A week before my wedding, a very good friend of mine called me. We were very good friends until she travelled abroad, where her parents and siblings were. She told me about her father’s house. She said no one lived in the house and wanted us to occupy it so we could take care of it and keep it in very good shape until they decided what to do with it.

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It was a three-bedroom house in a very big compound. Right after our marriage, we moved in. A few months later, my father-in-law got seriously sick and came to live with us so we could take care of him. He got better, then fell sick again, and then got better. He never left. He continued living with us.

Just around that time, my husband made a huge mistake in his career. He was working with a very big roofing company and was paid very well. One day, he told me another roofing company had approached him. They were new and wanted experienced hands to manage the company. He was promised twice his salary and a company car they would fuel every week.

My husband was convinced, so he resigned and took the new position. That was the last time my husband received a consistent salary. He could work for three months without pay. The responsibilities in the house came to rest on my shoulders. I had my salary and also had income from my side jobs.

I bought his father’s medication and also paid for his hospital bills. I ensured there was food in the house every day, and after doing all that, I also had to clean the house, wash, and cook for my husband and his dad.

I decided to bring my younger sister in to help. My husband said no.

“We’ll be too many in this house,” he said. “There should be space.”

I tried tricking him. I brought my sister in and let her overstay. My sister spent only one week, and my husband started asking me, “When is your sister leaving?”

Before my sister had spent one month in the house, I asked her to go back because my ears were tired of hearing the question of when she would leave. My sister left on Monday. On Thursday, his younger sister came to take her place. If I say that girl is the laziest person I’ve ever known, you might think it’s because she’s my husband’s sister.

Even her own sick father questioned her reason for living with us because she added nothing to the upkeep of the house. She lived with us for several months until she herself decided to go back.

I was pregnant when she was leaving. After she was gone, I asked my husband if I could bring my mother in to help.

“Help with what?” he asked.

“I’m pregnant. She can help with the chores and give me some rest. I have only two months left before I deliver.”

“Pregnancy is not a sickness,” he said. “Your mom can come when you deliver.”

My mom came when I delivered. One month later, my husband started asking when my mom would leave.

“Leave for where?”

He told me our house wasn’t my mother’s house, so she couldn’t stay as long as she wanted.

For the first time I asked him, “When is your father also leaving? He’s been here for over two years. Is this his house?”

This question angered my husband so much that he didn’t talk to me for several days. He reminded me who was the head of the house and who had the final say.

Immediately after my mom left, his mother took her place. He told me his mom was coming to see her grandchild. I didn’t have a problem with that. His mom came and shared a room with his dad and, as I speak, they are enjoying their marriage while I suffer alone with the baby.

When I go to work and leave the baby with her, I’m never comfortable. I don’t trust that she’ll take good care of the baby. When I’m cooking or doing laundry and the baby cries, she shouts for me and tells me my baby is crying.

I’m always tired, and on top of this, I still cater for the house. When I complained, my husband told me he didn’t hear such complaints when my mom was around, so I should keep quiet. He again reminded me that he was the man of the house.

I nodded.

These days, the only thing I buy is baby food. The only thing I wash is the baby’s clothes. His mom added her clothes to the laundry last weekend. I left them there. He came to me angrily, asking why. I told him I could teach him how to operate the washing machine.

He was using it when the lights went off. Our prepaid credit had finished. He didn’t say a word. He was waiting for me to buy some. Late in the night, he came to ask if I hadn’t noticed we didn’t have electricity.

I said, “I’ve noticed it. Have you noticed it too?”

We slept in darkness until he bought some prepaid credit, which ran out again three days later. He asked, “What are you doing? Are you trying to tell me something I can’t hear?”

I responded, “I’m allowing you to be the man of the house so I don’t forget again that you’re the man.”

Prepaid credit doesn’t last for a week in this house. His mom is always asking him to buy this and that because they are starving. As I write this, his dad is in the hospital. He came asking me to give him a loan. I said, “I don’t have money. All I have is what I use to take care of the baby.”

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He stood quietly and looked at me for a while before he walked away. He’s getting the message. If he doesn’t get it, I will move to the next step, where I begin to demand that he take care of the baby. He won’t give me the money, but I’ll make noise in his ears until he gets the message.

Yes, I want my mother here. I want my sister here, but not as decorative pieces. I want them here for the help they bring to the table. I don’t even have a problem with his parents, who are happily enjoying their marriage under our roof. I need a hand to help make life easier for me, and I expected to get it from them. Am I asking for too much?

—Adrianna 

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