decade. Oh, I already told you that. I repeat things a lot these days. I must be getting really old, quite fast. Like ageing pre-maturely, perhaps. The senses age as well. Some would say it is marriage, ageing me. I wouldn't say that. I think I am ageing gracefully, inside and out.
Today marks our 10th wedding anniversary. Oh, sorry, not again. I’d probably say this a thousand times today. Pardon me, for the present and future redundancies. Pardon me for being too thorough.
No matter how much the anniversary pops up in my head, today will likely be no different to him than yesterday or the day before. He won’t remember, I know. He never remembers things like that. He remembers sex, food, ego, more sex, more food, and some more ego, to garnish them. Entitlement is his second nature. He wears it like a cologne. Even the very first wedding anniversary he seemed happy about, I had to remind him of it. I did that for the next five years, but eventually stopped, when he started retorting: "Okay", each time I reminded him of it.
-----
I reached across to grab my glasses from the bed frame compartment on his side of the bed. The warm air from his lungs hit the tiny hairs on my right arm. Again, I thought about the peace. I headed for the kitchen. We currently live in a duplex, in Lekki Phase 1, Kuramo Close, to be precise. From my observations, the building was quite old, but still strong enough to stand for many more years, without falling upon its occupants and their belongings. It's quite a solid structure, just like some others around. It was re-painted shortly before we moved in. The smell from the paint was still there. We’ve been here for about a month now. We were new to the neighborhood, slowly getting to know the people around. Though it was hectic [the kids always changing schools, and my supermarket becoming farther away, sometimes], I was always happy each time we moved. Moving made me happy because the new neighbours usually won't know any bit of my story. It saves me the sympathetic stares. I hope when you're done getting to know my story, you won't give me those stares when you see me.
Nedu co-owns 'Klass', a wine production company, with Seyi, his close friend. They built the headquarters in Ikeja, and all the others branches from scratch. We weren't married then. It took them about twelve years to get to where they are now- five locations across Lagos. They're still expanding. Their target is to have a branch in each local government in Lagos. There have also been talks about taking the business to other states in Nigeria, sometime. Nedu’s job requires that we move around a lot. We’ve found ourselves in places like Oshodi, Surulere, Badagry, Ikeja, and now, Lekki. Those are the five places they operate from, for now. I found our stay in Badagry, the most difficult, because of how far it was from my supermarket, located at Ilado, Lekki. The kids also had to go to school from Badagry to Lekki, every school day, for a complete academic session. Seyi being single, moving isn't that much of a big deal for him, as it is for us.
As Nedu's salary increased, we moved gradually from the decently-pocketed neighbourhoods to the highbrow areas- transitioning. We started from the mainland. Things got better with time. Not the marriage, just the apartments. We started from Oshodi. We're currently building a family house in Victoria Island, very close to Kamp Ikare Beach Resort. Nedu has sworn not to move again, once we move in. It is nearing completion, and should be ready before the year runs out.
-----
I put some water to boil for breakfast. It’s for later. Nedu and the kids will be needing it for breakfast. I won't be having breakfast with them. The idea of breakfast never really settled with me, since I became old enough to have breakfast on my own. He would take his coffee and our bundles of joy would go for tea.
By the way, have I told you? I turned 41 early May. Since I mentioned mine, well; Nedu will be 41 in December. Yeah, I married my age mate. I am older than him anyway. I have known Nedu virtually all my life. Our relationship was on and off back then. We dated for quite a number of years, before finally getting married. I’ll tell you how we met, sometime later, probably.

On my way out of the kitchen, we almost collided. Thank God we didn't. His 6'2 feet pounds of flesh and bones, would knock down my barely 5'4 feet frame, without much effort. The sapiophile that I am, it wasn't Nedu's good looks that attracted me to him. His intelligence caught my attention first, and ever since then..., well, look. His looks helped a great deal afterwards, anyway. He's so dark, I imagined the melanin in him had become active right from birth, even before he was introduced to sunlight. That was before I saw his baby picture. Just like most babies, he was born light-skinned. His pitch black hair was always overly groomed back then. A lot of strands must have fallen off from having too much contact with countless many-toothed combs. His almond eyes captured my heart, even before that mesmerizing voice did. A beautiful man he was- on the outside. He still is. We both had similar stories of how our hearts clicked. He always reminded me of that back then. Describing how I look, would be like kissing my own arse- messed up, right? So, in a nutshell- I won two beauty contests back in the University. I was also the first-runner up on one occasion. I was into modeling back then as well- quite an achievement for someone of my height, at a time when in modelling as a career, height was considered much more important than facial attributes, grace and intelligence. It was low-budget, but I still earned substantially from it. That'll do. Our tale of love started in earnest, when I discovered we have similar tastes in books, movies, and music. Once we got married, he let himself go. Pink appropriately words my feeling when she says: "Right from the start, you were a thief, you stole my heart, and I your willing victim...."  To hear the rest, go look for the song, I am running late for work.
*****
The near-collision on my way out of the kitchen didn't seem to throw him off balance at all.
‘Good Morning Nedu’ [Yeah, Nedu. Unromantic, huh? That's as much as romance can get between me and my husband. ‘Chinedu’ would be the usual, but I was feeling good this morning. That thing called romance went with the one week of bliss our marriage had. ‘Chinedu', because the mushy-mushy feelings died out like the flame from a small, drooping candle. I used to call him Love, Sweetie, Ned. He used to call me ‘My Little pumpkin’. I hated that name for the one week it lasted, but I never told him that. I just took it and smiled, just like I take most of the crap in our marriage, smiling animatedly. It's going to be a happy day, but not necessarily a happy wedding anniversary.

