It’s been four years and nothing has changed. I’m giving up. I don’t know when but very soon I would. And this has brought me the courage to share my story with you.
I’m a church girl. I mean I’m the girl you’ll call “Chrife” and be right every day. Majority of my days are spent in church because there’s always something there for me to do.
It was in the church that I found my first boyfriend. We dated for three years and he traveled overseas. A year after he traveled, he told me to find someone else because he wasn’t going to come back anytime soon. Two years after he broke up with me, he came back, married another woman and took her overseas to live with him.
I wasn’t angry. God’s time is the best and I’ve always believed what’s really mine can’t be taken away from me. I was happy for him and wished him well. I was even the lead singer during their wedding.
Then I met Fiifi. Fiifi and I became close and he later proposed to me and I said yes. I’ve known Fiifi for a very long time. We both are members of the church choir. The kind of voice he has is like nothing I’ve seen in any human. The church is different whenever he leads worship. You feel fulfilled whenever he sings the solo. He’s a good man and kind at heart.
The first rule he set for our relationship was “no sex until we marry.” I understood him clearly because both of us can’t be having sex and stand in front of the congregation and pretend we are the holiest among holies. Who are we deceiving?
For the two years that we were dating, we never had sex. I must admit, we kissed but we left it there. We avoided every encounter that would lead to sex, we were that determined to keep the temple of the Lord clean.
Two years after dating, we got married. You could imagine the bliss and pride in my heart that day—for going through dating without committing premarital sex. I felt deserved of the veil and the snow-white gown. When he finally lifted the veil, the significance of the whole process dawned on me. It felt like he was unveiling something that has been hidden from view for so long. I still remember that feeling.
The first night of our honeymoon, I had a game plan—I had mentally pictured how our first sex was going to be like. I had played it over and over again in my mind and all the details were stuck in my mind’s eye.
Immediately we entered the room, I was all over him. We started kissing and got pressed together. I could feel his bulge. It got harder and harder as we kept kissing and touching. I couldn’t take it any longer. By this time we were both naked so I lied on the bed waiting for his thrust.
I was yearning for him as he laid on me to insert. As soon as he put it in, he lost his bulge. His thing went dead and soft. It was so sudden and quick that I thought something was wrong. He looked at me, embarrassed. He said; “I guess I’m little too tired. Let’s have some sleep. We can do it at dawn.” He kissed me and turned to the wall and slept.
I couldn’t sleep. I didn’t know whether to be angry or even hit his head with a mall hammer. But dawn wasn’t far away so I pepped myself up to sleep.
I awoke around 6am and this guy was already dressed and ready for church. The church starts at 9am but at 6am he was already up and ready to go. I only gave him a stare, turned on my other side and continued sleeping. He tapped on my shoulder, “Darling, it’s already morning. Get up and let’s start our devotion so you can get ready early for church.”
We had our devotion and later went to church. I must admit, the events of the night got me thinking and scared. I was at church but didn’t hear a word of what was said that day. “Is that how it’s going to be every day?” I asked myself over and over again.
Another night, the same story. The next night was even worse. It goes down, I give it a hand job to get it up, then it would go down again on entry, then another handjob to get it up. On and off and on till we both got tired and gave up.
Finally, we both accepted there was a problem. He confessed he had had a glimpse of the problem with his former girlfriend but he thought it was something that had to do with the ex-girlfriend so he didn’t take it seriously.
We visited hospitals but had no improvement after months. We resorted to herbal drugs and after several months nothing worked out. I was in serious distress and needed someone to talk to. He always cried to me to keep it a secret and rather talk to God about it since he’s the ultimate healer. It became the prayer topic of our morning devotions and night prayers but we still didn’t have the results.
After a year so of our marriage, I gathered the courage and spoke to our pastor about it. We were called to the pastor’s home and counseled for over hours. We prayed and the pastor gave us directions. When we went home that night he was very angry that I’ve taken the problem to the pastor. He was concerned about what people would say than finding solutions.
In the third year of marriage, issues of childbirth came up. His mum thought I was the problem and started giving me herbal drugs to speed up the pregnancy process. My parent thought same too. My mum took me to several prayer camps. Many pastors touched my stomach and prayed for a seed to sprout in me. I was eager to help save the face of my husband and my marriage. Some people in the choir accused me of suffering barrenness because of previous abortions. I bore it all just to save the face of my marriage and all the while looking up to the face of God for a miracle.
Our marriage was four years in January and still this man I call husband isn’t able to perform his nightly duties as a man. The sad thing is, people look at my face and think I’m the problem. My husband sings in church and some of them even cry so they think he’s far from afflictions.
The breaking point for me is this…
Now the mother of my husband lives with us. The main purpose of her staying with us is to ensure I drink the herbal concoctions she prepares for me every morning and evening. To her innocent mind, I’ve not been taking the drugs well that’s why it hasn’t worked all this while. She’s here to ensure I take it every morning and evening without fail.
How long can I continue playing this charade?
Not for too long, I can feel it in my spirit. I am tired and almost broken. There are only two people I owe explanations to—my mom and my dad. I know the day I decide it’s finally over, they would be the first people to ask why. That day, I will lay down all the sufferings I’ve been through for the past four years under their feet. I will tell them how bitter those concoctions taste like and will let them know I tried. I would let them know I believed in miracles but maybe, just maybe miracles didn’t believe in me.
And no, I won’t cry when I finally decide to walk away. I would walk with my head held up high knowing I tried. Knowing I believed. Knowing I wanted the best for both of us. I wasn’t given the chance to prove how good I could be as a wife and a mother, but if I leave now, I could have another chance at love and who knows, the bulge might not die any longer.
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