Two Minutes Later, and I Would Have Found My Wife ‘Dancing’ from the Ceiling

When I got to the compound, I saw our first child playing with other kids. The second one, she’s autistic. She was lying on the floor playing in the sand. It was unusual to see these kids by themselves without their mother, so I quickly rushed inside the house only to find our door locked. I knocked several times before her voice pierced through; “Yeees, who is it?” I screamed, “What are you doing inside that you’ve left the kids outside?”

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She didn’t answer. I kept calling her name, “Erika, Erika, open the door. What are you doing?”

When she finally opened the door, I saw a chair on top of the center table with a rope tied to the ceiling fan. I saw a sheet of paper on the chair. She was crying. I didn’t need anyone to tell me what was going on. “Erika, what are you doing? What has come over you? How did we get here?”

I picked up the note she had written, and it said, “I’m sorry. The suffering is too much. I hope you understand. Take good care of the kids.”

I collapsed in the chair while I held the note in my hand. “Why?” I asked. All she did was cry.

We had been married for ten years with two children. The first was nine years old and very fine. The second child is autistic and was six years old. A girl. We started having challenges right before our marriage. Her mother asked her not to marry me. She had a better man for her, but Erika went ahead and married me. Because of me, she has a strained relationship with her mother.

When we started seeing the signs of autism in our child, we thought it was a spiritual attack we could pray away. When prayers didn’t work after traveling far and near to see pastors, we decided to go the traditional way. We went through hell in the hands of these people, following scary directions and waking up at dawn to visit rivers because they said she was a river child. We went flat broke before we accepted the situation.

I accepted the situation, but my wife never came to terms with it. She got depressed, grew lean, still fasted and prayed, but nothing happened. Her own mother told her, “That’s what happens to a child who doesn’t listen to her mother. God rewards you with problems.”

She was sacked from work because of this same child. She was always asking for permission to do something. When she suspected she wasn’t going to be given permission to stay off, she didn’t go to work and also didn’t ask for permission. Even when she was at work, her output suffered and she got angry and defensive easily. Her company laid her off.

We got a shop for her in the main market so she could do her own business and take care of our special needs daughter. Two years ago, there was a fire in the market. We didn’t pick anything from the shop. Not even the money she had saved there. Everything went to ashes.

She sunk into a deep state of depression. “It looks like I’m not meant to be happy. What’s all this?” I answered, “We have life. We’ll make it again.”

We were planning to start the shop again, but anytime I brought the discussion up, she told me she was no longer interested. I asked what she would like to do, and her answer was, “There’s no time to do anything,” or “Maybe someday but not now.”

Nothing suggested she was suicidal. We were supposed to go to a funeral together, but in the morning, while I was getting ready, she told me she wasn’t feeling well so she couldn’t go with me. She didn’t look sick but rather serene and pensive. I asked her to get some drugs while I attended the funeral.

Because she wasn’t with me, I was in a hurry to go back home. Before I left the funeral, I called her twice, but she didn’t pick up. If I’d delayed for even a minute or two, I would have found her body dangling from the ceiling.

“Erika, this life is hard, I know, but you have me. We are trying together, so why do you want to leave me?”

She didn’t answer. She only cried.

I took off the rope and dismantled the logistics meant for her death. I allowed her to cry until she fell asleep. I went for the kids, fed them, and kept them inside. My wife slept all night. I got scared, thinking she might have swallowed something poisonous. But she was breathing fine.

We went to church on Sunday. On our way, she told me, “No one should know what happened. I’m OK. It won’t happen again.” In church, I prayed for the healing of her heart. I asked for special prayers. I asked her to speak to someone, a professional or a pastor. She said she was fine, but guess what? Our marriage hasn’t been the same again since that incident.

I’m scared whenever I’m at work and she’s home. When I call and she doesn’t pick up, my heart starts to beat heavily like a drum. I’ve had to warn her not to miss my calls. Because of her, I’m on good terms now with all our neighbors. I call the women to check up on her while I’m away. I send the men to go and knock and just ask her anything.

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My wife hardly talks these days. Her voice is gone, but her zeal is intact. She’s always with the one with the special needs, fixing her up or trying to play with her. I’m happy whenever she’s active, but that happiness is only full when I can see her face. I don’t know when she’ll sink again and seek relief from death. We have love as a family, love rooted in perpetual fear, but it’s alright. I’ll do my best.

—Bennett

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