‘I am going to marry another wife.’
I heard the words. I froze. I wondered how many wives have heard such words and frozen like I have, their breath suspended for a heartbeat?
This is not a new story. It has been told many times before now in many languages and places, sometimes with tears, bitter laughter, irony and sometimes gratitude. It has been told in whispered conferences as women shared confidences; in raised tones as they laid bare their grievance; with a twisted smile when shared with children who have come of age. I tell it again, this story of my husband’s wife, as one who wonders: When did the thought first take hold in his mind?
I wondered if he was like Chief who said that women are like dishes and that a man should have a varied menu. Chief’s menu was varied indeed – two wives and a legion of girl friends.
Or was he like those who marry several wives because the marriage to the first wife had become like a wilted carrot – unpleasant to the eye and no challenge to the teeth.
My mind fumbled for words. I tried to shake off the acute sense of betrayal and failure that covered me. I could hear a fly buzzing at the mosquito net, anxious to escape from the room. Its buzzing filled my head.
‘She’s divorced. She has two children,’ he said.
‘Ah. Children. She has children.’
Children. That never-ending-always-hurting issue.
‘I understand how you feel right now.’
I laughed a harsh, disbelieving laugh.
‘This will not change anything between us.’
It already had.
He sighed because, perhaps, it was easier to sigh than to say anything.
I fixed my gaze upon the lace curtain as it rose from the window then fell back soundlessly. I looked at it intently so that I would not have to look at him.
‘I need to talk to you’ he had said. We had come to the sitting room and sat down. It had been so formal that somewhere in my stomach, something twisted but I paid no attention to it. He had attempted to speak but had gotten stuck after the initial ‘I’. The twisting thing in my stomach grew cold and inched its way upwards towards my chest. I sat back slowly, knowing that I’d hate whatever he was going to say and when he did speak, I froze…
***
My cousin said that she knew the bride to be. A divorcee with two daughters could not be much of a competition; he must have felt sorry for her. I began to think that perhaps it would be alright. I agreed to go with my cousin to see this bride to be. Not a formal visit, mind you, but to peep at her from a distance so I could see with my eyes what she was like.
I hoped she would be ugly, maybe walk with a limp or crutches; or maybe she would have a scar that ran right down the middle of her face then veered to the right (or left – the direction is not relevant) so that I could laugh at her or pity her.
My hopes died when I saw her. She was beautiful. Her smile, as she flashed it at an acquaintance, was gentle.
Each time I looked at my face in the mirror, I saw a face which did not require facial surgery but could hardly be called beautiful. I had often consoled myself by saying, ‘Beauty is only skin deep.’ This new bride to be would not need such clichéd consolation because her mirror would tell her that she is beautiful.
That day, I learnt that just as eavesdroppers hear no good of themselves, peeping wives only see what will increase their heartache. I creep away, my pride hobbling after me. ***
My garland of friends came to comfort me with tales of horrendous experiences, all of the ‘other woman’ variety.
My friends poured into my anxious ears tales of poisoning (keep her away from your baby); of clandestine visits to medicine men (prayers alone will not suffice, get your own “African insurance”); of physical battles (thank God she is petite and you are not); of husbands gone mean (he’s still nice to you? Just wait until she enters the house); of sly plans to shove the Wife In The House out (watch her every move, don’t trust her and NEVER, EVER take advice from her because that’s just a way to lull you into complacency so that when you turn your back to her, she’ll stick a knife or a knitting pin or anything handy in it).
After each tale and advice session, my blood would start to race; I would be very jumpy and I would see a malicious co-wife hiding under every bed and behind every door.
***
My younger sister had only ugly names for all men when I told her. She cursed, hissed, clapped her hands in amazement and cursed some more. She was so busy saying all kinds of nasty things about all husbands that I began to feel that she had forgotten me and my troubles. I was reassured that she had not forgotten me when she volunteered to slash my husband’s car tyres or beat up that woman if she ever misbehaved. After this visit, I was quite miserable.
***
It has been twelve years since all that tumult. As I read the entries I made in my diary of those hurtful days, I am surprised that I am still here in this marriage and so is she. More surprising is the fact that we actually get along with each other.
We have become friends. Ours is not a friendship of convenience. Nor is it the type forged over the fire of mutual dissatisfaction with our husband.
Our friendship might have started the day I had a flat tyre and she showed me how to change it.
It might have been the day when, after a heavy downpour kept her at her uncle’s place, her daughters sat in my apartment to wait for her when they returned early from their extra lessons.
Perhaps it was several minor acts like this that made us realise that neither one of us had any wicked intentions. Perhaps it also helped that he did not complain about one of us to the other.
