02/09/2025
I was just 19 years old when an abroad husband came and married me.
Before then, the only time I ever saw him was during December, when he came home for his father’s chieftaincy title. That was when our paths crossed. Everyone around me kept saying I was a good girl, fresh from secondary school, well-behaved, respectful.
He said he liked me, that I was young, vibrant, bright, and he would like to marry me.
I looked at him and told him plainly, “I want to go to school. I don’t want to be illiterate.”
He smiled and assured me, “Don’t worry, I will train you. Rest assured, I will support your education.”
When I told my parents, they said it was a good idea since he promised to train me. My friends too said, “At least, if he marries you, he will carry you abroad. Imagine studying nursing and traveling, life will be easy for you.”
That was how I accepted. My dream was to be a nurse.
But immediately after marriage, everything changed. He told me he had a lot to fix abroad, so he would travel back while I stayed behind and went to school. I agreed. I didn’t know I was already pregnant.
At first, I thought it was malaria. I told my mother-in-law one morning, “Mama, I feel feverish, I want to buy malaria drugs.”
The way her face lit up with a smile confused me.
“My daughter, you don’t just treat malaria anyhow again. You are married now,” she said.
Then she added softly, *“Please, I don’t want anything to happen to my grandchild.”
“Grandchild? Which grandchild?” I asked, shocked.
She insisted on taking me for a test, and it turned out positive. That was the beginning of my agony.
I couldn’t go to school again. The pregnancy hit me hard, fever, vomiting, constant weakness. My husband had already traveled, and the little money he sent always passed through his family. By the time everyone took their share, what reached me was barely enough. They would say, “You are living in the family house, you are not the one cooking or feeding anybody. Manage this.”
I endured. I gave birth to my first child in that house. Still, I begged my husband for privacy, at least a flat where I could stay with my child and welcome my own mother if she wanted to visit.
He refused. “Stay with my family, they will keep an eye on you,” he said.
I didn’t know if it was distrust or control, but I obeyed.
Three years passed before I saw my husband again. By then, I was already a mother of one. When he returned, I cried out, “What about my life? My school? My future?”
He told me to calm down. He promised, again, that I would study nursing abroad, that my certificate would be better there. Out of naivety, I believed. We spent time together, and I got pregnant again.
It became a cycle. See my husband once every three years, carry another pregnancy, raise another child. Meanwhile, I was stuck in Nigeria, stripped of my dreams, while he lived freely abroad. People would see me and admire, *“Her husband is abroad oh,”* but they didn’t know my tears at night. They didn’t know I felt like a baby-making factory.
One afternoon, I was in the kitchen stirring stew when I overheard my mother-in-law on a call with him.
“How is Sasha? How is Anderson? How is Tochukwu? Hope my grandsons are bouncing?” she asked.
Her voice was soft, almost secretive, and she kept peeping into the kitchen door to check if I was listening.
My hands froze on the spoon. My heart dropped. Who were Sasha and Anderson? Why was she asking about them as if they were family?
That was the day I realized the bitter truth: my husband had married another woman abroad. I was only a camouflage wife, kept in Nigeria to produce children for his family name.
That night, I broke down. I asked myself, “Is this how my life will be wasted? Waiting for a man who only returns every three years with empty promises?”
When I finally summoned courage to talk to him on the phone about my wasted years, I poured my heart out:
“Five years have passed. You promised me education, a future. All I have are children and broken promises. Don’t you see you’ve wasted my life?”
Instead of remorse, his voice came sharp and dismissive.
“You’re not even happy that I married a village girl like you? Do you think a graduate like me would have ever settled down with you if not for the urge to marry someone at home?”
My chest burned. I held the phone tight, my heart pounding, tears stinging my eyes. That was the moment everything became clear to me—I was never his priority. To him, I was just a convenience, a placeholder.
That night, I made a decision. I told myself, No more. My life will not remain in his shadow.
And that was the beginning of my turnaround.
I packed my things and decided I was leaving. Come and see American wonder. Come and see drama.
My mother-in-law and sister in law's stood gidigbam and said,
“If you leave this house, we will come and collect our dowry. Aren’t you happy that we’re taking care of you?”
She kept ranting, but I paid deaf ears to her.
My plan was just to leave and get myself first. Get a job and start something with my life. But when she kept threatening me, I made up my mind, I was leaving and nothing was stopping me.
My kids insisted they were leaving with me.
After much drama, my father-in-law decided they should let me go.
I went with my kids, and I told my mother-in-law that they could always come pick them up. I was never denying them access to their sons.
I left and stayed with my parents, despite them being against it.
Moreover, I don’t know the agreement my husband had with their family, but they came and collected my dowry the next day after I left.
That was when I took my destiny into my own hands. I found a job.
Quietly, I applied for nursing school after a year. I juggled school and work. It wasn’t easy, but every night I told myself, *Better to suffer now for a future I can own, than suffer forever in bo***ge.
There were days I cried, but after crying, I would wipe my tears and continue with life.
Years later, I graduated. I got a good job. I raised my children with my own hands. I didn’t deny them access to their father because he hurt me, not them. But I no longer depended on him.
And life has a funny way of turning around. His marriage abroad eventually crashed. The wife discovered he had me here and took him to court, divorced him, and turned his children against him.
Broken, he returned to Nigeria, begging me to forgive him.
Even the mother kept begging,
“Ka akpo ife niile Tara n’ayasi awuta.” (Let’s call everything that bites in the night mosquito.)
But I said no.
I beg your pardon, everything that bites in the night is not mosquito. Some are witches who come into your life to delay you and make you a nobody.
But by then, I had moved on. I told him plainly, “Go and collect your dowry from your family. They’ve collected it for you years ago. I have no space for you in my life anymore.”
By then, I was already in a new relationship, standing tall, independent, and fulfilled.
I met him at the hospital. He loved me and appreciated me for who I was. Sometimes love can find you even in places you never thought it would be.
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Moral of the Story
Don’t let anyone put your life on hold while they live theirs. Marriage should not be the end of your dreams. If you have a passion, pursue it. If you have children, love them but don’t lose yourself in the process.
A woman’s life does not end at childbirth. She can rise, she can study, she can work, and she can thrive.
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