“Dear Eve
I was too tired to cry, too exhausted to feel sad. I had just enough strength to care for myself and my baby.
In 2009, I gave birth to my sixth child, and then, like clockwork, I had my seventh child toward the end of 2010. I had had enough then, and told Kabiru I was tired of having children. I wanted to be more than a baby-producing factory.
We had a long talk, and he agreed that we had enough children for now. I only agreed on the surface, but deep in my heart, I knew I was done with having children.
My children went to school, and Kabiru traveled far, making money. Life was good. I became relaxed and comfortable, so much so that even when he suggested that I return to tailoring school, I was not ready.
I didn’t return until 2017. My first son had finished secondary school and just gotten into university. We were still in a rented apartment. Kabiru had finished his house, but it still needed to be painted and furnished.
I finished tailoring school in 2018. In 2019, Kabiru said he wanted to stop driving. He had people driving his buses and wanted to settle as a businessman in the market. He was getting older, so he needed to retire from the wheel.
Two weeks before Eid, he said he got a big deal. He wouldn’t say what it was, but he said if he drove to Lagos and back for that deal, he would make enough money to start his business without touching his savings.
Kabiru traveled a week before Eid and was supposed to return three days later. He came back four days later, dead and wrapped in a cloth. A trailer had fallen on his bus, crushing it with him inside. They rushed him to the hospital, but he passed away the following day.
Everything happened so fast. After his death, I kept feeling like I was stuck in a bad dream. Sometimes I sit and stare at the door, feeling like he will push it open and walk in.
After he died, I realized how little I knew about him.
When they asked me for his accounts and other personal details, I did not know them. My family and his brothers came, and they buried him there in Abuja. On the seventh day, a woman came to the house with three children and her older brother. Somehow, I knew who she was even before she spoke.
She was Kabiru’s second wife. They had been married for ten years and had three children together. There was no denying it; they looked exactly like him.
His family knew about her. Everyone in Yola knew, even my sister. I was the only one who didn’t. I hadn’t been to Yola in a while, and somehow, she, the outsider, had become his family’s favorite.
The revelation was shocking. His family kept it hidden from me for ten years. My own family, including my sister, the matchmaker, did the same. I felt so betrayed and hurt.
She had the papers to his buses because he had registered them in her children’s names. They were hers to keep. His bikes were also in her name. I had nothing, and my children had nothing, except for the house he had built and given me the papers for.
His family seized the lands and cows he had in the village. I felt naked and abandoned.
His wife left, and soon, our families did, too. They asked me to return to Yola with them, but I refused. Abuja was my home now, and even if it wasn’t, I couldn’t go back to Yola, to the people who helped my husband hide his wife from me. I felt like a stranger to my family.
The bus drivers’ union came to pay their condolences. After talking with the landlord, they bought the apartment we were living in. I found it hard to feel grateful for their help; they, too, knew about the second wife. It was only me that didn’t know.
I no longer had to worry about accommodation, but my children were in school. My sister came over and spent some time with me, but we weren’t the same. She was awkward around me, and I found it hard to forgive her.
She bought me a sewing machine with some money when she was leaving and said I could call her anytime I needed help. I never did.
It has been five years since Kabiru passed away, and I have not gone back to Yola even once. My sister, and even my mother, have called many times, but I refuse to go.
Kabiru’s family tried to take the kids away, but I put up a fight. They relented and left me with my kids; it felt more like they abandoned me.
I sew, and I have sent all my children to learn hand jobs and skills. Sometimes, some of their father’s friends or acquaintances come over and give me some money and foodstuff. One of them helped me put the house Kabiru built before he died up for rent. I used the money I got from my sister to paint it.
It has been hard, but I have been coping. My three oldest children have finished university now. Only my oldest has a job. His younger brother has also learned tailoring and now does most of the sewing.
My oldest daughter is getting married by the end of this year. As much as I didn’t want to, I had to send her husband’s family to Yola to meet her father’s people.
They have tried to rope me into holding the wedding festivities at Yola, but I have made it clear to everyone that Abuja is my home. Nobody is helping me with the wedding preparations. I have only God and my oldest son, who supports the house.
I have had suitors since my husband died, some of his friends and some wealthy men, but I’m not ready to go through that with another man. Being that vulnerable with another man is just impossible. How do I know the man I decide to trust won’t break my heart like my husband did?
Do not trust a man. I wish every woman would focus on herself, build her own wealth, and have her own money, never depending on a man for everything.
I try not to think about Kabiru when I pray because I am not sure if I would pray that his soul rests in peace or that God sends him to the deepest pits of hell.”
Want to share your story? Click this link, I’d love to hear from you!
Share with someone who should read it, too.