This story of my husband’s wife is not over yet but I hope it will not end like many other stories. May it not end like those where one wife has to leave the marriage dead or alive in order for the other to be happy; or those where the battle of the wives is inherited by their children; or the wives stop fighting or arguing only when age kills their hearing. I am hopeful that my story will end differently.
As for my relationship with my husband, there are times when I forget that the woman in the next apartment is my husband’s wife.
@salatu, well done…here you come again with optimism… we all need it sometimes…i wish all such stories were like yours….???? KUDOS
‘Our friendship might have started the day I had a flat tyre and she showed me how to change it.’ (I like this)
Thumbs up to healthy polygamous marriage. You write well, and there is this alluring effect in your words that puts the reader inside the story,maybe it is the use of the ‘I’ but I think it has to do with you telling a common story in your own way. Good One.
This is beautifully written both for content and style. I loved it.
Not your everyday outcome of polygamous marriages though but nice to know there could be mutual respect and understanding.
You knoW…this story should simply be titled…
I like it because its not what you would expect…and it is well written. Even though the man obviously has cheated…they still made something.
I’m sorry…I can ramble when I’m impressed.
Nice.
.
Thank you, all. I almost didn;t post this story and when I did, I considered pulling it off the pending list because I wasn’t sure that it was going to fly. I’m glad you folks like it.
xikay, I also wish the real life stories were like this one.
Maid & Seun Odukoya – it was the unusulness that made me write the story and also made me doubt its believabiltiy. It worked. Thanks.
i dont think the story is anything but fantastic…it reads well and touches the very essence of any reader who has experienced directly or otherwise, the storms of polygamy in any form
@salatu , you are so good at this.
with the title, really was not especting the story to turn out like this,but you blew my mind.
well done and good job
Really enjoyed reading this but the ending was not believable for me…
@mnAnnabella: Maybe that is because you have a stereotyped understanding of polygamy.Things could be different sometimes.
@annabella, fairy tales do exist in reality atimes… i had a friend whose stepmother was closer to him than his mother was and they dont make noise in their family…really…
This is a nice story…I like the optimism in it. Great job once again…
This can only work under a practicing Muslim’s man’s household… A layman’s household go catch fire… In a Christian’s man’s house is gonna be a taboo… Nice Story… I loved it…
Salatu, you write well, nobody can beat the strength of your narrative. I reaslly loved this sentence ‘Or was he like those who marry several wives because the marriage to the first wife had become like a wilted carrot – unpleasant to the eye and no challenge to the teeth.’
There’s just one sentence where you switched tenses.Trying to find it now but I can’t see it any longer.
Well done!!!
Nice one. Enjoyed reading it. Think marriages like that can work.
True, Annabella, the end is a rarity, even in Muslim households. However I know of one family where the wives are like sisters/friends, you can hardly tell who’s the mother of which child. I’ve heard of several similar situations.
In Christian homes where the man marries a second wife or keeps mistresses, some women turn a blind eye for their peace of mind.
Essentially, this story’s about a woman creating her own brand of peace and finding that a tough situation did not kill her.
This is simply awesome Salatu, I’m impressed!
I loved this story and yes I think this is possible.
Salatu, I loved reading the story. While most of us (women) may not be able to imagine sharing our men with anyone, I know there ARE women who have no qualms with it. Well done.
Beautiful story Salatu. I like the way you describe what went through the mind of te first wife.I tink the end is believable if not common.
@Idoko: there is polygamy among some Mormons in the US.
This is what is a called a good story. Its twist made it impossible to predict. Good job!
Beautiful story…nice ending. I would have prefered it ended this way though:
Our friendship might have started the day I had a flat tyre and she showed me how to change it.
It might have been the day when, after a heavy downpour kept her at her uncle’s place, her daughters sat in my apartment to wait for her when they returned early from their extra lessons.
Actually, I think our friendship started the day my husband looked her in the eyes and said the same words to her –
‘I am going to marry another wife.’
Or something in those lines
Salatu, impressive narration, as was yr keen sense of description…
“…Chief who said that women are like dishes and that a man should have a varied menu. Chief’s menu was varied indeed – two wives and a legion of girl friends….or was he like those who marry several wives because the marriage to the first wife had become like a wilted carrot – unpleasant to the eye and no challenge to the teeth.”
Unusual ending, but who doesnt like happy endings? Nicely done.
You spin a nice tale, i liked the fact that it tied together, it didnt seem too far-fetched. You rock!
Salatu,
Great storytelling as usual. You have this way of writing which is understated, yet powerful; realistic, yet poignant. I especially like the way you portrayed the angst the wife went through prior to the arrival of the new wife (including the amusing reaction of the MC’s sister).