Peace Like a Desert
I.
The rain poured, its rhythmic tapping on the roof echoing the turmoil within me. Another night of torment unfolded, devoid of tears as if the rain itself wept in my stead. A sharp pain shot through my side, a stark reminder of where his fist had struck first, rendering me unconscious before the onslaught continued. Now, he was gone, leaving me to face the aftermath alone. I must rise, cleanse myself, numb the pain with medication, and feign normalcy. To pretend this nightmare was just a figment, to cling to the hope that the man I married decades ago hadn't just attempted to take my life mere minutes ago.
Kunle seemed like an angel from the moment our paths crossed. On that fateful day, rushing to the mosque, I collided with him in my haste, spraining my ankle in the process. As I lay there in pain, he tenderly retrieved my hijab, covering my hair, and lifted me with care. Together, we sought aid at the nearby pharmacy where he remained by my side, comforting me with kind words as the pharmacist tended to my injury. Afterwards, he ensured my safe return home in a cab.
His compassion stirred something within me, and it wasn't long before we embarked on a clandestine romance. Despite the obstacles of differing faiths and financial struggles, Kunle's affection knew no bounds. I vividly recall our moments together, sharing tears and dreams by the roadside. Through his hardships, I stood by him, offering solace, sustenance, and unwavering support. Our love knew no limits, for we were both deeply entrenched in its embrace.
Our relationship endured in secrecy for years, until whispers reached my father's ears. I can still recall the intensity of his gaze, the fury evident in every word as he confronted me about Kunle. Unafraid, knowing I held a special place in his heart, I revealed our love to him with enthusiasm. By night's end, I had persuaded my father to accept Kunle into our lives.
Soon after, we set dates for introductions and wedding vows. Our ceremony, though modest, overflowed with happiness and anticipation for the journey ahead. I secured a typist position at a multinational corporation, shouldering our financial burdens. Our humble one-bedroom dwelling never felt burdensome; we viewed it as the cornerstone of our shared aspirations. Together, we navigated life's challenges, finding joy in simple pleasures and resilience in each other's company. As husband and wife, we stood united against the trials of the world.
Kunle secured a fantastic job opportunity through a connection of mine—an acquaintance seeking a skilled surveyor for his newly established construction firm. The role offered enticing perks and opportunities, making it an ideal fit for my husband's talents. With Kunle's career flourishing, our lives took a turn for the better. We upgraded to a spacious two-bedroom apartment in a more desirable neighbourhood, acquired a car for added convenience, and enjoyed newfound tranquillity.
As fortune smiled upon us, I discovered I was expecting our first child, marking a joyous chapter in our lives. Despite practicing different religions, our relationship served as a testament to harmony and mutual respect, earning admiration from others. Our son, Adedayo, entered the world during the Christmas season, named in honour of Kunle's late father. Adedayo brought immense happiness, embodying health, and vitality. Kunle's dedication as a father and husband filled our days with contentment and bliss.
II.
Two years later, our family welcomed a daughter, Adetoun, affectionately known as Toun. With her radiant complexion and playful demeanour, she added further joy to our household. Kunle's career ascended, earning him promotions and greater responsibilities, culminating in the construction of our dream home, which we joyfully moved into. Despite my own professional commitments, I remained supportive, supplementing Kunle's efforts wherever possible. Our kids went to the best schools, they had the best toys, clothes, and shoes. Life couldn’t have been better. Eventually, through hard work and grit Kunle rose to become an executive at the organization and he became much busier, he had to move from state to state, overseeing various projects undertaken by the organization. Then tragedy struck, one Saturday morning, Adedayo had complained of a stomach-ache after eating and I gave him some pain relief drugs and let him rest, but after a few hours, he had begun running a fever and vomiting. I was distraught, I was all alone, Kunle was away on business. I had to leave Toun with a neighbour and take Adedayo to the hospital. A few days later, Adedayo died, he was only six. I was all alone, in the hospital, my parents on the way, my husband nowhere to be found, I had called his office, but they mentioned that he was in a place which no network could reach. I didn’t see Kunle until two weeks after our son had passed. Kunle fell into a deep depression afterwards and begun drinking heavily. But we continued living our lives, he stopped travelling outside the state but instead spent more time in bars across town, coming home only at midnight. I got pregnant again, but this didn’t last, I miscarried. The doctor suggested that my stress caused it. I was stressed, the tragedy and Kunle’s sudden behaviour stressed me. Then with a stroke of luck, I became pregnant again. This pregnancy was a stressful one and at some point, I had to remain permanently in the hospital. To my surprise Kunle changed and became responsible once more, taking care of Toun and taking care of me. On valentine’s day our child Aderemi came. He was a beautiful boy, who looked so much like Kunle. Kunle was overjoyed. On advice of our doctors and relatives, Kunle and I decided that it was best if I quit my job and focused full time on taking care of the kids. I reluctantly accepted, as I wasn’t one who liked being idle. I conceded on the fact that Kunle would open a shop for me to operate. He accepted and life continued. It wasn’t long before Kunle went back to his old ways, now he became worse. I turned a blind eye at first, but I couldn’t continue especially when he began carrying all sorts of women, flaunting them openly to my face. It hurt that my husband will be calling other women’s names while he had sex with me. I was mad and frustrated.
