FRAGMENTS OF A HEAVY HEART

Fragments of a Heavy Heart

Growing up in a community where a girl’s worth is measured by the honor she brings to her family through marriage was never easy. No matter how hard I studied or how fiercely I fought for independence, I was still haunted by the unyielding norms and beliefs of African society.

I remember when I had just turned twenty-two; the whispers began, and everyone around me grew increasingly concerned about why I wasn’t married yet. In their eyes, women age quickly, while men seem to defy time, remaining desirable well into their fiftiesld enough to marry a girl as young as sixteen.I was a true believer in love. I dreamed of finding that special person who would make my heart flutter with excitement. So, when someone showed interest in me, made me feel cherished, and spoke the words I longed to hear, I jumped right in. He knew exactly what to say, weaving promises of a future together, and he promised me marriage.

I was ecstatic, feeling on top of the world. While everyone around me had reservations about him, I believed I understood him better. I thought their concerns were rooted in jealousy or a lack of willingness to give him a fair chance to prove himself. I met his friends and some of his family, and they welcomed me with open arms. However, as time went on, he began to reveal a different side of himself. His possessiveness became apparent if I smiled while chatting on my phone, he would start an argument, questioning who I was talking to.

He told me he was well-established and that he didn’t want a wife working at a company or associating with other men. He promised to start a small business for me, and though I wasn’t thrilled about quitting my job, I did it because I wanted to make him happy. When I thought about him, I felt he was my soulmate. Though he was a bit clingy, I overlooked it, believing it was simply a sign of the deep love he had for me. Six months later, I received the best news ever,I was prenant with the love of my life. Everything seemed to be falling into place at last. The societal pressure lifted, and we were creating a new life together, a blend of both of us.

When I shared the news with him, he was ecstatic, brimming with pride. As I looked deeply into his eyes, I saw a mix of relief and emotion, though I couldn’t quite place what it meant.

In my culture, if you become pregnant, you must go to the man’s family to inform them so they can prepare for the dowry tradition before the marriage. My parents prepared me for this important step. My grandmother accompanied me to meet his family, and I was in a happy bubble, eagerly anticipating marrying the love of my life.But nothing could have prepared me for the devastation that awaited me.

When we arrived, his mother welcomed us warmly, and soon the whole family was gatheredis father, brother, and the two women he had introduced to me as his "sisters." My heart was racing with excitement and nervous energy. I was about to become a wife, a motherverything was falling into place.Then, it all came crashing down.After we announced the pregnancy, he hesitated. His words hit me like shards of glass: "I’m not sure the baby is mine."It felt as if the air had been sucked out of the room. I couldn’t breathe. My heart, once full of love and hope, now shattered into a million pieces. He claimed he loved me, yet here he was, questioning our bond, doubting my faithfulness. I stared at him, waiting for him to say it was all a mistake, but he didn’t. He kept talking, but his words were a blur I'll take responsibility... because of my love for you.

Love? This wasn’t love. This was betrayal wrapped in false promises.And then his mother, with a chilling smile, asked if I knew the women I had thought were his sisters. "Good," she said. "That means you’ll be the best third wife ever."Her words cut deeper than any blade. Third wife. I felt the floor tilt beneath me, and my entire body went cold. Every hope, every dream I had for us, crumbled in an instant. The man I had trusted, the man I was ready to build a future with, had deceived me. He had hidden an entire life from me two wives, ten children. I was nothing more than a pawn in his game.The room spun around me, voices echoing in my ears as they discussed wedding plans and a feast. I couldn’t hear them anymore. All I could feel was the stabbing pain of betrayal, the weight of every lie he had told me, pressing down on my chest until it hurt to breathe. My hands trembled as I fought back the tears, but it was no use they fell freely, silently, as I sat there, numb.I was trapped. I couldn’t speak. In my culture, confronting elders, especially in such a moment, was forbidden. I had to sit there, smile, and accept my fate.We had to spend the night at his place, and I was forced to share a bed with him and his first wife. I cried throughout the night, while he told me I should be grateful for his commitment, insisting that many women my age dream of marriage, and I was fortunate to have it. He told me I needed to be strong, admitting that he might have lied about starting a business for me. He couldn’t afford it, as he already had ten children six with his two wives and four from outside relationships. He reassured me not to worry about the other women, as they were just pregnant and he had never promised to marry them.I acted as if everything was okay, but when I got home, I told my parents that it was all a mistake. I didn’t want to get married, especially not to this type of man. But they told me I’d bring shame to my family if I didn’t marry him I couldn’t be a single mother.

And so, the traditional wedding date was set for after I gave birth.Everyone waited eagerly for the auspicious day. My father was proud that I was getting married, but I was planning my escape. Mama gave me some money to help with my escape plan. She loved me dearly, but as a woman, there was little she could do for me, and I understood that.

As I’m writing this, I’m far away from where it all began. I’ve learned to make healing herbs and opened a small shop to sell them. My son is now six years old. Though we don’t have everything, I do my best to make ends meet. Our home is modest just a single room for now—but it provides us with everything we need.

Dear African child, never adhere to societal norms that confine you. Don’t waste your life following what you’re told break the chains. It all begins with you. And to those who aren’t African, don’t waste your life for anyone; aim high and be all that you can be. I might not be where I want to be now, but maybe in two or five years, I’ll be far better than I am today.

THIS IS A TRUE STORY

n.N