He mumbled. That was his response. Welcome to a typical day in my life for the past ten years.
We have two kids together. Our first child, Valentine is in Primary 4, and Michelle is in Primary 1. Val turned 8 recently, and Michelle will be 5 this month. The three-year gap between them, were years of badgering- contemplations, pleadings, and arguments. I said, 'No more' after Valentine. I thought it cruel to bring another child into this- our union. Val needed to have a playmate. My little boy changed my mind, even without talking. I had Michelle, and decided to stop childbearing with her. That was five years ago. Nedu hasn’t gotten over my decision yet. I don’t expect him to, anytime soon. I wouldn’t change my mind either. No more little angels to be welcomed into the ‘bliss’ that is our marriage. Val and his little sister have seen and heard things none of their mates could ever imagine. They were enough. You can't grab more cookies, with the cookies you already have, spilling over from your hands. You gotta handle the ones you've got first.

The kids' holiday starts today. It is a Wednesday, and I knew they'd be having a field day for the rest of the week, before I enroll them for summer classes next week. I had a supermarket to run. I had to get ready for work. At 7:24 a.m, the kids were still asleep. The super market opens at 8:30. I should be there before 8:00. Time for a bath. For that day, I'll wear my off white chiffon blouse, the one with the red rose patterns around its neck. I'd put on any black pencil skirt I lay my hands on first. Flats would be more comfortable, but nah..., I'd like to look sophisticated. Heels will do that better. I was feeling good, I had to look the part. I was dressing up, when he came into the room. I didn’t even notice, until...:

"Where are you going?"

I turn to look at him. Nedu had this voice thingy, where he could switch to different tones very quickly. It is calm now.

‘To the supermarket Nedu, to work’, I reply calmly, ignoring the redundancy that was his question.

"You’re staying", he sounded convinced, in an ‘end of discussion’ sort of way.
‘Excuse me?’, I say, without lifting my gaze upon the the full length mirror, just by the left side of the bed. The best piece of furniture in the room, as far as I am concerned.
"I said, you’re staying, I didn’t stutter, did I?" he says, his voice, gradually rising. His face, expressionless.

Sometimes, I wondered if he had a button that controlled his emotions. One he could switch on and off at will. If not, how could someone’s voice change so quickly, all accompanied by the same facial expression, which was expressionless most of the time?
-----
‘Why would I do that? You know how important it is for me to show up', I say, slightly lifting my gaze from the dressing mirror. I could see him through the mirror. He was by the door.

"Who are you leaving the kids for? Me? "

I opened my mouth to say something, but closed it after a split second of reconsidering. I hope he’d give up, getting no reply from me.

He continues:
"If you think I’ll allow you to leave them home alone for even a second, then you gotta be outta your senses."

‘I have been out of my senses for ten years’, I say, thinking out loud.
"What was that?" he sounded startled.
I must have struck a chord, because he started muttering things I was too distracted to make out. I only had a few more minutes to spare. This scenario was a familiar one, it plays out the first day of most holiday periods the kids have had. I just hoped that part I dread so much wouldn’t feature. So, I watched my words carefully. I spoke guardedly. It never helps, but a girl’s gotta try.

"Why are you still dressing up, babe? Today is not a good day to try me oh", he went on hounding. I felt the temper building up. The room was literally hitting up. But I gotta do what I gotta do. My target was to make it to work, and early too.
And yes, I noticed, he called me 'babe', managing to rid it of every bit romance of course. But the point is, he never calls me 'babe', unless he has something planned. Something, likely unpleasant. I had to get out of there, and quickly.

‘Nedu, I have to go to work. Veronica should be here anytime from now', I say blandly, my eyes fixated on the mirror, trying to center-part my braids, roll, and clip them.

