Love On Paper 3
Planning the wedding was very hectic as I found myself doing a lot of things alone. In the Northern culture of Nigeria, the husband is usually responsible for hosting the white wedding while in the Southern culture where my husband comes from, it’s the other way round. This invariably meant I was left alone to plan the wedding. Thank God I had Simi Daju who had graciously agreed to be my personal chauffeur|. I also had Angela Madugu and Mike Sanda who also ran around for me.
The big day finally came on the 27th of November and I had to be taken to the COCIN guest house to stay the night. It was part of the Church tradition that the bride stayed the night in the pastor’s house so there would be no delays to the wedding the next day.
Early Saturday morning, Kev showed up in the guest house with his best man, Emeka Ezinwa onthe guise of asking where his gloves were. Chunny had selflessly prepared breakfast for the bridal train and Jaggu (ex BHS) from PRTV was filming. Kev collusively told Chunny that the lady who had offered to make the wedding cake for free was now demanding payment, and the cake was so ugly. Was there anything that could be done as he couldn’t discuss with me. Chunny quickly leapt into action, she needed an alternative wedding cake. Unfortunately, these were not things that were pre-made and kept for sale. Eventually, she got a blue cake and a pink cake that sort of matched. We had two wedding cakes that day.
We got ready and went to Church for the 11am start only to find out that the first wedding was still going on. My car was directed to be parked in a hidden corner so that the waiting bride wouldn’t be too much in display. We were parked there for quite some time as it seemed the first wedding was taking forever. After what seemed like eternity, we got the green light to proceed.
What I didn’t know was that my husband had not showed up in Church at the appointed time. The first wedding had since ended but Kev was nowhere to be found. The Pastors were in a panic and wondering if he had changed his mind. They called him into the office and asked if there was a problem and if he still wanted to go ahead with the wedding. He reassured them with as much seriousness as he could muster. I was blissfully unaware of all the drama until the following week. He explained to me that they had come in by 10am only to find the first wedding still going on. They had then gone to find a place to “chill out” until when they assumed the first wedding would be done.
The wedding ceremony went very well. As soon as we were pronounced man and wife, Kev burst out singing a local Nigerian song at the top of his voice, “winner o o o, winner, winner o o o, winner, Jesus you don win o, winner. Na so you go win forever, winner”. I wanted the ground to open so I could sink into it. What was that for!! The Church was equally stunned in amazement! COCIN was a very conservative Church where the majority of people were soft spoken and non-confrontational. It is a character trait of most people from Plateau State. This type of emotional outburst had never ever happened in the history of COCIN, not before nor ever since. His family from Warri also started hugging and congratulating each other. We, the local Jos people just stared in amazement. We were not the “huggy, huggy, kissy, kissy” types. It was a sight to behold, a clash of cultures.
The wedding and reception went well without much ado. Afterwards, we went to the hotel with my in-laws. It was very nostalgic for me, knowing I wouldn’t be seeing my family again for a long time. Kev also informed me that we would commence praying and fasting for one week immediately after dinner. I honestly can’t remember his reason, even thirty years later. Once all the dinner pleasantries were over, we were alone in our room and enjoying the relief of it being over. By the third day, we were on our way to Warri. I must quickly add that we did not fast and pray for one week, not even for one day.
We got to Warri and settled into our beautiful new house. There was no time to waste, we needed jobs desperately. I decided to try my hands at teaching since I was a French graduate. It wasn’t a good time because the first school term was almost at an end being early December. We however kept on trying.
One early morning, I woke up with the house smelling funny to me. I had also observed that I couldn’t keep my stomach empty for long periods. I mentioned to Kev that I thought I might be pregnant. He vehemently rebuked me saying it wasn’t possible. His exact words were, “no, I have prayed.” I couldn’t believe my ears. “What do you mean by you have prayed?” I asked unbelievably. “I have an agreement with God that you will not get pregnant until after one year.” I couldn’t help laughing as I was indeed pregnant. Everything around me in the house was smelling. I couldn’t stand the taste of vegetable oil in food, meat, curry powder, stews, rice and so many other foods. All I wanted was moi moi made with palm oil and some Ribena.
That first month, we needed to be careful as we both did not have jobs. By January, I got a job with the JFK Secondary School. It was not too far from home which meant I could save on transportation by walking. The Job was interesting as I loved working with children. Meals were becoming a huge challenge as I became very picky about the things I could eat. It was a double whammy, I couldn’t leave my stomach empty for long without getting nauseous and yet, there wasn’t much I could eat. Ribena was a luxury we could hardly afford. We were counting our pennies and smiling. Not many people knew my husband wasn’t working and he wanted it to remain that way.
It was the longest one month of my life and pay day couldn’t come fast enough. I remember it like yesterday, I was paid N2000 in a brown envelope. I grabbed my envelope and started my 20minute walk home. As I got closer to the final junction, I spotted Kintys, one of my favourite supermarkets for window shopping. I still had ample time, I could pop in and get a few supplies before getting home. I wasn’t even sure what I wanted but decided I would recognise them when I saw them. Yes, anchor butter, sure deodorant, Ribena, toilet paper (highest quality). I happily bagged my shopping and went home to Kev. I was sure he would want a few things too. To say I was aghast by his reaction is to downplay it. Kev could not believe what he was seeing; Sure deodorant! Anchor butter!!. He gently explained to me that my brown envelope was the only money we had. As much as he loved me, we could not afford my choice of items, and could I please not start shopping until I got home and we had a plan. I just said yes.
