THE WIDOW

Like every new bride, I shed a few tears on my wedding day…not tears of sorrow per se, but of joy mingled with an indescribable anguish. My back was turned on my past that day, a past that included my parents, my friends and everything I grew up with.

I was faced with a future of new parents, new friends and new things to grow up with. Yet, through my tears, I was glad… my husband’s firm grip on my hand was the only assurance I needed.
I was quite young.

Without mouthing the words he told me all would be fine, without looking at me, he gave me an assurance of everlasting security. My tears didn’t stop flowing, and my joy didn’t stop flowing, as I looked forward to happily ever after with the man of my dreams. The man who just vowed to be the father I lost a decade before.

The following years were bright, I grew into the present well, I loved and obeyed and honored and cherished just as I had promised and vowed to, sometimes it was easy, other times it was hard, oh so hard. Yet, I never stopped trying to build the home of my dreams.

God was faithful to us, he blessed us with two lovely girls…they were our joy. We tried initially for one more fruit, but it didn’t happen. That never dampened our joys. We loved our girls together. Did I mention that I was a young bride? I probably did, but I never mentioned how young, did I? Well, I was young. Very young. I was 19 when I took those vows of forever. Nothing told me I should have spelt out forever in all caps!

Alas, my forever lasted for the whole of seven years and ended abruptly…without an excuse, without a goodbye, forever ended and left me lonely with two young girls…in a well furnished home!

I was barely 26 when my husband left me. Reality didn’t hit me immediately, I embraced grief but pushed aside reality. I didn’t want it to be true. Everyone accepted it, even my kids but I didn’t. I hid myself in my home and mourned. My girls were just 6 and 4, they needed me, but I was too selfish to see it. My mum cared for them while I drowned myself in grief waiting for my husband who was also my father to come pull me out of my misery.

It didn’t happen. My mum left, I had to stand up and take care of my children. I had no job, searching for one became my number one priority. I had just my ordinary diploma certificate… I had planned to go back to school when my kids were older.
For eight months after the demise of my husband, I searched and got nothing. My mum would bring food stuff to the house and feed us.

My husband’s family barely remembered us.
I tried to be strong for my children, many times they caught me crying and tried to make me laugh, I only cried more… I was helpless, I was young and I had no one.

I withdrew my children from their private school at the end of the session and after selling all our furniture, I was able to get a little room and also get them enrolled in another school that I wasn’t proud of.
I finally got a job. A shop attendant. Earning 6500 monthly.

Needless to say, it helped nothing. We lived from hand to mouth. I would leave my kids all alone at home while I stayed in the shop working for my wages. My neighbors watched over them.
Many times, they’d be fast asleep on empty stomachs when I returned home. If I was lucky to bring a morsel of bread home, I’d wake them up and feed them. They would laugh and I would cry…and they would try to console me.

That was our life for four months until one night…
I returned home that night, harmed with a loaf of bread, a tin of sardine and N6200… it was the last day of the month.
I got in and found my children asleep. I woke them up and tried to feed them but they wouldn’t eat. I tried to cheer them up, but something was wrong, my babies wouldn’t bulge.

I began to weep and they joined me… then I knew something was really wrong, they had never supported my tears.
I had until the next morning to know that my babies, both of them, had been molested sexually. The extent of the abuse, I couldn’t say immediately. Who did what, I didn’t know…but I lost my head and new grief swept me up.

As much as I tried to gather useful info from my 7 year old daughter, I got nothing but tears and whimpers of pain from my other child.
I cursed and screamed and shouted all over, but no one told me anything. Grudgingly my mother helped me to the hospital where I gathered that my first girl had been vaginally raped and my second abused. I stopped working. I cried for days.

I couldn’t let them out of my sight again. I wouldn’t.
Its been a while now, nothing’s changed, my kids are out of school. I do menial jobs that come my way and I take them everywhere with me.

No one sees my tears, no one feels it. I’m alone in my misery.
I want more than this, this is not the life I dreamt of, this is a nightmare…
I want my babies to be safe and I am just a helpless baby too.

Last Sunday, I stood up in church when the call came for helpless widows, but accusing eyes followed me to the altar. I was a new member, they didn’t believe my rags… I got nothing…
I have told myself I would stop going to church. I wait for that day that I’d become visible to God, then to man. If for nothing, but for my children who are as broken as I am if not more…

Written By Bose La’bos Bamidele