Three years after her wedding, Adaora, pregnant again, was hospitalized after chief
Timothy shoved her down the stairs for responding slowly when he called her.
Mgbafo, Adaora’s mother, came to the hospital.
“…Didn’t I warn you not to wear those heels during pregnancy? Thank God your
husband was around to rush you to the hospital when you fell and dislocate your ankle.”
“I didn’t wear heels…” Adaora said, wiping her overflowing red eyes. Her left ankle
wrapped in casts.
“Ok, but Chief confirmed you have been very clumsy; maybe I should come over…”
“No, I just got dizzy and fell; you don’t have to. I’m ok”
“You should’ve listened to him and rest a lot; you’re just too stubborn…I’ll ask him to get
you a maid”
“No need, It was my fault…he didn’t mean to push me…”
“Push you? OMG!! It’s him…again!!!” said her mother.
“Not really…I said I’m fine! He didn’t push me. And please don’t ask him!”
“Why not? This has to stop! When he vowed last time never to hit you again I thought…”
Mgbafo wondered why Adaora was so scared.
“Mom, I’m fine and I’m not leaving my children. Just let it go…” Adaora looked away.
“You can’t go on like this; how can I help?”
“Stop asking questions.” Now dry eyed, she stared at nothing.
Adaora got her first punches for burning dinner a month after the marriage.
She ran to her parents; her husband, Chief Timothy, pleaded, Adaora went back; then
he beat her again for unapproved outing one day, another, for disturbing his sleep,
another for arguing.
Every week, she got bruises.
When she reports, she got beaten for telling; so, Adaora started lying about her injuries.
It was a cut, gardening accident…an allergy; the list was limitless.
“Don’t do this; I’m aware since after retiring, your father smiled again when you
wedded…but it’s your life; the punches will not stop...I should know…” said Mgbafo;
fifty-eight, defeated, fully grey and wrinkled.
“There’s no punch, just accidents! He needs me to stay” Adaora said, making eye
contact. Tears flowing.
Mgbafo recognized that look, thinking: He’s so selfish!
Mgbafo, plump, short and naturally subservient went through it; Mgbafo’s mother,
Adaora’s grandma, also.
They stayed married.
“Ok, I understand but please stay safe; try not to provoke him, talk back or argue.
Always flee whenever you sense his temper rising… you can talk to me anytime. I know
you’re scared of him.”
“I’ll be fine...” Adaora said emotionlessly, purplish bruises all over her face. At twenty,
sagging and weighing two-twenty pounds, she looked forty-five.
“I know you’ll be fine, just be careful” Mgbafo said.
A month later, Adaora, beaten with a broken arm, returned home again; Livid, her
father, Ichie Okonkwo paced his living room, arms held together behind him as if cuffed.
Finally, he got hold of himself.
“Ch-ch-chi-e-e-ef T-t-timothy ought to be pa-a-tient with you and not d-d-drive you out of
ma-a-trimo-ny…this is s-s-so unfair. W-why is this ha-hap-hap-happening to me now?
Why did he d-d-drove you out of the ha-ha-how-se….Did you dis-s-sobey him? Is that
why he sent you back like this?” he asked. His stuttering was more pronounced when
he got upset.
“No papa, I mistakenly broke his reading glasses.” Adaora said with head bowed.
“N-n-n-nonsense! This f-f-fa-family doesn’t d-d-d-de-serve this!!! F-f-f-f-for us not to
become the la-a-aughing stock of t-t-the village, you must go b-b-back and apologize
and m-m-m-make sure he send me the m-m-m-mo-mo-money he p-pro-o-prom-ised me
for my upcoming udu ceremony and s-s-s-stop being careless; it’s very selfish of you!!!”
Ichie Okonkwo said vehemently, offended.
