I’m a child of divorced parents. I was fourteen when my dad divorced my mom. I remember my mom crying every morning while mentioning my dad’s name. A few years before that, my dad’s name was something that brought smiles to her face so “Why was she crying with my dad’s name,” I asked myself since the adults weren’t ready to explain things to me.

It was when I started moving between my dad and mom that I realized what had happened. Mom and Dad were no longer together and were never going to be together again. Dad had another woman. It was terrible navigating life between these two. The disappointments, the tears, the near suicide.

When I turned eighteen and there was no one around to celebrate my birthday, I told myself that I would never marry when I grew up. It was marriage that made my mom wake up every morning and cry. Marriage was the reason I faced the bitter side of life. Marriage was the reason for all the wrong things that happened in my life so why the need to do it too?

Mom married again. Her husband didn’t like me that much. I grew up knowing one thing for sure. That marriage wasn’t for me.

I dated for the fun of it. I dated because I needed sex. I needed a man to tell me he loved me after going through life without the love of a man. When I fell in love, I didn’t give my men the chance to control me because I felt they’d control me into marrying them.

Fiifi was different. We dated for two years before he told me, “Let’s get married.” I smiled as if I was going to say something positive. I told him, “Marry someone else if you need to marry someone that badly.”

The good thing was, he didn’t take me seriously. A year later, he said it again. I told him, “You know I’m not getting married, right?”

He asked, “Then why are we doing this?”

I answered, “Marriage is not the only way to express love. What is wrong with what we have that we need to change our status?”

He didn’t leave me. He stayed, visiting the hospital with me when Mom was seriously sick. My mom didn’t say much when she saw us but one evening she asked, “Are you two getting married before I die?”

She had hope in me and because I didn’t want to kill that hope, I nodded. She smiled. Two days later, she was gone. Mom died. The only person I had in my corner was gone. At her funeral when I was crying my head off, Fiifi asked me, “When are we getting married?”

For once, it sounded different. It sounded like my mom asking me to get married. I didn’t answer him but a year after my mom’s burial, when my dad too had died, we got married.

We were married but I still had fears that one day he would be the reason I would cry. He would be the reason I would hate life. We had a son and then a daughter and a son again. Twelve years gone, kids are growing like mushrooms. Nothing has changed. He still calls me beautiful and tells me I’m his greatest investment in love.

Men Don’t Like It When Women Do The Paying

Sometimes I wish heaven had visiting hours so I could visit Mom and play my life to her; “There are children. I named the girl after you. There’s love too—love that grows with each passing hour. I wish you were here with me to experience life in smiles.”

I regret that I had fears but I’m happy my fears led me to Fiifi. Most importantly, I’m happy he didn’t leave when I told him I wouldn’t marry him. If he did, he would have left with my happy world.  

—Tilly

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