There’s is indeed no agony like bearing the agony of untold story,

This can seem too long an article but too short for the story. When Bami chatted me up on one issues of widowhood I tweeted, can’t remember exact; with this “I suggest we look at the questions that tackle the cause of this seeming societal disregard for Widows and ensuing nonchalance from government and law officers. Maybe then we can attempt to find a solution. It seems even men whose mum suffered as widows still don’t care”.

I never knew I was about let a young man free from the “conspiracy of silence and secrecy of widowhood” which I thought was only the widow’s dilemma until he wrote “my mum was also a widow for 13yrs before she passed on. Despite her ordeal, we rather saw her as a strong woman than a widow that was denied most of her rights in her husband’s house. Instead of fighting for her, we celebrated her struggles that turned into victory”.

Yet, in all that their celebration, the empty space side of his soul created by his pain didn’t real heal as our discussion showed with my saying to him, tell me your story. With apology he mailed me the article he titled; Mom. Widowed before widow

Holidays never came early enough for a boarding house student. It was supposed to be the time to escape from the hardship of hostel life and walk into the warm embrace of your home. This time, it wasn’t the case for me. I had just been given my end of session report sheet and my cumulative marks didn’t meet the required percentage for promotion to the next class. I was asked to repeat the S.S.S 1.

As I journeyed home, I felt pity not for myself but for my hard-working mother who had always tried her best to get me going in school. But you See, I never wanted to go to boarding school. My dad and mum were separated and dad ensured all six children of his were made to depend on mum alone for our upkeep. He essentially blacked out on us. His reason was simple; he accused my mum of being a witch and at such asked us to denounce her or he disowned us. Well, none of the six of us denounced mum so the decision was easy for him. He left and never came back.

So mum struggled really hard to put food on the table for us talk less of paying for our fees. I was the last of six and at such very dear and close to my mum. I could tell her emotions. I knew when she was sad or moody. Most times she held it in until midnight when she would wake up and start to cry. I always woke up and saw her. I sometimes cried silently too. Or just said a silent prayer to God asking for relief for my mum. So throughout my S.S.1, I never concentrated whenever I went to school because I would always imagine what my mum would go through at nights alone in her room. So I unconsciously began a ritual of crying for my mum every night. Yes I meant EVERY NIGHT.

The resultant effect was that I would go to class in the morning with heavy eyes. So i always slept during class. Of course it didn’t take time for my teachers to punish me for that. My classmates also began to mock me, therefore there was only one way out – miss classes. The result was inevitable. I decided to use my experience and mum’s before dad died as a prelude to what would eventually lead to a rude awakening when dad died 4years later.

So at the beginning of the new millennium 2000, on Jan 28, my died after a long protracted illness. He had actually being sick for 2years before he gave up the ghost. During the time of his sickness however, he came to himself and realized how much wrong he had done to my mother and we the children. So he called a friend of his and asked him to reach out to us. So my mum asked the eldest of my siblings to go see him. He went and came back with gory report of how bedridden dad had become. We all took turns to go visit him at the hospital and he was glad to receive us. But he never wanted to see my mum. It wasn’t because he was still bitter towards her. Instead he was too weak and didn’t want his estranged wife to see him in such helpless state.

He was a proud Ondo man and even in his dying period, he still maintained that defiant state of mind. But fair enough, he sent message to mum asking for forgiveness for all he had done to him. His friend duly delivered the message. Indeed we all held on to hope that dad would recover and reunite with his estranged wife and everything would be normal again. But it wasn’t going to be. Not long after, on that fateful morning of Jan 28 2000, dad gave up the ghost. News reached us an hour later and we wept. But the worst was yet to happen. 

Dad was buried a month after his death. His siblings were very cooperative with my mum. Afterall they knew she was his wife. So they asked her to perform the customary rites of a widow by shaving her hair and staying indoors for 40days after the burial. After all the rites were performed, my dad’s relatives called a meeting and asked that the man known to them as dad’s lawyer to read out the will. Dad had left behind a significant number of properties and shares in top companies in the country. The lawyer came and read the will to the hearing of everyone present. Dad bequeathed most of his properties to his children. He only left a property in the city to his siblings and ofcourse his house in the village. All hell was let loose at the meeting. My dad’s siblings practically beat the lawyer to a pulp. He ran for his dear life. They turned to my brother, the eldest, and warned him sternly never to come near any of dad’s properties until they called for another meeting. 

So that was actually the beginning of another beginning for mother as a widow. She had done a good job trying to take care of the six of us. My two eldest siblings had graduated from university but they couldn’t get a good job. They merely did menial jobs just to take care of their own immediate needs. I had just finished my secondary school and I had good grades from W.A.E.C but I didn’t bother to do University matriculation examination because there were no funds to go to school. Mum kept on going from daddy’s friends to his village elders in a bid to get justice for her and her children. Her efforts were fruitless. One of dad’s friends even wanted to have an affair with mum before listening to whatever she had to say. She therefore decided to seek for justice in court. All necessary suits were filed and our dad’s family were served court notice. Unfortunately on the day the hearing started, the lawyer who read dad’s will who was supposed to be in the witness box declined coming to court despite previous assurances that he would appear.

