Soon after I finished at Berkeley, I think it dawned on my father that his frowns aimed at young men who lounged too close to me during visits, might have to morph into a weird, welcoming grimace at least. A smile would have been too much to ask for. It wasn’t an easy thing for him but bless his heart, he jumped into the task of educating his daughter on the big, bad world ahead with gusto. My dad flew 16 hours to spend 24 hours with me at my graduation, and we spent a lot of that time talking. My father charmed my friends at our graduation reception, giving them advice on life and love. I remember being fascinated at their delight. I forget that not everyone has parents like mine; accessible, down-to-earth, funny. I internally rolled my eyes as he droned on about things I must never allow in a relationship. The hilarious thing is my father’s lectures always seemed to begin with a random number, “Five (5) Things You Must Never Tolerate From A Man”, “Three (3) Things to Watch Out for in A Relationship” and his personal favourite, “THREE (3) SIGNS TO SPOT A BEATER.” *All caps for emphasis*.
Anita and I would call each other up across continents at the time and begin our chats with;
Anita: “Did daddy give you the 7 things…”
Me: “He gave me 5!! Wait, what are your extra 2?! Why didn’t he tell me…does he like you more? Tell me the other two jor!!!”
Lol.
The older I grow, the more I realise how favoured I am to have a father who can turn any discussion; I mean talk about the weather, goat procreation, Lipton prices, daddy will find a way to turn the conversation back into a discussion on returning home to the parents THE FIRST DAY a man slaps you.
It was funny then. It’s not so funny now.
It was funny then because I assumed these were stories. It was funny then because I thought that he was exaggerating; being dramatic. People- smart people, confident women- did not get beaten. Maybe by weird boyfriends they had at 16 when a girl is still restless for a challenge, certainly not a self-possessed woman in her twenties. Definitely not an assertive woman in her thirties! And never by a person who pledged love before God, man and a ton of villagers who came for the free rice and gossip. A husband was the crowning glory of a good woman, a being vetted by family, loved by all and honoured by the gift of his beautiful bride.
Right.
I didn’t know abuse happened so often in marriages. In relationships. Like rape, it’s not often talked about but it is present. I recently joined a group where women trade war stories. Married women, single women, widows. United in the common purpose of complaining about men real talk. It’s a safe space for women to share and get a warm hug or a hand to hold…which is the most human contact some women have had in a long time. It’s a powerful group because regardless of what the magazine gods tell us, many women do not have a support system they can lean on without fear of judgment and a liberal sprinkling of shame.
The other day, Ada and I spoke about the support group. We marveled at the courage of some women in sharing their experiences, particularly against the backdrop of a culture, the Nigerian culture, which is often so oppressive to women. It’s one which makes a taboo of sharing suffering, that preaches against, “…washing one’s dirty linen in public”. A culture which teaches generation after generation of girls to practice silence, that punishes the wounded and shames the victims. We are told to stay quiet. To nurse our tears privately. We’re warned to remain calm. “Focus on your children!!”. Because after all, marriage is not to be enjoyed but endured. When women are abused in their own homes, the one place you should be assured of sanctuary, we tell them to wait, to stay, because we don’t divorce in our family. Because, you’re not the first woman to be beaten. Because, “You must have done something to make him angry enough to beat you.”
Or spit on you, or tell you exactly why you will never amount to anything. Or simply point out all the things you are not.
I have heard too many tales of abuse in recent times and this frightens me because all I can imagine is someone doing some of the things I’ve heard to the girls I love the most, my sisters. I can already feel my toes twitching in anxiety just thinking about it. Abuse is an odd thing. It requires a bit of mental gymnastics first. It needs a fertile mind, one trained to the point where it is suspectible to manipulation. Vulnerability can be training; Love in the hand of a Machiavellian is training enough. Vulnerability leaves a person open to abuse because when we love, we trust. We trust the opinions of those we love. And an abuser…well, can abuse those powers we voluntarily place in their hands. An abuser will teach you to normalise the abnormal.
I thought today I’d point out one sign of a psychopath person or a relationship with the tendency to devolve into abuse.
Now, what do I know about abuse? I am no expert, thank God, but I have dodged a bullet or two in my time. I will never forget my response to Namdi years ago when he asked me why I stopped talking to a certain young man. I said, “There were SO many red flags, it was a BLOOD BATH!!!”
So here’s my, ‘One Sign to Avoid a Blood Bath’:
When you play your Joker, Last Card AND Check Up…he still asks you to go to Market!
If you play Whot cards, the sentence above might already be making one part of your brain fry in irritation. Be cool. Lol. Ladies and gentlemen, it is possible for a person to LOVE you but not LIKE you. You might make sense on paper, tick all the right boxes;
- Christian
- Pretty
- Slim
- Doctor
- Homely (for real what does anyone know what this actually means?! As my friend Leila said, “Am I supposed to smell of cookies?!)
- Decent family
Check.
Check. But, who are you when all these covers are removed? What’s the character at the base? You’re fighting a losing battle if who you naturally are is irritating to the other person, despite the many ‘logical’ boxes you tick. You might find yourself perpetually auditioning for the role of Significant Other. An audition you cannot win…as the part has already been given to another actress in his head.
No one who truly loves the person you are will make you perpetually jump through hoops. That na bad market.
If you do this, you will rob yourself of peace because the rest of your life will be spent trimming large chunks of your personality off in a bid to fit something you’re not personally convinced you need to fit. It means perpetually trying to prove something you can’t prove…it’s like proving equations in secondary school Mathematics class. Pointless.
You are simply not enough for this person. Let me save you the wahala, you will never be enough.
I am really concerned by the number of women dealing with verbal, emotional not to even begin to think of physical abuse. I wonder how it begins, how accurate my dad’s “3 SIGNS TO SPOT A BEATER” theories are (includes suggestions like check his interactions with people he has power over, e.g his staff), how quickly things devolve from the first unkind comment or comparison?
I have no answers, I’ll just share my mother’s advice:
My mother once told me, “What you won’t take in marriage, don’t tolerate- at all- before marriage.”
So do as the Dean of Student Affairs told me on my first day at university;
Oh Wendelyn! 