Veronica takes care of the kids. She has been with us since Michelle was two. This would be her third year working for us. The kids spent the first two years of their lives with me. I spent two years at home, after Val was born. I wanted to take him to the supermarket with me, but Nedu’s Mum talked me out of it. When Michelle came, I refused to be talked out of going to work with her. I didn’t want a repeat. I hated the idleness, the displeasurable reality of always being home. Those were like years of staring into nothingness. Those two years, tender Val was the only soothing balm, preventing me from losing it. I hated the routine. At six months, I was already taking Michelle to the supermarket with me. Val had just entered Grade 1 then.
-----
"You’re just not leaving without her arriving first." Nedu continued. He just never gives in, does he?
'She should already be here before you leave, Nedu. She'd be here, latest 9:00. You’re already running late for work, so....'

"You’ll stay until she comes", he cut me off. He sounded riled.

I was getting dressed as our conversation lasted. So, by now, I was already fully dressed. I just had to slip on my brown, four-inch, open-toed stilettos, and I was good to go. My handbag was already on the bed. He was in front of the closet, just by the door, leaning on its frame, for our little discussion this morning. I needed to get my shoes. The shoe rack was in the closet.

‘Excuse me, let me….’ I saw the fist coming at my face, and reflexively held it off with my palm. We struggled for some seconds. It seemed longer, but it couldn’t have been more than five seconds. He let go, and almost immediately used both hands, and nudged me to the wall. I fell on it, with a whoosh. He came closer, grabbed me by the neck, and started squeezing. It must have been his intention to choke me. I don’t see why he’d reach for my neck if it wasn’t. For ten years, I have been emotionally choked. Now, I am being physically choked. I struggled, I held the two instruments of destruction that were his hands. That wasn’t helping. All that time, my eyes were rummaging the entire room- the walls, the ceiling, the closet, everywhere. I was looking for something to save me. Could the heavy mahogany that is my dressing table grow some life and save me? Was it going to be the pillows? Would a superhero crawl out of my daily companion, the full length mirror, to take me away from this loveless fellow, this familiar stranger, trying to rid me of my breath? That mirror has seen me cry a thousand times. We’ve developed a bond, kinda. I was getting tired, my hands were beginning to ache from holding off the pounds of flesh choking the life out of me.
Oh, I still had a voice, a weapon. I started to scream. I looked and saw Val at the door. I couldn't tell how long he had been standing there. I don’t know if it was my call for help that dragged him in. Right now, I don't know anything for sure. I wondered where his sister was. He was crying, and saying something. It was some moments later, I began to make out what he was saying. I had to stare at his lips to do so-

"Leave her alone, jerk, leave her alone!....", was on repeat. Val was a sweet little boy. His presence seemed not to move Nedu at all. It was nothing new to my little angel anyway. He has witnessed sessions like this a hundred times. Enough trauma to last someone for a lifetime. Nedu loosened his grip a little bit, but refused to let go entirely. Sensing the relentlessness, Val reached out, and started giving life to the things around. He started with my shoes, the ones with the pointy heels.
He must have run out of heels a few seconds later, because he started throwing flats, mostly Nedu’s. My smart boy. He tried the pillows- too soft, the bed lamp- miss. Finally, he went for my mug. It hit his father's head. Nedu let go, and turned, his rage now directed at little Val. Val ran out.

Once again, he returned to me, where I was now sitting on the floor, both palms around my neck, gasping for air. All these were happening in such a short time. He came closer and dragged me by my hair. The clip fell, Nedu's rage must have swallowed up the sound, because I heard nothing from its fall. It was a big hair clip. The mug gave him a cut on the right side of his face. It barely missed his eye. A close shot. Blood was beginning to trickle from it. He used his free hand, the left one, to wipe off as much blood as he could, from the fresh wound.

"You turn my child against me!" he started, the rage building up. A renewed one, even more dreadful.
He continued to drag me, his blood-stained hand grabbing me by my shoulder, this time. We were almost at the center of the room, when he started kicking me, all over my body. Each blow sent shock waves, couched in tingly sharp pains all over my body. My head was about to explode from the thunderous aches bugging it. I was screaming. We lived alone, in a 'mind your business' type of area. Besides, the nearest neighbour wouldn’t hear. The houses were not closely knitted. Every house had its own compound. It was always noisy early in the day, because of the rush hour. The closest thing in the form of an adult that would be of help, was the gateman. He traveled. We were expecting him back on Friday. 'Oh Veronica! Please show up!'

He was still kicking me. Nedu never gives in. He once told me, during a similar session, that he wouldn’t touch my face, because he liked it without scars.
I was begging him to stop. Rage must have taken over his eardrums as well. He increased the intensity of the blows, instead. He was engulfed in rage. He started undressing me. He tried to unhook my blouse from the back, but seemed to be having a rough time doing so. He ripped it instead, and flung the bloodstained thing away. I will never wear that blouse, or any other thing I am putting on today again.
He pulled at my legs, dragging them from their curled position, and setting them straight. He began to pull my skirt off.
‘Nedu please stop. You’re hurting me. Please stop. Please....’
This was a regular occurrence. The first time it happened, I went to a law court with my story. I never did that again, after I was told that sex by married couples, whether forced or not, was consensual. Remembering the times I bled from Nedu’s many rough 'consensual' episodes, that always began with me saying: 'No' or 'Not now', brought fresh tears to my eyes. I see that happening again, for the umpteenth time.
He flung my skirt across the room. At that moment, I felt nothing but hate, for him.

