Sunday, 13 October 2013
He carries me in his arms, in public, in my home, on a corridor, from a car. I giggle like a dump blonde that I am the exact opposite of. I hold on to him tight, not cos I think he will drop me, no it's cos he is soooo dear and I can't get enough of his smell. His delicious mix of man, dust, and Gucci.
I am Zara, 33 and single. I am Hausa, a medical doctor with a paying job. An amazing family that is close and neat. I was born with a spoon, it might not be made from any of the world's precious stones but I was born with a spoon. It fed me educated me all the while changing from copper to diamond no, not rubies. My siblings and I were given the right to express ourselves, to live with our decisions, to explore our wants and dreams. Our home was made a safety net. Somehow, we had turned mum and dad to our 911 call. And like all 911 calls they only got that call when there is trouble.
Right now, am in one of those 911 moments but I am not sure if I should make the call. Because like 911 once that call is made, there is no going back. The protocols and investigations go on, the decisions no longer become mine. In an effort to protect me, they will whisk me away from it all whether am guilty or not.
When he proposed I thought, okay, why is he rushing, and said to him let's see. Soon I saw. I saw Islam far more than I thought I understood it. I saw a man with a good heart, a man that would care for my family like he would his. But I also saw a well educated man with high chances of success. You know, he is a girl's check list. So, by the 7th time he asked me to marry him in the 6months I had known him, I said yes. Even though he dint have a stable income, I knew we could sort that out easily.
My wedding was a fairy tale. My family went all out. As the only girl of my parents, they were ready to do it all. My dress was not a Vera wang but it was beautiful, the hall was beautiful, everyone and everything was beautiful. Rich purple a notch less deeper than violet, and champagne gold, danced around me, all over the place I saw pictures of Zara and Ismail, our smiles, love dancing in our eyes, our names in print. We were hugged, smothered, kissed, touched, carried. Our friends surprised us, coming from soooo far away, America were Ismail schooled, London my masters and some work. If ever cheeks could tear apart on their own mine would have and if truly, hearts could burst, mine would have. I was filled with joy, excitement and love.
I am 27 now, we have been married 3years now, and the things I saw translated to this: my husband and I are happy 2days out of 7days. We now have that stable income that I predicted we will get easily but as it turns out, there is sooooo much more that I was missing. At first glance it looks like my husband and I have the same level of exposure, but when you take a second look you see the difference between silver and white gold.
Did my husband hang around women, no. Did my husband beat me, no. Did my husband fail to give me shelter or food, no. Did my husband disrespect me, no. So why are we not happy? It's simple we are too different. But how did a simple thing slip away from me. Marriage is too important to me.
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