MY SUNNAH STORY (8)
BY
SANNI KAY YUSUF
I proposed marriage, not dating. So plans to legitimatize the mutuality to build up a blissful palace as king and queen came to fore. Madam was rather afraid to have such presented to her parents. She was doubly sure her mum would never consent to it until she had completed her varsity education. She was in her semi-final year while I was awaiting NYSC call-up.
Her fear was reasonable because I had no job that could fetch me the earnings to nourish her, neither did I possess a shelter wherein we could cohabit as a couple. I could understand. But my service year would span a whole 12 calendar months while she had not less than 24 long months to be ready for marriage – 12 to complete her studentship and the remaining 12 for national service. “What then would we be doing together?” so we puzzled each other.
If we would not legitimately hook up until after two years, then being together would apparently be a dangerous game. Body no be firewood na! That’s how many fell into what they never wanted to do, and when the result manifested, they came up with an accelerated, deceitful low-key ‘aqdu. Hypocrisy! Those whose case never ended in pregnancy would forever have their conscience prick them of their obscenity. Some did not even end up as couples whereas they had incalculably rocked each other in bed. Sister! Brother!
We genuinely loved each other, yet we wouldn’t want to fall victim of the above. So we had one of two options: hook up or hang up. We couldn’t do the latter yet the former was relatively impossible. At that juncture, I saw the relationship dwindling. I wasn’t happy.
The boldness and confidence I inherited from dad would not make me give up so easily. I couldn’t just let go, neither did she want her handsome guy lost to another lucky lady. Are you worried that I had myself adjectivised as such? Alára ló ń gbára ga. If you like, qualify yourself with the opposite, it’s your choice. Even if I am ugly to you, I am handsome to myself. So back to the story.
I exerted all energy to convince her to open up to her parents. She said her dad might not be the obstacle but her mum. She is the only girl of the family and the woman would not want her daughter end up in penury. She wanted her only daughter graduate and secure a job before marriage. That is the hearty wish of the average Nigerian parent.
“What if I tell her myself?” I suggested. Madam gave me a scornful look pitying how I would be probably devoured to skeleton by her mum. “No, I can’t bear the pain you will suffer. My mum is too passionate about my education and welfarism, she would not agree,” she said. “But there is no harm in making efforts. Let’s give it a try,” I appealed. “You know what, you will bear the brunt alone by the time the consequence of your boldness rears its ugly head on you. OK, mo ti gbọ́ o,” she replied. “Good! Let’s go.” “Go where?” “Your mum’s place, of course.” “Just like that?” “After all, you’ve left the matter to me and I’ve agreed to bear the brunt all alone.”
For every act of boldness is a mind of fearfulness. My heart beat like it would fall off my chest as we made it down. I was afraid, but I didn’t show it. I displayed the pretence so perfectly that she didn’t know. I knew my boldness could not be enough to win such a battle. So I started an inward chanting of the prophet’s Prayer for Ease. We got there and it was time for me to detonate the bomb. Hmm! What a suicide mission!
Be on the look-out.
