My husband’s mother loved me from the very beginning, from the days my husband and I first started dating. She never hid it, and I never hid the fact that I adored her in every little way that existed. Between the two of us, we had inside jokes and a closeness that she did not exactly share with her own children.

That is why moving in with her immediately after marriage was not too hard to do. It was not hard, but it was also hard. Considering how our work duties took us far now and then, the arrangement was wise in every aspect, so I embraced it.

Our bond deepened even more, and when children started coming in, she softened into her grandmotherhood era and excelled at it. That is how we lived our small, happily ever after life, until my husband got himself an opportunity to travel abroad and work.

After we returned from the airport, I braced myself for the impact.

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When the three of us were taking care of the house and the children, it was easier, but now we were down to only two. And toddlers, who only listened to the voice of God and not to man. Ma would step in to help with the children before I could even gather my thoughts in the morning.

She cooked meals for us, helped with the kids before I could blink. Most evenings, we sat at the dining table talking. My husband used to complain about how close I was to her. “Is she your mother? Give her space.” Other days, he would accuse me that his mother was turning me against him. His mother would respond to him, that he was just a jealous lover.

Things started to fall apart one morning when she woke up on the wrong side of the bed. She did not wake the kids to bathe them or help with them like she normally used to.

I rushed her to the hospital, thinking it was just simple malaria she would overcome in a matter of a few weeks. It was not just malaria. She ended up needing two surgeries. For the second surgery, she was transferred to another hospital, hospitalized for months. I prayed every morning, noon, and evening for her. Unfortunately, she gave up her ghost four days after her discharge.

Months before the funeral, all hope of giving my mother-in-law a befitting burial had vanished. Everywhere we turned, banks, friends, relatives, everyone shook their heads and told us maybe another time. We kept praying for a miracle, but a month to the funeral, things were only getting worse.

I lamented to my sister about it. She told me she could lend us some money that we could pay back later. I informed my husband, who told his brother.

In the beginning, she gave us 40,000 to start with. We stretched it as far as we could, but funeral expenses have a way of swallowing money whole. Before long, my brother-in-law told me to go back and ask her for more. I felt ashamed returning to my sister again, almost like I was dragging my pride behind me. I went begging my sister, and she gave us another amount. It did not take long before my husband called me on the phone with urgency. He warned me, “Do not take money from anyone and give it to my brother. Do not try that.”

You don’t understand what is happening here,” I told him. “The funeral pressure, the expectations from family and friends, the bills waiting to be paid. We are the ones here carrying everything on our heads.”

He was contributing what he could from abroad, but the burden on the ground was crushing us. So, against his warning, I ignored him.

The funeral eventually came and went. After contributions and donations from people, we managed to pay part of the debt we owed my sister, but there was still a large outstanding balance. That evening, after settling vendors and counting what remained, we realized we were still drowning in debt. My brother-in-law assured me he would sell his car so my sister could be repaid. I thanked him, because I could not afford to disgrace my family in front of my sister like that.

Then, days later, I woke up to hear he had traveled back to the States without telling me.

I called him immediately to ask how we were supposed to repay my sister. He casually told me that he and my husband would handle it. When? He did not say. Since then, he barely answers my calls or replies to my messages.

Now my husband is furious with me too.

He keeps reminding me that he warned me not to collect money for his brother. Lately, he hardly calls unless I call first. He does not text unless I text him. Most days, it feels like I am alone in this marriage.

It  turned out that my brother-in-law had lost his job and was already buried in debt. That was why everything had become so strained. Still, I had assumed it was just a phase, something temporary. After all, he was the same man who once took care of his mother’s medical bills, costs that ran into tens of thousands. I did not think he would suddenly become someone we could not rely on.

The last time I tried discussing the issue with him, he exploded in anger. He insulted me so badly that I still replay the words in my head. He called me foolish, stupid, and every degrading name imaginable. I sat there listening to the man I married tear me apart with his words. After thirteen good years of marriage.

Men Don’t Like It When Women Do The Paying

What hurts the most is that I did all this out of love and respect for his mother. My mother-in-law was a good woman. I did not want her funeral to become a disgrace or something people would mock the family over. I sacrificed my peace to make sure she was buried well.

Now I am left heartbroken, drowning in debt, emotionally exhausted, and terrified that my marriage may not survive this.

I honestly do not know what to do anymore.

—Akumaa dɛdɛɛdɛ

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