THAT DAY HE HIT ME SO MUCH, I WAS SURE I WAS GOING TO DIE! (PART 1)

         Even in my state of distraught, a part of me realized how absurd I must have looked to passers-by. A visibly battered, semi naked woman running on the streets bare feet. I didn’t know the exact extent of my injuries or how bad they looked but I just knew I had to be a sight for sore eyes.
           You’re confused I know. Although it is hard to tell what exactly is confusing you. It has to be one of three things; who I am, why I am running on the streets in such state and why I am bothered about how I look while running on the streets in such state. I’ll tell you who I am, but not just yet. However, so you don’t keep staring at whatever device it is you are using to read this as if its calculus let me start from the beginning.
            I met my husband five years ago at a friend’s birthday party. He asked me to dance with him; we talked, laughed and of course, exchanged numbers. He called me the next day, and the day after, and the day after that day. We would spend hours on the phone talking about anything and everything. There was never a dull moment with him. Finally, he asked me on a date. You have no idea how ecstatic I was. I brought the ‘thunder’ to that date. I was dressed in my best clothes, shoes, accessories, you name it. And so was he. There couldn’t have been a more perfect first date. Shortly after, we started dating.
           The first time I saw him angry, it was as if he was an entirely different person. I’d picked up his phone to check something and that voice inside me will not let me rest so I peeped into the message section. Lo and behold, he caught me and flew into a rage. He was yelling and spewing profanities. Me sef, I became angry. In my mind, I was like what is doing this one. I got up to leave and shoved him lightly as he was blocking the way. In return, I got a painful arm twist that I was so sure would dislocate my shoulders. In pain, I asked him to let go but he wouldn’t.
            Eventually, just as I could swear that my hands were going to pop out of my shoulder socket, he let go. I flexed my fingers to make sure my arm was working and all, and it was thank God! But the twist left a nasty bruise that didn’t go away for almost a month. Oh he begged, and he begged and promised never to do it again. And I did shakara. Plenty of it sef. But I thought to myself, he’s a good man. What you have is a good thing. Don’t throw it away, just because he made a mistake. A mistake you are partially responsible for. So we got back together. We got married few months later in a beautiful, very public ceremony. And like the typical Nigerian that I am, 9 months later, I was yelling in a hospital ward and wondering why I thought children were a gift from God. Of course this was all before I pushed out my beautiful son and held him in my arms.
            The second time he hit me; we were having an argument over that his very hot PA. Or maybe that was the third time, or the thirtieth. I’m not really sure. You tend to loose count when these things happen often enough. We have two children. A boy and a girl. They are my world. Sometimes when he was angry, I was scared he’d hit them but he never did. In and out of little pharmacies and hospitals with so many lies about how my furniture hit me, I was running out of stories so I took up first aid lessons and the best part, was I got to practice all I had learnt on myself.
           That day we were having one of our usual fights.....................PART 2 LOADING


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