I Think My Mum Killed Me

Would I be too wicked if I accuse my mother of killing me? Would I be going too far? Let me know what you think

I remember very clearly word for word the conversation I had with my mother when I brought to her attention that my husband of 6 months was beating me every chance he gets. Her first question threw me off but it was only the beginning.

“What did you do that is making him beat you? You must have done something,” she had told me with a straight worried face like she was trying to decipher what I could have done. I was too stunned to speak.

Was there anything in the world to justice violence on another person?

“It doesn’t matter what i did. What matters is that he is beating me,” I told her.

“But that’s where you are wrong. Men don’t just start beating women for no reason. You must have done something to vent him. Tell me what happened on this day that he beat you,” she finally invited.

“Nothing. I didn’t do anything. He left to watch a football game, Nigeria lost the match and he came back drunk. I had warned him about his drinking.”

“Did you nag him about drinking?” She interrupted me.

Why was she trying to find fault with me? I wasn’t the one beating someone within an inch of their life.

“No. I didn’t make dinner.” I finally admitted to her, now feeling like it was my fault for having him split my head with his belt buckle.

She pounced on it.

“See, that’s why. You should always have food prepared for your husband, no matter what. I have told you that the way to a man’s heart and to keep peace is to keep his tummy filled.”

“But what about my own tummy, mummy. He kicked me multiple times on it. Doesn’t it count?” I was starting to feel tears in my eyes and feeling the heaviest kind of betrayal.

“Of course it does, my child but your husband comes first. Some men can’t help their nature. They must beat their wife to show their authority but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you. He does.”

“I don’t understand this kind of love. I am going to divorce him. I...”

“Blood of Jesus. I cancel it in Jesus's name. Please don’t say such a thing out loud. I forbid it. Do you know what people will say? It’s like you don’t know what divorced women go through. You can’t speak of divorcing him because of an ordinary beating. Besides, he will change. I will talk to him myself. I will make sure he doesn’t repeat it.”

“What if he doesn’t stop?”

“He will stop but come to think of it, maybe his anger is more deep-rooted than we think. Has he said anything about children? Maybe he was expecting you to be with child by now and that has made him angry,” she speculated.

Again, I was rendered speechless. I didn’t want to have a child that would tie me further to such an abusive man but in a Nigerian marriage, the woman is expected to get married pregnant or as soon as possible after marriage. But that should be a reason to excuse his behaviour.

“No. He hasn’t said anything,” I replied wondering how she would twist that around.

“That is exactly my point. Your husband is a man of few words and he might be secretly angry that you haven’t conceived.”

“But mummy, I am not God and I can’t read minds. How can he punish me for things without my power?” I was crying at this point, hoping for any kind of sympathy from her. I knew my number was a true archaic Nigeria woman who believed a husband to be just a smidge below god and to be the ultimate authority but I never knew how low on that radar she placed me, her daughter.

I hung in there like my mother advised, stayed by my husband and eventually, until death, we did path. So as my husband dealt me the usual resounding slap that propelled me to fall with my neck and head hitting the dining table, I knew I was as good as dead and I blamed my mum completely.

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