Eleven Days Without My Wife Have Taught Me Lessons I Didn’t Know I Needed

Dear wife,

It’s been eleven days since you left to live with your parents. The pregnancy wasn’t easy for you, but you didn’t make it easy for me too. Many dawns, you would wake up and ask me to prepare banku and hot pepper for you because you felt like vomiting. I would make the banku while dozing off. I would make the pepper extra hot. I would come back to call you, and you would be deeply asleep.

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I remember the fight we had because you complained that I didn’t wake you up to eat the food. I screamed at you, “But you said you couldn’t sleep. I came to see you sleeping, so why wake you up to struggle to sleep again?” You screamed back, “I slept with an empty stomach. Do you know how dangerous it is? What if the baby died because of hunger?”

Out of frustration, I answered, “If babies died this way, who would have a baby today?” You broke down and cried. You said I didn’t respect you and that I didn’t love you enough; that was why I wanted you to die in your sleep. God, it was difficult. This fight continued for days. You wouldn’t talk to me, and I was happy because, for days, I didn’t have to wake up to prepare banku for you.

Then it changed from banku to kyinkyinga at dawn because you wanted to taste their pepper. “At this time?” I asked you. “Who is selling kyinkyinga at this time?” You asked me to drive to Circle; there was a man there who stayed up all night selling kyinkyinga. You pushed me out, and I drove to the roadside, came back an hour later to see you snoring.

On my way home from work the next day, I bought kyinkyinga with plenty pepper and hid it, knowing very well you’d wake up and ask me for it. You didn’t disappoint. At 1 a.m., you woke up asking for kyinkyinga. I quickly went to the kitchen and warmed what I bought for you. You looked into my face and said, “Why did you warm the pepper with the kyinkyinga? You’ve spoiled the potency of the pepper. Go get me a new one.”

I walked past you and went to bed. At that moment, I knew you were playing suffering games with me. I believed you just wanted me to suffer, so I went to bed, covered my whole body with the cloth, and tried to sleep. You hit me. You pushed me. You said until I got kyinkyinga for you, I wouldn’t sleep. When I got up, you said you would like to go with me. A few minutes into the drive, you slept. I turned back and drove home, kept the engine on, and we both slept in the car until morning.

I called your mom and asked if what you were going through was normal. She said it wasn’t, and she never experienced that throughout her pregnancy journey. I asked my mom, and she laughed at me. I asked my elder sister, and she said, “Your wife is smart. She’s trying to carry the baby with you.”

So I stopped running errands and instead told you, “I’d rather you put the baby in my stomach than suffer this way. What is that? Am I the only man on earth who has impregnated a woman?”

These were difficult times for our marriage. You swore heaven and earth that you were not doing it intentionally but rather responding to your cravings. I swore you were doing it just to punish me because you hate my peace. And then one day, you told me you would like to go to your parents before delivery because they could take care of you without complaining. I did the sign of the cross. I was happy I was going to have my nights back. I was delighted because no one would ask me to prepare banku at dawn or go to Circle to buy kyinkyinga.

Regardless of all the trouble you gave me during the night, you were a splendid person during the day. I watched you make my food and serve me even when you were complaining of waist pains. When I said we should eat from outside, you protested. You cooked, you cleaned, you made our house a home, and rested so you could take it on me at dawn.

Just eleven days ago, you went into labour at dawn when you were planning to go to your parents the next day. When you complained of sharp pains, I thought it was one of your antics to get me suffering. I asked, “Why is it that all the troubles about this pregnancy come at dawn? Dawn, when we should be enjoying the night?” You screamed that the baby was coming. I asked, “How did you know?” You slapped the back of my head and screamed, “Because I’m the one carrying it.”

We had a baby boy, and when you were discharged, your parents took you home. It’s been eleven days since you’ve been away, and this house hasn’t been the same again. For some reason, I wake up at dawn and can’t sleep again, but there’s no one to prepare banku for. And there’s no one fighting me for kyinkyinga. I think about you and smile. I tell myself, “This girl has been a thorn in my flesh these few months.”

I make my own food, but it doesn’t taste the same way. I’ve cleaned the kitchen twice since you’ve been away, but for some reason, so many things look out of place. The floors don’t look shiny when I do them, and the bed these days doesn’t get laid because you’re not here to insist. We planned you’d be there until after your maternity leave, but dear wife, plans have changed. The day you read this letter, the next day I’m coming for you.

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I’ve been through fire when you were pregnant. What else can’t I go through? Baby bathing? Changing of diapers? Rocking a crying baby to sleep at night? Bring it on! We are not meant to live this way, and it’s been clearly obvious in your absence. So I write you this letter to tell you that I didn’t like it when you were here. I’ve tasted your absence too, and I think your presence is better. Get ready. I’m coming for you.

—Nathan

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