"We’re going to have another child", he declared.
He stood up and started to unbutton and unzip his trousers. He was just about to slide it down, when Val walked in. Again. He had to be my superhero. He is my superhero. I saw him first. Nedu was facing me, his back turned to the door. Val was crying. Seeing me lying on the floor, virtually unclad, save for my lingerie, Nedu bent towards me, my head slightly raised, about to let the oppressor have his way, must have shattered something in him, the only thing left of his childhood, perhaps, because he stopped sobbing, and let out a deafening shriek. He raged. I looked closely, and saw the knife he was wielding. I started screaming-
'Jesus Christ! No, no!....'
'God, no, no!....'
 Nedu turned. When he saw Val, he let out an angry moan and raged towards Val. Little Val wasn’t shaken, what was left of his childhood, gone. He fearlessly raised the weapon, much bigger than a penknife, and pointed it at his father’s direction. Nedu raged on, without thinking. A raging bull. I knew little Val would do anything to save his mother. I knew he’d stab the ‘jerk’ he had come to accept as his father, if it ever comes to that. I imagined him, raising his tiny little feet in a jump, reaching for the mounds of flesh that was repulsive Nedu’s tummy, and nudging the sharp thing into him, twisting and turning. I saw the blood. The imaginary blood. He was much smaller. He was also much quicker, he wouldn’t miss. I looked at Nedu, in a split second, remembering those times at St. John's Catholic School, Owerri. Remembering the many trips I took to his apartment after school hours, to the annoyance of my parents; those times in U.I, when I disappeared from the school hostel for days, lounging in his small self-contained room, that could barely contain him alone; the times he came all the way to Literature Department from his department at the other end of the campus [Chemical Engineering], just to say, 'Hello'; the time he couldn’t register his courses, because his parents fell on hard times and I gave him my school fees for the session. I was almost skinned alive by my Mum for that. I still remember the rage in my father’s eyes after realizing. Not the rage to destroy, not Nedu’s type of rage. But it was rage, nonetheless. Also remembering- the time he proposed, we were so happy; the times he travelled without telling me and the kids, only to call on his way to say he was missing us; the time I brought up 'divorce', and he cried like a baby, holding on to me, his head on my shoulder, refusing to let go. So much someone can remember in just a few seconds. What do people think about in their last moments?
Before I could get to the highlights of our ten years of gloom, something in me pushed me up, towards Val. It must have been love, I don’t know, it felt like love. To think that I might still love him. Could this be love? I wasn’t going to lose the love of my life, to my son. Losing my first love to my true love- mh-mh, I didn't want that. What if Ned bent, and the knife went into his chest, even scarier, the left side of it, instead, and not his stomach?

Just like I feared, like a déjà vu, he was already in front of Val, bent, about to grab him. I came closer from behind, trying to push Nedu aside. He was a mountain. He wasn’t moving.

'Move away from that knife, you foolish man, move away! Val isn’t thinking clearly now. He could stab you. Mo….'
"The brat must learn today. Silly child."

I tried to push him away again, but this time, he pushed back at me. We started struggling. I managed to let out a cry to Val- 'Sweetie put away the knife now, alright? Put it away, Mummy will be fine, can’t you see?'
Even to me, my lie sounded ridiculous. Nedu started throwing punches at me. For the first time in ten years, I didn’t expect that. Val’s rage was renewed once more. The Nedu type of rage. I never saw that manner of rage in a child’s eyes, until that moment. He crawled in between us, and just like I imagined, he lifted his tiny little feet, his knife pointed at his papa’s lower abdomen. I tried to push Nedu away, and pull Val away, but the strikes gave me no breathing space.

At this instant, Val reaches further up. Just as he is about to lodge it into Nedu, Nedu turns and pulls at me, dragging me in, and I find myself in front of him, shielding him. Nedu used me as a shield. Me. I am fast losing my grip, the knife already deeply plunged into the right side of my stomach. I heard it houses the liver, and the rib cage is there to protect it. I learnt the right ovary is also there. No more children. No more anything. No more. No. God forgive me for saying such prayer at a time like this. 
I look at my stomach and then at my little angel. I am just clocking Michelle has been here all along, sprawling on the floor. For how long?
I start to fall. I see the blood. The imaginary blood I saw was mine.

I should have told you from the start, but before I go, my name is Theresa Chinwe Ugokwe, and I hope I don't sleep forever. Enchanté.