Five years ago our son died. He was four years old. He was running a temperature but he was very strong. When we went to bed, he started coughing. It was a normal cough so we didn’t pay attention. Deep in the night, the cough became consistent. It sounded from his chest. It hit deeper and deeper until I woke my wife up and told her; “Kobby’s sickness is getting serious. Let’s take him to the hospital.”

She looked at the time. It was around 12am. She told me, “Let’s wait until morning. No doctor would be around this time.”

We slept until it got louder and rougher. I turned on the light only to see our son coughing blood. We rushed him to the hospital. On the way he got cold. He was lying on my lap. I was calling out his name; “Kobby, Kobby are you OK?” He would open his eyes small and give me a smile and continue coughing. He died before we got to the hospital.

We broke down. I cried like a baby. When he was alive, he was my son and my friend. We played on the floor. I was his horse. He was my rider. I helped with his homework. I bathed him in the night and he slept at my side of the bed. I loved him with everything in me. He was smart, vocal and active to the end. Usually when a child dies like this, what people tell you is to stay strong; “You’re still a young couple. You will give birth to a better replacement.”

We raised Kobby and we knew there would be no other Kobby. Yeah, we knew we were going to give birth again but he wouldn’t be a replacement for Kobby. He was one in a million kind of a child. We cried ourselves to sleep. We beat ourselves up for not taking him to the hospital earlier. We blamed ourselves for his death. I grew lean. My wife became unstable. It was hard for us but time healed. It didn’t heal us completely but we developed wings over our scars and flew from the pain.

That was five years ago. Within these five years, I’ve bought a four-acre land in my village for farming. I have pigs. I’m into fish farming too. I’ve grown maize and I’ve grown pineapples. I have about ten workers on the farm. I didn’t resign from work. Farming has been my side job. The money I raised from farming, I used to buy small cars to be used as Bolt and Uber. I have four of these cars.

I joined forces with a friend to start a delivery business. He had two bikes and needed investment into his business. I bought two more bikes for him. Today we have over ten bikes. Business is not that smooth but we make some profit at the end of the day. We make losses too. Two riders have run away with our bikes. It didn’t break us down. We keep going because business is like that.

I’m not rich yet but I and my wife are comfortable. We are no longer renting a house. We have our own house. It’s not a grand house but the peace we had was grand and lovely. My wife drives one of the small cars and I also have a small car too. The future is bright. We can only go forward in life but no matter how hard we’ve tried, we’ve not been able to give birth again.

My wife cries about it. It reminds me of Kobby and I cried too. We’ve had check-ups upon check-ups but nothing wrong has been found. We are told to continue having sex until God gives us another child. We were trying. I did my part and my wife also did her part.

The problem was planted by my wife’s family. They started a rumour that caught fire in the heart of my wife.

They called her home one day and everything changed. They started taking her to churches for prayers. According to what my brother-in-law told me, (my brother-in-law is my employee) their mother started the rumour that she had been having a series of dreams where she sees our dead son crying to her. Each time she tries to pick him up, he disappears so she believes the ghost of the child is trying to say something to her.

They’ve been attending these spiritual churches and they’ve been told that I sacrificed our son for money and it’s the blood of our son that’s serving as fertilizer in my farm. One day my wife asked me a question that really shocked me. She asked, “Where’s the cloth Kobby vomited in? The night he was vomiting blood, the bedsheet, where is it?”

Honestly, I don’t remember what happened to that bedsheets and I told her. She had been made to believe I performed a certain ritual with the blood and it’s the reason I’m getting money and it’s the reason we are not able to give birth again.

My wife never said anything to me until her brother told me everything. I saw a change in my wife but I didn’t think that was the problem. She takes trotro to work because, to her, the car she drives comes from blood money. The pastors told her. One of those pastors even asked her to bring the car so they could sell it and use the proceeds to break the curse of the ritual I did. Of course, I didn’t agree.

It turned into a fight and that was when she spilled out everything she had been told. I already knew about it so I wasn’t surprised. I asked her, “So Hannah, you believe what they’re saying? That I killed our son? Are you not here with me? Don’t you see the sleepless nights? Are you not a witness to my sufferings? Don’t you visit the farms with me? What don’t you know about my money that you’ve chosen to believe these lies?”

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She had been deeply brainwashed that nothing I say makes sense to her. She said, “Prove your innocence. Let’s take the car to the pastor if you say you’re innocent. Where’s the cloth he vomited in? What did you do to it? You chose money over children?”

Honestly, I flared up that day. I nearly hit her. She was all over my face screaming; “Prove it. Prove it if your money is not filthy money. I say prove it. I have to leave before you kill me too. I’m afraid of you paaaa.”

Bringing her parents into the issue made it worse. My parents have to step in too. It turned into parents wars. I followed my wife to where she wanted me to go and prove myself. The pastor couldn’t look me in the eyes while talking. They left me there and went into another chamber, my wife and her mother. When they came back, I was told to go home and that I’ll see a miracle. Months later, nothing has happened.

The thing is, I’m losing my wife. I’m strong about us. Had it not been that, our marriage would have ended. I’m a huge fan of this marriage. I’ve suffered with my wife and I believe she’s the only one who deserves the kind of future I’m building for us. I don’t want this marriage to end even though everyone is telling me to end it, including her own brother. He’s so angry about the situation he wants me to divorce his sister as soon as possible but I know a change will come. A brainwashed mind recovers along the line and I want to be here when she finally recovers.

She now lives with her parents. They are breaking a curse that doesn’t exist. They move from one powerful man to another powerful man of God seeking the end to what has no beginning. She calls me when she’s sober. She’ll tell me things and act as if nothing is wrong. She’ll laugh with me and promise to come home soon.

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She comes and she leaves. Her mother’s hand on her gets stronger every day. I know the goal is to destroy the marriage but I won’t give her the chance. With time, My wife will see my innocence and the uselessness of it all and come back home. I’m waiting for her.

—Hab

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