My pregnancy progressed uneventfully. I read about it as much as I could and attended the ante natal classes once a month. I remember watching Ron Kenollys musical video one evening where he spoke about his mum praying for him to be a worshipper while pregnant. It made a huge impact on me that I chose to do the same. I rubbed my stomach and said to the Lord, let this one paint your praise. I also knew it was going to be male child.
By the sixth month, I was as large as a house. I didn’t have maternity outfits and couldn’t afford to make any. Kev’s big sis gave me one large beautiful dress which I wore almost everyday. My husband was supportive and loving, making it his priority to run the air conditioner just before I got home. He wanted the house nice and cool for me. All this while, he was beating himself up because he felt he wasn’t able to provide for his family. He even told me that the Bible said that anyone who did not provide for his family was worse than an infidel. As a woman, I was shocked that he felt that way. I reasoned with him and asked him a few questions, “are you actively looking for work?” He answered yes. “Are you praying about it?” another yes. “Do you believe that God has heard and will answer you?” He said yes. I told him he was doing the right things and must trust God to answer in his own time. Short of robbing a bank, there was nothing else to do.
God was very faithful, our N2000 would always stretch for the whole month. Although we hosted a lot of guests from all over, there was always enough. I was getting nervous as the weeks went by because we had not yet done any shopping for the baby and it was already July. I calculated that we would need about three months of earnings to plan and shop. I also had another challenge with the due date of August the 21st 1993. I didn’t want the baby arriving on that day because it would have been 9 months on the dot. There was a chance of people thinking I had married pregnant, and I couldn’t bear the thought of that. I wanted a clear distinction of ten months and so I committed it to prayers. One day as I read the Bible, God spoke to me through His word in 1 Samuel 14:6 “…for there is no restraint to the Lord to save by many or by few.” It immediately made sense to me. It answered all the questions of my heart. God does not need my husband working for three months before we could afford the things we needed. By the end of that week, my husband had started another “oil job”. With his first salary, we were able to buy every single thing we needed for the baby. It was a huge relief to see God come through for us once again. I was also able to visit Kintys once again.
I remember the morning of Tuesday the 6th of September 1994, I felt the baby might come that day as I had seen my “show” (google it). I informed my neighbours who gave me a ride to our family home. Kev’s mum smiled at me knowingly as I went about socialising with my brothers and sister’s in-law. By about 10pm, I was beginning to have a bit of pain on my lower back. I curled up quietly and didn’t say a word. The pain was excruciating and there was nothing I could do. I practiced my breathing techniques and noticed that it eased the pain. It created some relief even if for a few seconds.
My step mum-in-law was a nurse and was keeping an eye on me. She would intermittently ask me how I was doing and I would smile. The pain was horrendous, but I could not scream nor cry out. I just kept grunting under my breath. By about 2am, I outwardly gasped, “kai…”not believing the amount of pain I was going through. Mummy quickly jumped up and said, “she don talk Hausa, make we go.”
I can’t remember the drive to the hospital but I remember being in the labour room and being asked to push. The baby came at about 3:30am on the 7th of September 1993 at almost 4kg. I heard the piercing cry as they took him to the side to clean and wrap up. The stitching was worse than the delivery as there was no anaesthesia. He was handed over to me and I just kept staring at him. He was the most beautiful baby ever, the spitting image of his father; same shape of head, same lips, same line of hair, same everything. It made me wish my husband had been around to witness this miracle of life. We had so much to thank God for as I concentrated on the little man. The best news was that my Kev, by some miracle had been able to take some time off to see his first son on the first day. It was so good having a working husband and being without any money troubles.
My mother-in-law moved in with for the first three months to assist me with the new baby. She would not let me lift a finger as she did everything. She also made me some very bitter pepper soup which I didn’t like at all. She said it was meant to help bring down my tummy (it didn’t work). In the nights, she would mix really hot water for me to wash myself with. Traditionally, these were meant to help heal the nursing mother. I just couldn’t bear to use the hot water and would usually dilute it once her back was turned. Bath times for the baby was very concerning for me. Traditionally, the baby’s arms and legs would be rubbed in oil and pulled, sometimes being dangled on one arm. The first time I saw it, I screamed in horror and begged mummy not to do it. She said if it wasn’t done, the child would be weak and lazy. I reasoned with her that white kids didn’t get pulled like that and they seemed to turn out alright. In the end, she laughed and let the baby be as she found me very amusing.
In my husbands culture, we have an important all-purpose word, megwo. This literally translates to “I’m on my knees.” It is used to say good morning, good afternoon, welcome, thank you etc. Whenever you are offered a meal to eat, you are meant to say megwo to everyone present that is older than you. It doesn’t matter if it’s in your house and you prepared the food yourself. As long as there was someone else older than you, you had to say megwo to them. This rule was not something I had been brought up with. A lot of times I would forget to say megwo to mum and dad until after a few mouthfuls. In my very unassuming nature, I would gasp in horror and say, “Oh so sorry mum, I completely forgot, megwo.” They were always very magnanimous, excusing the “Hausa girl” from Jos. I stood out like a sore thumb with my accent and lack of pidgin English. I however found a lot of acceptance from the people of Warri, sometimes with a tinge of pity. They would usually look at me, almost with sadness, “na Hausa you be?” It was easier to just respond yes as they considered everyone above the river Niger as Hausa. I also found that a lot of them were protective over me, sometimes “fighting” on my behalf in the market to protect my interest. The first two years were fantastic as Kev and I built our home together. Things took a turn as we were to be passed through fire again.
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Watch out for part 4 by the weekend. :)