Mum’s case was thrown out even before it started. She only did traditional marriage with dad. They didn’t go to the registry so there was no document to legalise her marriage with dad. The only hope was the will but the lawyer was never to be seen again. The Judge surprisingly advised that we settled the case out of court. But my dad’s relatives concluded that since my Mum had taken the court option, the battle line had been drawn. They threatened to fight mum physically and spiritually. Mum retired into the normal concession – Let go and let God. But you see, that was never the case for mum. She hardly stopped thinking about all she had suffered. And Yes, she indeed suffered.

Dad was just a mere public servant who had the attention of his superiors as a bright Secretary in the 70s and 80s. My mum was a trader when they married and she was indeed very successful selling flour. Those were days when flour mills just came to Lagos and mum was lucky to get goods on credit from their warehouse. She always paid back and her credit capacity grew to the extent that she became one of the top distributors in Lagos island market. But you see, all she made in profit was saved in a joint account with dad. Dad on the other hand was a very bright thinker. He knew landed properties would always increase in value so he convinced mum that they use the money in the joint account to procure properties all over Lagos. Ofcourse mum obliged and she even worked harder to make more money. Dad was a snake. He bought all the properties in his name and he would only take mum to the site of the properties for confirmation or to clear any doubt.

By the time he would start building houses, he asked mum to lend some money from the bank to hasten the building projects. Mum agreed and when it seemed every thing was set in motion, Dad suddenly changed. He insisted mum was a witch due to his consultations with a spiritualist. That’s what led to separation. Dad played the con man. Mum defaulted in her loan repayment. Bank seized her own personal belongings like expensive jewelries, cars, cash at bank and whatever they could. News of her financial struggles reached her creditors at flour mills. They stopped giving her goods on credit. Mum was run to the ground. She left the Lagos island market out of shame to rebuild her life elsewhere. 

So you could imagine the bitterness that engulfed at her when dad’s relatives laid hold to all dad had left behind. She couldn’t deal with it. She broke down. She became hypertensive. And to add, she was also tested to be diabetic. My dad’s relatives lived large on dad’s properties. Most of their children who were around my age went to UK to study due to rent gotten from dad’s properties alone. Whereas I couldn’t even go to university here in Nigeria due to lack of funds. I had to do menial jobs to sustain myself. Relief came soon as my elder siblings began to gain employment. Mum’s financial burden was relieved to a large extent. I gained admission too and did my best to graduate with a good grade.

Mum did her best for all of us. But you see, when it was time to enjoy the fruits of her labour, she became critically ill and died in 2013. At her burial, when I was asked to give my tribute to her, I declared that mum was already a widow before her husband died. Many didn’t understand what that meant though. Before she died, while on the sick bed I asked her what her regrets in life would be. She looked at me and said it was the fact that her children didn’t enjoy the fruits of her struggle. It was then I realised she was still hurting from all dad and his relatives had deprived her of. I took it upon myself to help her out of that bitterness as I showed her the bright side to life from her ordeal. Little did I know she wouldn’t survive the sickness. So even in my lonely moments the urge to still mourn my mum’s regrets fill me but I know better now. 

That’s it, this is the story of Bami, a dad now. Which he said though I almost stopped half because of the pain, I am so relieved; apart from siblings we went through it. I never told anyone about this. As you can see, in the journey of widowhood as in women abuse; the children spend more time celebrating or struggling to see how to celebrate mum that they never pause to ask and seek to know the various things that made the journey treacherous; thus the vicious circle. She performed the burial rites but with the properties, the court threw it out by asking them to go settle out of the court because they did not do court registry. Bami your mom indeed got “Wounded before be Widowed” but remains Whole in you all’s love.

Being a  mother is every woman’s dream, especially in our African culture in marriage. So when you start having them immediately, the tension of mother-in-law looking constantly at your stomach becomes something that you as a wife won’t worry about, especially if you are not their favourite choice. I remember a sister saying to me

“do you know how painful it is to see your menstrual cycle come at each month after all the prayers, medication, loving, sexing, faith and declaration? Do you know how as the year runs half way and nothing, your heart being to palpitate on the eyes and body gesture of your in-laws, especially your mother-in-law?

Well, I couldn’t answer these and so many other questions she asked. Though I could appreciate her pains and sympathized with her, yet could not say I felt her pain. The saying that says she who wears the shoe knows where it pinches most is so true, because truly one who has not been at that same position does not feel the pain as the victim.

So that bundle of joy, having been blessed with them, then came his death becomes a beautiful burden that we gladly carry even as a widow. The strength of every widow is her children yet they remain her biggest source of fear and big shame. Her fear in providing for them and shame of her inability to do the same. At his death, as these kids collect their father’s love and add it to that of their mother so do they reallocate all demands and responsibilities to her. 

