If you haven’t read the first part of this story, here’s the link. Kindly read it before starting this one.

The day my story was posted, I got a lot of advice I wished I could have implemented before my wedding but they came a little bit late. Silent Beads posted my story very late. By the time it was published, I had only one week to the wedding. There was little I could do but go through with it and later pray to God that things turn to my good. I took the whole thing as a leap of faith. “Maybe, what people are saying can come to pass. It could also be that they are talking out fear and experience that would be different from mine. The only thing I could do is to hope for better things.  

But hope isn’t a strategy so I used the days I had left to implement some of the advice I got from the page when my story was posted. But before that, I was able to fight my way through to make some gains. I stood on my ground and even went to the extent of having a deeper conversation with his mom so she could make concessions. First of all, was the food. I still didn’t believe his mom could handle it. I told him, “Yes it’s banku and Jollof just as you said but it’s different when you are cooking for one hundred and fifty people. If your mother would be honest to us and honest to herself, she’ll accept what I’m saying. It’s our wedding. It happens once. You don’t get to make amends. Whatever happens, stays with us forever. Let’s do the right thing.”

He told me, “My mom has done it before. If she says she can do it, we can trust that she can do it. Why are you dragging this issue? It’s not anything. It’s not the most important thing to happen at the wedding. Let’s concentrate on the essential parts and leave these ones in the hands of my mother. She can handle it.”

I didn’t argue. I didn’t make a fight out of it. I just got up, went straight to his mother’s house to have a conversation with her. I told myself, “She’s a woman and she’s going to be my in-law. If I can’t have a conversation with her now then when can I begin to have a conversation with her?” When I got there and she offered me a seat, she said, “You look worried. I hope my son is not giving you troubles.” I laughed just to brighten up my mood and fade off the worries on my face. I responded, “Not at all. I”m tired and it’s reflecting on my mood. Sorry.” She asked the reason for my coming. I spoke pleadingly… 

“It’s about the food you said you’re going to handle. You’re my in-law. You’ll play a great role on the wedding day. I don’t think the kitchen is the best place we can put you. You’ll be in your kente cloth, sit in front and cheer us on. You’re our pride and you have to represent that pride in the front role and not at the kitchen. Maybe you have people you’ll like to handle the food in your absence. Those are the people I have issues with. They are not like you. They won’t attach proper attention to it like you would have done. Left to me alone, we should hire someone to do it. We’ve already spoken to someone else. Her charges are good. she can do it so you can rest.”

She was quiet for a while. She sighed. She said, “Yeah, what you’re saying is true. I felt it was something I should do just to reduce overhead costs. Everything is expensive these days so if you can do it in-house, then why hire another person but what you’re saying too is true. Have you discussed it with your husband?”

That was the end of it. We went back to the caterer we were talking to and got her hired. As for the venue, I didn’t discuss it. It was something I could overlook. Places change when decorations take over. I took the decorator to the venue and asked what she could do to turn the place around. She said, “This would be difficult. You’ll put all your energy into places like this and in the end, it wouldn’t be as beautiful as you want it to be. People would look at it and say you didn’t do a good job. Meanwhile, it’s the fault of the place.” I patted her on the shoulder and said, “You’re the professional. I’ve seen samples of your work. If you put half of your skills on display here, I know the withered flowers will come back to life. Give me magic. I believe in you.”

There was one thing I never thought of but came through almost all the comments I read on my story that day. One said, “You are here thinking about the wedding. Think about the marriage itself being controlled by your mother-in-law.” Another person said, “What you need to ask yourself is if your husband-to-be will continue to allow his mother to dictate the affairs of your home even after the wedding.” Another person also put it this way; “Whether you do traditional, church, court or whatever wedding, his mum will be in your lives for as long as she lives. If I were you, that is what I’d worry about.” The same advice put differently by different people. That’s what got me scared. That’s what kept me awake even when the world was snoring away.

From the beginning to the end of our wedding plans, there was not a single moment that my husband went against his mother’s dictate. We could sit and draw a perfect plan but immediately his mother whispers against the plan, he begins to quiver. As I said, my mind didn’t go in that direction. In my mind, when we marry, everything would be over. His mother would live in her own house while we live in ours. That way, she couldn’t wake up in the morning and come and dictate the days of our lives. I forgot that some people can move things around even when their hands are tied behind them. 

So I had a discussion with him. The question was simple; “How far can your mother come close when we finally get married?” He answered, “She’s my mother. I can’t cut her off just because I got married.” I said, “You won’t cut her off. I won’t even allow you to cut her off. We’ll need her and she’ll need us but how close is she allowed near our marriage? Say we make a decision on something. We start putting it into action. Your mother comes and she says no, do it this way. Would you listen to her? Or stick to what we’ve started?” 

He got the import of my question very well. He asked me, “Are you asking all these questions because of what happened with the food and location?” I answered, “And the pastor swap too, yeah.” He started waxing indignantly, “You don’t understand. I just don’t want to upset her with the little things. She’s my mother. She alone took care of me, giving me everything that I needed until I came of age and met you. The little I can do to pay back is to listen to her. I do that out of respect, not because I’m scared. When we are married, we are married so she won’t come and change things around.” I repeated my question, “What if she comes to change things around?” He said, “When we get there, we’ll cross.”

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I retorted, “Dear, we are already there. We see the bridge ahead of us and we know how dangerous it can be, that’s why we are discussing how we are going to cross it. Let’s get the understanding now so we know the role both of us are going to play to be able to cross it.” His manly ego kicked in: “Owusuaa, I’m the man here and you’re going to trust me. My mom can’t come into our marriage.” I pressed him. I wanted him to say something I could hang on to just in case the time arrives. He said, “In the worst-case scenario, we won’t allow her to change what we’ve planned. She can suggest something but can’t change what we’ve said. And who is even going to tell her about our plans? It’s just the two of us after marriage. Just drop this insecurity and let’s go get married.”

All I needed was what he said. I was ok. I was relaxed. Nothing is perfect. Our marriage too. But our imperfections shouldn’t come from avoidable angles. I was happy I got the response I needed. During our traditional marriage, we gave the floor to his family pastor. The pastor who baptized him. The pastor who has hundreds of unbreakable marriages under his belt. He preached and prayed over the engagement ring. On Sunday too he was there. But the floor was owned by my pastor. When it came to the blessing of the marriage, they both joined hands and prayed for us.

We live together now and so far so good. His mother hasn’t been to our house yet. When she calls, she talks to me too. She tells me to take care of her son well or she will personally come for him. She says it in a jovial way so we laugh. We go to see her when we have the time. She cooks for us and makes sure that we feel at home. It’s early days yet but if Sunday would be a joyful day, the joy starts from Saturday night. Our Saturday night so far had been eventless. If that proverb is true then we can expect joy in the morning.         

–Owusuaa

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