The two of us don’t have problems. We’ll sit in the corner and tell jokes every night. We’ll look at our kids and wonder which of them didn’t come out well. After twelve years of marriage, I tell him we have aged like fine wine and he agreed with me. That’s why this decision of his is killing me slowly.

It started when we had our third child. He came very late. The gap between the first and the second is two years. But he waited for five years before he showed up. After him, we said we were done—done having kids who come to make us start afresh. We decided on which FP to use and I did it.

To me, this is the period of our lives that we need to have fun. When you close from work, it’s a fun time. When the labourer labour ends, it’s a fun time. When couples stop giving birth, the rest is a fun time. In my mind, we could do shuperu every day without getting scared of bringing another child into the family. I was prepared for it and even thought of the skill I would use to nudge him in.

He started complaining of fatigue; “I’m tired, let’s do it at dawn.” I would nudge him with my elbow at dawn and he would speak nasally, “Let’s do it in the morning. I’m enjoying the sleep.” By morning when the kids wake up, game over. He did it for days and then weeks. I complained. I asked if he didn’t find me attractive. He said, “I’m no longer a boy. I don’t have the fire of a teenager. You should understand old age can turn the mighty to a weak man.”

I didn’t buy the age theory. He’s only forty-two. His life began only two years ago if indeed life begins at forty. I thought I was the problem. “It might be my weight. Or I don’t dress well enough?”

I put myself on weight check. I ate well and started skipping. I bought some new fancy clothes. I even bought perfumes and Body Splash if in case it was about my body scent. It didn’t change much. We could do it once in two weeks, even that one I had to beg and talk all night before he gave in and because I begged for it, he did it anyhow. No emotional investment. No passion. Just dry.

I changed his diet too. I talked him into it and he accepted. I even suggested exercise to him but he didn’t buy into that one. He said he was too old to bother about six packs. When all didn’t work, I resorted to prayers; “Dear God, I bring my husband to you as a burnt sacrifice….oh no, not a burnt sacrifice but just as a sacrifice. Even when he’s not burnt, I don’t see top so take him as a living sacrifice and work on him for me. I don’t know what’s wrong with him but you do. Make a miracle out of him so I’ll say you’re the mighty.”

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Every night I remembered him in my prayers. Sometimes I prayed out loud for him to hear that I was reporting him to our Daddy God. He laughed it off sometimes and still did nothing.

I served him tea in the morning and sat next to him for a serious conversation. “Babe, let’s talk about it. What happened? What has changed? You used to come to the table with power and might. I used to run sometimes but these days it looks like your power is not powering. Let’s talk about it. What’s wrong? If it’s about me, say it and I’ll change whatever you want me to.”

“I’ve retired,” he said.

I went mute, pretending I didn’t hear that. He repeated, “Yeah, I’ve retired. I don’t see any fun in it and we don’t actually need it because we are done giving birth. What’s the point anyway?”

“So you mean…I mean….let me be blunt. What then are you going to use your manhood for, only to pee? You’re forty-two not seventy. Your dad is over seventy years old, but your mom looks like she gets it occasionally. Look at me, I’m only thirty-eight. So you mean…Nooo it can’t happen.”

I tried to make it sound like a joke so he’ll confirm it as a joke but he didn’t. He was serious. “There’s more to life than shuperu. Let’s concentrate on the more,” he said.

He finished the tea quickly and got up. I was looking at him, a tall and graceful man like him retiring from his conjugal duties. That very night I climbed on top. “I’m recalling you out of retirement,” I whispered into his ears. “In fact, I’m giving you a contract so you can continue working.”

I huffed and puffed, one woman in a battle. I succeeded in lifting him, I took charge of everything until I had my pound of flesh. While I lay content and panting, he was already gone. Snoring.

After that, he started sleeping in the hall and I’ve not been able to get him back into the bedroom. We’ve gone a month as I write this without sex. My hormones keep acting up. I wake up angry. I shout at the kids even when they haven’t done anything. They bring their homework and I’m not able to help because I’m blank. I sweat under an air conditioner. I even had to see a doctor because I thought there was a problem with me. I’m fine. My husband is the problem.

How do I solve a problem like this?

When God Throws A Wife On Your Table

One night, out of frustration, I erected a large placard in front of the bedroom that said, “Feed Your Wife, She’s Starving!” He looked at it and frowned. I thought he was going to kick it but he didn’t. He didn’t eat my breakfast that day but I didn’t relent. In the evening, he came to meet it. It was there for three days but didn’t change anything. I can’t accept defeat. So I’m here to listen to ideas. What should I do next?

—Adeziwaa

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