When Marriage Turns Monster & Death Rewrites It

For an entire period of seven years, I was thought to be the most fortunate married woman simply because I was wearing a ring and remained silent. But nobody considered that sometimes silence might be the loudest form of discomfort. When I along with Adjei stepped into matrimony, I was under the impression that he was the one; a companion, with whom I would share joy, create an existence, and develop together. I was of the opinion that marriage is like a partnership, not a jail. But the day after our wedding, I had to face a very harsh reality: Some individuals do show their true characters only after getting married, not before.

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The real Adjei was quickly shown. His first slap came when I “offended him” for not speaking to him with the respect he thought he deserved. The second one was because the dinner was not ready when he wanted it to be. The third time? I really can’t even think of a reason. The incidents were always unimportant but the pain was considerable. I started mastering the wearing of long sleeves, putting on extra make-up to hide my cheeks and being cheerful on the outside with my heart being completely crushed inside. People say that marriage comes with a lot of good things so I made myself believe that all I needed was to wait. Maybe, just maybe, if I tried harder, loved more and caused my pain to die out, he would eventually treat me as a wife and not as a punching bag.

But then, you see, abuse is like a very hungry beast every time you feed it, it grows bigger and bigger. Adjei did not limit his violence to physical abuse; he devastated me in all possible ways financially, emotionally, mentally, and spiritually.

He never paid for school fees, bought books, uniforms, or food nothing. Every month when my salary arrived, he would drain my account completely. I don’t know if he saw me as a wife or an ATM without a PIN. Even when I pleaded for a small amount for food, he would respond, “If you want food, come to me.” Meanwhile, when I approached him for just a little money, he would become furious. He strode in and out of our home like a king, careless, arrogant, the type of man who always proclaimed, “I’m the head of the house. I don’t need to explain myself.”

But heads are meant to lead, not to destroy. For seven years silencing fear was my lot. My children learned to hide when their father came home in a fit of rage. They learned to read my eyes, to tell when Mommy was pretending. They learned to be quiet far too soon. Children shouldn’t grow up figuring out how to survive adults. I reported him once, but his family begged me not to. My family said, “Marriage is like that. Nothing is easy.”

I almost died in that marriage, not physically but emotionally. I was already lost before I eventually left. The day I gathered the courage, I didn’t shout, cry or argue. I just said, “I can’t take it anymore. I’m leaving.”

He certainly transformed the situation into a fight. The usual accusations of being ungrateful, worthless, and lazy abusive men’s common phrases to cover their guilt came out. But I didn’t respond this time. I summoned my kids, took back my dignity, and took what was left of my sanity with me and then I left. I booked a tiny room, not something fancy, just a space where tranquility reigned. After a long time battling through suffocation, peace was like oxygen. For the first time in many years, I fearlessly slept. For the first time in many years, the children played and laughed without restraint and my heart felt like it was mine again.

My family and his family sought to intervene and fix the struggle. There were gatherings, talks, desperate calls, apologies plus the subsequent excuses.

Then came the shocking news of Adjei’s death. There was no prior warning, no sickness, no closure. I was not present when the incident took place. They said he had complaints about chest pains the night before and that he was found dead the following morning. Just like that.

When he breathed his last the moment he died, my story died with him. Apparently, to the outside world, it seemed as if:

Aku was married untill death sepated them. Aku was a loyal wife that suffered. Aku’s marriage was over because it was God’s will.

But my insides were yelling: “No. I quit. I turned my back.”

I could not display my injuries; I could not tell my story; I could not be proud and proclaim, “I got divorced because he made me a wreck.” I could not take back my power the way I planned. Even at the burial, some people said, “Awww, poor Aku. She must be suffering so much.” Suffering? Yes, but not for the same reasons they thought. I was suffering because with his death, my story changed. The world would not know of my struggle. People love to pay tribute to the dead; nobody asks about their during-alive-interactions.

Sometimes, I lie down remembering all the time I wasted and dreaming if I had left, spoken, screamed, and protected myself sooner. If there is one thing I feel bad about it is my silence. I prolonged my stay, guarding the reputation of a man who had already broken me.

I found out that if you do not tell your story quickly the world will transform it in a way that suits them. And that is why today I call upon all women: “Depart early. If possible, make noise during your departure. Do not allow your story to become unrecognized by death or life.”

My tale did not end the way I wanted it to. But I have not perished. My offspring have not perished and that is sufficient. Adjei’s demise did not put an end to the character he attempted to obliterate; she will continue to exist. Moreover, she will be heard from.

—Yaw

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