Oh, My Home…😭
This is a completely fictional series. However, it is inspired by actual events occurring daily in my country, Nigeria. The goal is to tell the everyday Nigerian story, and in doing so, inspire more and more of us to thank God for, pray for and work hard to build an excellent Nation.
This is the fifth entry.
My name is Nkiru Ikendioha, and this is my story.
I was born in August 1992 as the second child and first female child of the Ikedioha family in Oyi LGA, Anambra state. I was raised a Christian and went to primary school, secondary school, and even the university where I studied applied linguistics. I finished the university with a second class degree, upper division and after my mandatory NYSC, I got a job as a teacher in a secondary school in Enugu state.
One day, my mum called me to come down to our family house in Anambra state as soon as I could, that there is something she wanted to speak to me about. The next weekend, I called mum that I was on my way and set out.
On getting home, my mum was treating me especially nice: she had made my favorite Oha soup with corn meal and served me with 2 chunks of meat — there is a difference between a piece of meat and a chunk of meat and she gave me 2 chunks. I immediately knew something was up (normally, I did the cooking whenever I was home and I never took more than 1 piece of meat) and asked her what we were celebrating. She sat me down in an almost conspiratorial tone, told me that a handsome young man from one of the most respected families in the village had asked for my hand in marriage.
Ikenna was a handsome young man. He also came from the wealthy and well respected Anayoeze family and had studied abroad so his spoken English had that effect of leaving one with shaky legs. He was definitely the crush of many girls in my hometown, myself included, but I didn’t like the idea of someone coming directly to my parents to ask for my hand in marriage without asking me out and giving us a chance to get to know each other first. Despite my protests, my mum eventually convinced me to give him the benefit of the doubt and at least go out on a few dates with him.
After about 3 dates, I was completely smitten by him. Not only was he such a handsome, rich, smart and well-mannered young man, but he was such a gentleman. He opened doors for me, tipped the waiters and janitors and smiled at them, pulled out chairs for me to sit, got me lilies, roses and balloons and was always smiling. He was such a breath of fresh air. I quickly fell in love with him.
About 2 months later, I agreed to marry him and we set the wedding date a further 3 months away. Those were the most beautiful 5 months of my life and I couldn’t wait to get married to this perfect angel in human form and finally lose my virginity — he had made a few sexual advances towards me, but when I told him I was a virgin and planned to remain one till marriage, he respected that decision and agreed to stay celibate with me. That endeared me even further to him and I couldn’t wait for my wedding night to finally lose my virginity to this impossibly perfect human being.
Our wedding day was stressful, but otherwise uneventful but our wedding night was the complete opposite. He was so good in bed. He was nice and gentle with me, taking his time to cater to my every request, demand, or reaction. It was such an amazing night and as I slept off in his loving arms, I’m sure I had a huge smile plastered across my face.
A few weeks later, when I noticed that my period was already late by over 1 week, I went for a test at the hospital, where it was confirmed that I was indeed pregnant. We were so delighted, and we celebrated by having sex. Over the next couple of months, we were completely in a world of our own. We couldn’t get enough of each other and we had sex almost every day, even multiple times on some days. We had sex literally everywhere: in the room, the sitting room, the kitchen, the car, the balcony, at the car park of a restaurant, the beach, cinema, you name it.
One fateful weekend, he traveled to see his parents in our hometown and came back looking sad and gloomy. When I asked him what was wrong, he told me that we had offended the gods. “Which gods?” I asked him, confused at what he meant since we were both raised Christians. That was when he explained that they have a massive tree in the middle of their compound that had suddenly started shedding more leaves than usual and it only did that when the gods had been offended. When I asked him what we had done to offend the gods, his response was the biggest shock of my life. He explained that we had been promiscuous and shouldn’t have been having sex while I was pregnant, as it could cause the unborn baby growing inside of me to become wayward and forget the ways of his fathers and that if we didn’t stop, the gods will curse us by deforming the baby. To say I was dumbfounded would be an understatement but when I found my voice, I asked him, “So what happens to all these urges we have?” he replied that we had to suppress them.
We tried suppressing them and in the following 2 weeks, the mood around the house turned really gloomy, so gloomy that you could literally cut through the tension in the house with a knife. One day, a few weeks after the incident, I called him to tell him about the doctor I had been seeing who advised me that having sex while pregnant had no adverse effect on the unborn child but rather, could be of great benefits to us as it would help me better cope with the pains of pregnancy while also strengthening the bond we shared. I also told him I was having a hard time containing my sexual desires. Unknown to me, that was my biggest mistake. He traveled the next day and when he came back, asked that I go with him to the village. On getting there, I was greeted by his mother and mine who sat me down and started talking to me about everything I told my husband. I was alarmed that he would betray my privacy in that manner and tell them all I told him about how horny I got and how much I wanted him to make love to me. Little did I know that the worst was yet to come.
They warned that my urges were a sign of budding promiscuity and promised to help. Before I could finish protesting, they drugged me and took me to a traditional medicine man. When I woke up, I could feel this searing pain in my privates and when I inquired, I was told that the medicine man had helped with the urges. He had cut off a little flesh from my genitals which was responsible for promiscuity and I had nothing to worry about anymore as those urges were now a thing of the past.
We traveled back home to Enugu and truthfully, the sexual desires stopped. 4 years and 2 kids later, the desires still haven’t returned. Sex with my husband has become a chore: I just lie still, wait for him to finish and then go back to whatever I was doing prior. I no longer feel any pleasure during the act, only pain. Recently, I also noticed that he has started coming back home later than usual and he often comes back smelling of alcohol and female cologne. I know where he has been: he has gone to be with some other woman who can give him a more pleasurable sexual experience and I don’t blame him. Even I won’t enjoy sex with me. I had become more of a masturbation tool than a sexual partner and it had pushed him out, in search of better.
I now know better, however. Female Genital Mutilation (FGM) is a terrible menace and has been breaking families apart for generations. It is terrible for the woman, it is terrible for her partner, and even rubs off on others around her, including her kids. We must come together to put an end to this menace of Female Genital Mutilation. The time is now, it starts with you. End FGM.