Despite numerous family meetings, he remained obstinate. Nonetheless, I channelled my energy into my children and my shop. He begrudgingly provided the monthly upkeep after our quarrels, yet he constantly belittled me, claiming I was lazy and incapable of earning a living. Then the beatings began, starting with slaps before escalating to blows. However, the emotional wounds inflicted by his constant insults cut deeper than any physical pain. Intimacy with him became agonizing and burdensome. The children rarely saw him, their only solace being the assurance of attending good schools. Their academic excellence astonished me, given the turmoil at home. To shield them from the chaos, I ensured they attended boarding school for their secondary education and pursued university studies far from home.
III.
Over the years, Kunle's presence waned, and financial support dwindled. After university, the children refused to return home, having endured enough childhood trauma. Instead, I sought solace in their company, residing with each of them for extended periods. I poured out the love denied by Kunle, cherishing them as my guiding lights. Despite their pleas and Remi's ultimatum to cease the abuse, I couldn't bring myself to leave Kunle. My love for him, though tainted by neglect, eclipsed my own well-being. Even as the children urged my departure, I remained, tethered by a love that defied reason.Today, Kunle returned home, his expression devoid of emotion. He grunted, announcing his retirement, to which I offered muted congratulations under my breath. Heading to the kitchen, I returned with food, and we ate in silence. After the meal, I tended to the dishes before retiring to the bedroom, wincing from the soreness inflicted by his earlier actions. As I sat on the bed, I realized I was nearing the end of my fifties, feeling the weight of age upon me.
Despite my efforts, my feelings towards Kunle had soured into disgust and resentment. Even in prayer, I struggled to find forgiveness for the ways he had marred my life. That night, he attempted to provoke an argument, and when I refused to engage, he lunged toward me, his hand raised in anger. Suddenly, his face contorted in horror, his hand frozen in mid-air as his chest clenched in pain. Recognizing the signs of a heart attack, I rushed to his side, ensuring he remained stable until help arrived.
The doctor later confirmed that the heart attack had resulted in a stroke. I notified our children, who rushed to his bedside. Tears filled Kunle's eyes as he attempted to speak, but his words remained unheard. Observing their emotionless reactions, I felt a pang of sadness. Despite Kunle's attempts to reach out to them, they recoiled, avoiding his touch, a silent testament to the rift between them. I gazed at him, astonished by the absence of pity within me, feeling nothing at all. The atmosphere grew dense, as if I had worn a facade for far too long, masking my identity as Folashade behind the guise of my husband, Kunle. With clarity dawning upon me, the love I once felt had transmuted into a potent poison, corroding both myself and my children. Yet, witnessing him in his vulnerability, his pain-filled eyes, stirred an unexpected vitality within me. I swallowed the antidote of love, feeling its healing effects course through me.
With resolve, I took hold of Adetoun and Aderemi, and together, we departed from the hospital. For the first time in decades, I breathed a sigh devoid of knots in my stomach. Though I knew I must spend the remainder of my days atoning for the catalyst of my freedom, I felt no sadness, anger, or guilt. Instead, I embraced a sense of contentment and anticipation for a future untethered from Kunle. Like a desert finding peace, I found solace in the tranquillity of my newfound path.