I dated George, a kind, considerate, and alcoholic man. I knew I couldn’t end up marrying him because of his addiction to alcohol, but I liked the kind of man he was to me. One day, he woke up in the morning and told me, “I had a dream your mom has died. It looked so real—the way you were crying in the dream.”

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One month later, my mom died. She wasn’t sick or bedridden. She had a headache one evening, and that was the end of her life. I was so depressed I came to rely on George heavily. He even became my spiritual guide because he continued having dreams about me. But apart from the one about my mom, the rest didn’t come to pass.

I gave him an ultimatum: stop drinking or I leave. He kept promising me but kept drinking anyway. Then one day, when I was so sure of leaving him, he told me, “I had a dream. Your husband died in an accident.”

I told him, “You think this will make me stay? Your lies and fake dreams?”

I left him, but I never forgot the kind of man he was to me. He was so angry about my leaving that he never talked to me. He would see me coming from the left, and he would pass right. I knew one day he would come out of the angst and see me as a friend, but it never happened.

I met Dotsei; within a year, we got married. Within a year, we had our first child. The marriage was smooth—I’d forgotten where I came from or who I dated along the way. My husband traveled for a week, but we were always talking. One morning, Benedicta called and said, “Your husband died last night.”

I nearly collapsed. All of a sudden, my knees started shaking. I screamed, “What kind of crazy joke is that? If my husband is dead, why are you the one telling me? Who told you?”

She responded, “Oh, sorry, I don’t mean your real husband. I’m talking about George. He fell from behind a motorbike and didn’t recover. He was drunk.”

I should have been relieved, but no. I was still gripped with fear and almost shaking. “George died? Through an accident?”

His dream came to mind—the one about my husband dying. “Was he talking about himself? Is he my God-given husband, but I decided to marry someone else?”

I Was Fine Until I Was Alone In My Room

I couldn’t attend his funeral, but each passing day, he comes to mind. It breaks my heart that he died with hatred for me. I wished I had made amends. He wasn’t a bad guy; it was just the alcohol I couldn’t stand. If his dream were true, then I jumped a sinking ship, but it doesn’t make it any better. I still hurt. He died so young.

—Fenyima 

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