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Posts Tagged With: Abuse

Even men cry too (part III)

Click to read Part 1

Click to read Part 2

“You lied to me Mike,” she started. “You told me you were on a business trip. Guess what? I called your workplace and they told me that you were on vacation.”

I folded my arms across my chest, discovering quite suddenly that I wasn’t ashamed that I’d lied to her. In fact, I was kind of glad that she had discovered the truth. I reasoned she’d come to realize that I wasn’t happy in our marriage and perhaps, would be willing to work with me on how we could resolve our situation.

“Yes, I lied to you,” I replied. “I needed some alone time to reflect on the state of our relationship.”

“And what conclusion did you come to?” she asked scornfully.

“Chichi,” I began, “I think we should talk about this when I come back home.”

“No. I demand to know what decision you’ve arrived at,” she shouted, her body language speaking of an aggression that was well familiar to me.

I turned away, refusing to dialogue anymore. That was when she pulled my shirt and tore the material in a single split. I shrugged her off, but that action only plummeted any form of control that was left in her 5 foot 4 inches body.

“Get off me,” I said, warding her off again, knowing that if the squabble worsened, the Police wouldn’t believe me if I told them she had hit me. I’m a black man with a strong Nigerian accent so it’s only going to be natural for them to believe that I had been the abuser.  Forcing myself to calm down, I turned to plead with her only to accidentally hit her elbow with my hand. That was the cue she needed to let her anger seep out like a broken dam. She screamed, ran to the kitchenette and brought out a table knife.

Pointing the knife at me, she screeched, “You want to leave me, right? You want to end our marriage, right? After I lost our only child to your indiscretions and had my tummy warped, you now want to end our marriage? I promise you, I won’t make it easy for you. I’ll kill you first, then I’ll kill myself.”

And all I could think to myself was “Dis woman don craze finish.

I backed up against the wall, wishing I could somehow reach the phone to call for help. Never had I seen Chichi look so unstable. The beauty I once thought she had, pulled off her face like a mask, as she screamed vengeance.

“Chichi, calm down.”

But she was past caring. With eyes filled with the hot energy of retaliation, she reached for me. I ran. She chased. I ran some more. She chased even more, and as we did our cat and mouse dance, our yells became louder. It wasn’t long before insistent knocks rapped on the door of my hotel room, with voices demanding that I open the door. After what seemed to be like several minutes, the door came crashing down. The Security men ran to me first, holding me down.  But when Chichi came charging at me as they held me in their tight grip, they realized that the perpetrator in this dance of terror was Chichi. They held her, demanding that she quiet down. Unfortunately, Chichi was too far crazed to listen to them and she charged at them, intending to do them physical harm.

It’s been a year since the vicious event in Houston. Chichi was arrested and sentenced. I divorced her, while she continued receiving therapy in her anger management class – as that was what the Judge demanded at trial in lieu of jail time. I am still in the process of picking my life’s pieces, but it’s not been easy. My friends have been sensitive enough not to bother me with words of “I told you so”, but deep down, I still beat myself for falling for charm, forgetting that charm, like they say is fleeting, and that beauty, as they say, is vain. The most important lesson I have learned in all this is that I see the concept of beauty far different from most people’s view. For me, beauty runs skin deep, because I’ve come to understand that a beautiful woman without any form of control is like placing an expensive gold ring in a pig’s nose.

And you may judge me for all I care, but God knows, I’m so done with pigs.

***Originally posted December 7, 2011

Get my latest book, Lessons in Love, now available at Amazon and in Nigeria, exclusively at Takada Books.

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Categories: My Stories | Tags: , , , , | 19 Comments

Even men cry too

Perhaps I am a jerk for divorcing Chichi for reasons other than infidelity, but the truth is, I’d had enough in the sham that I called my marriage.

My friends said not to settle; that my decision to marry her would eventually bite me in the butt, but I’d been in such haste to have Chichi to myself that I shunned their advice.  I somehow convinced myself that I could adapt to her temperament. I even arrogantly believed that I could change her.  You see, there are not that many beautiful Nigerian girls in Atlanta willing to date guys like me – guys who are shy, short and rotund. Since I wasn’t a big catch in terms of physical features, to have Chichi consenting to date me, talk less of marrying me, had been a huge deal.

She was everything a man like me could ever dream of: Petite, light-skinned with long hair – not the one that carried extensions or weaves. Hers was real, the kind of hair a man wasn’t afraid to touch for fear that it came from the head of some poor Asian who had sold her thick locks of hair for the next meal.  She had a sharp mind too, never lacking for topics to converse on, so it wasn’t surprising that she was well up on her way to becoming a big player at the bank where she worked. I’m no poet, but honestly, her smile was like the bright rays of the sun. And when she frowned, I sighed with fascination.

There was just something very cute about her every facial expression. She often made me wish that I was a painter so I could capture every look on her stunning face.  People who saw us together frequently wondered how a beauty like her could be with a guy like me. I considered myself the luckiest of men, until her flaw came out like the murky waters under a clear sea.  Hers was a vice that took the form of uncontrolled rage, lashing out at anyone and anything.

The first time I saw her throw a tantrum, it had happened in a cozy restaurant.  The waiter, a white racist who couldn’t stomach the idea of two blacks eating out in a classy restaurant, had attempted to make our dinner a frustrating exercise. He was rude, but I don’t think he deserved the plate strike on his face, almost ending up with a blind eye. Chichi and I found ourselves escorted out of the restaurant by Security, as she wouldn’t stop screaming obscenities at the waiter and the restaurant’s management.

The second time I saw her lash out was some few weeks to our wedding when she had slashed my tires. We’d had an argument over the number of people we were inviting to the wedding.  It was during that time that I began to encourage her to take anger management classes, but she rebuffed my advice.

Third time, she threw a fit because the wine cups we ordered for the wedding arrived late. Chichi visited the factory that made the cups and hit the manager with her heeled shoe when he couldn’t provide an answer to why the cups hadn’t arrived.  She spent that night in Jail for harassment, and we had to cough out thousands to bail her out. Fortunately, the matter was settled out of court as the manager dropped the charges; unfortunately, my parents were in town when this last squabble happened and they verbalized doubts about Chichi.

For a while, marriage to Chichi was bliss until she became pregnant and suddenly, the time bomb in her head went off one Friday when I returned home late from a night out with my buddies. She accused me of sleeping around, and of not being physically attracted to her. It was a lousy fight, but it wouldn’t have been so bad if she’d controlled herself.  When I tried explaining that I wasn’t doing any of the things she accused me of, she smacked me in the face, threatening to call 911 if I retaliated, as I so badly wanted to do. Something died in me when she struck me and it took a while for me to figure out that every love I thought I had for her disappeared that night. I didn’t want any more altercation, so I walked out of the house, confused at my wife’s violent nature.

I came back home the next morning to a quiet house, unaware that the situation was about to get worse, real fast.

Enjoyed this? Watch out for part II 🙂

*Image culled from dr1.com

 

Post originally posted November 16, 2011.

Categories: My Stories | Tags: , , , , , | 14 Comments

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