I don’t love my husband.
Till tomorrow, I would never accept Mr Thompson as my husband….I still see him as the village tyrant he had always been since my childhood.
I remember that fateful Thursday evening, my mother and I were making dinner when father returned from the farm, looking dejected.
He sank in the wooden chair by his doorstep. My mother went to enquire why his mood was thus. Although, they tried so much to keep their voice down, I heard everything thet was said.
“Mr Thompson called me this evening”. My father lamented.
“What did he say again this time?”. I could sense the fear in my mother’s voice.
“He said he would be coming here tomorrow morning to claim his collateral”. My father said.
“Was he really serious about that?”. My mother asked.
Dad nodded.
“He sounded very serious”. Father answered, and silence was entertained for a long time.
Mr Thompson was a self made rich man in the village. His, was the biggest house in the village those days and he has a lot of servants at his call.
Over the years, no one was able to ascertain the source of his wealth, not even any of his numerous wives.
He had lent some money to my father when I was about to sit for my NSCE some months before.
My father had nothing, as harvest was very bad that year.
He sought financial aid from so many places but there wasn’t anyone willing to help.
“Papa, there is no time again”. I was pressurizing him.
Everyone knows that Mr Thompson was a very wicked man but my dad had no other option when I had just 3 days left before the registration deadline.
Mr Thompson gave him the full amount he requested, on a condition that once he didn’t get back his money on an agreed date, he would come to the house to claim whatever he desires.
That was not unusual, for he had been infamous for forcefully taking properties from hopeless debtors.
The next morning, while we were observing our morning devotion, we were interrupted by the honk of his Volkswagen.
I followed my parents from behind and came outside to meet him.
He was already standing in the center of the compound with his pot belly, protruding from his white shirt. Two servants were standing behind him with empty bags.
“Go, good morning, sir”. My father stammered out.
He didn’t reply as he was busy scanning our compound in disdain.
“Douglas, you’re a very poor man, do you know that?. There is nothing around here that’s worth my money. He was saying, and then his gaze rested on me.
… This is your daughter, right?”. He asked, smiling mischievously.
“Yes”. My father nodded.
Before I knew what was happening, I was sprung up my feet and placed upon the shoulder of one of his servants.
I screamed and struggled for help but what’s the strength of a 16 year old compared to that of a strong hefty man ?.
“Please, leave my daughter, she is all I’ve got”. My mother was crying.
The other servants pointed a pistol at them and she could only wail, without making an attempt to save me from my captor.
I was bundled into the car and we drove off, still crying and struggling for freedom.
I looked back and saw my mother still crying and rolling herself on the ground while my father merely crossed his hands over his head, looking into space.
And that was the last I saw them.
When we got to his house, they pulled me out and placed me in the center of his compound. He then whistled, and in a twinkle of an eye, I was surrounded by a community of people.. his wives and children.
“This is my newest wife”. He introduced.
“I am not your wife and I will never be”. I cried.
I watched him drew his belt out from his waist and flogged me several strokes, not minding my pleas.
“This is to teach you how to respect your husband. He said, replacing the belt in his trousers.
… Take her to her room”. He commanded the servants.
Before I could look up, I was already lifted upon the shoulder of the same man, as he started moving towards the back of the house. He passed so many doors before he finally stopped at the last on the row.
He opened the door and threw me carelessly on the bed, causing me to hit my leg on the wooden support. He then bang the door noisily at my face.
I jumped down from the bed and ran to the door, trying fruitlessly to open the door it.
I cried helplessly.
At night, another servant brought me food and water.
“There is toilet and bathroom in there”. The servant said, pointing towards another door in the room.
I was locked up in that room for two days.
On the night of the third day, he came into the room and forced himself on me, in the presence of the servants. I cried and consoled myself.
“I am now married to him”. I always to tell myself every new day I woke up under that roof.
Two weeks later, I was let out of the room and allowed to move about like the other women.
I thought that was an opportunity for me to escape but I was caught once I tried to. And he flogged me mercilessly that day.
He drove into the house one morning with a sad news for me.
“Your father fell down from the palm tree and died.. your mother too committed suicide”. He announced without pity.
I cried and cried until I have no tears left.
At the end, I knew I had to accept my fate as I had nowhere to run to again.
Four years of being in that house, I already had two sons and expecting the third.
One evening, I walked in on him in the middle of a meeting with some strange looking men.
They were communicating in English.
He wasn’t bothered about me being there in their midst…he never knew I understand English.
From their discussion, I discovered a very dark secrets…
#Story from Joy Ifunanya