I remember in my early years when I have to walk away from the house to ease off from the pressure of their love and demand. Days when I can’t help but wait for them to go to school, church or visit as I sit back in the comfort of my lone room to brood my pains. Days when in shame, I try to make my kid(s) feel better knowing that I have vented my frustration and emotion on them. 

So I understand clearly when Katie chatted me that late night complaining that she doesn’t know what is wrong with her, that she thinks she is losing it. Calling her, she told how she’s been beating her son so constantly that the boy sees her and runs into the room and that her heart is broken.

When Bola said that her son woke up and asked for bread and she gave him one at about 6am, only for the boy at about 9am to tell her “mom we haven’t eaten breakfast”

•I understand when the food they bought for the 14 days ordinarily should have lasted the month if they were running a normal life has run out and there’s no money to restock.

•I understand why she’s snapping out and nagging constantly. Why she’s arguing and shouting on the kids at the slightest questions talk less of mistakes.

•I understand why the kids are on their toes unduly too careful as the atmosphere in the house is a bit tense to put it mildly. 

•I understand why she’s beating the son not because the boy is a bad boy or the daughter not because she’s not helping out but because the family is in a bad time.

•I understand she’s scolding or/and beating her kids not because she’s an abusive mother but because her emotion is highly abused

•I understand how she sits in darkness of her day praying, hanging on the hope that God’s angels are climbing into her dark pot to draw her out of her boiling point.

•I understand why she sits up in her bed at night confused about her emotions, as she does not know whether it’s the want and warmth of a hold she needs or the want of more food for the kids at that time; which is better?

•I understand why some will say food without a thought yet get that more food at such time yet unable to relax to sleep. These and so many of her struggles I understand very well.

But what I don’t understand is when so many of us family, culture, religion, tradition, government and others pretend as if these does not matter or is not as serious to be a bother.

•I don’t understand stand while some parents are out in the streets in their estate jogging and exercising with their kids as they are all bloated out with so many leftover thrown in dustbin, yet has relative who are widows and their minds has not been attuned to reach out even when they are approach.

•I don’t understand when the culture in the authority of traditional leaders watches this woman being stripped naked by in-laws knowing that at all times, with such time as this coronavirus she is the soulprovider for her home.

•I don’t understand why government will continue to make widows issues a clause hidden under one issue, knowing the magnitude of its issues alone; as they at each political step uses it to gain some scores, knowing that just like the developed countries all is needed are policies and facilities to truly protect and empower her

•I don’t understand why religious groups cannot speak loudly on the kind of disenchantment widows are experiencing across culture to which participants are all Christians as the worst actions are experienced in the Southern part of our Nigeria where we are predominantly Christians.

The ‘I don’t’ understand list can go on and on, and you’ll ask what has that got to do with widows insanity the kids?

Well, If you did not steal from her in the name of your brother’s property. 

If you did not take her land in the name of culture

If she had better access to build her finance

If she had facilities and grants for kids welfare

If she had the right solidarity from you,

She will at least be battling with her libido alone in this stay at home with basic necessity for the kids feeding and recreation to minimal, giving her and her kids less things to worry 

Sarah in lagos is her father’s house today in the lock down with her kid, suffocating in her emotions as try to protect her kid and parents having being locked out of her house as in-laws sold her car and carted away plenty.

Angela is in her parents house with four kids at Onitsha in this stay at home to stay safe having buried the husband early this year recovery for the traumatic experiences of not just his death but their actions; in anticipation of next in-laws move having lost the first movement to take authority of late husband’s business barely a month ago.

The insanity of the widows sanity in this lockdown #StayAtHome #staysave #covid19 is a watch out for families, friends and society. Don’t forget her, reach out with gift of cash, food and words of encouragement. She needs it loads

To you dear widows, even this will pass. Refuse the negative ministration of the mind. Millions of people are facing even worse challenges. Have Hope for it is the ladder that faith uses to clime out of the darkness spot of today to a tomorrow that is only one that holds the change. Call a family, a friend, a neighbour even a foe. Tell it to someone. There’s an angel at each bend.

There’s no agony like bearing the agony of untold story Maya Angelou.

As widows I don’t know chat me up on social media to appreciate me. And as they began telling me their stories, I realised truly that Maya Angelou saying. These untold stories are indeed an agony we still carry even when people think we’ve healed with years. It’s in us all. I felt lighter when I opened my mouth to speak on the abuses of the journey comes from the culture, family, social, religious and occupational sector. The weight of the loss got lesser and the pain of the shame disappeared. I sometimes have my sympathy on the abusers considering the saying that says silence is acceptance. So for all not to justify their acts with ignorance, I begin to tell these untold stories across cultures on widowhood as I hear it. With permission of the widows I publish her picture or anonymous I use a graphic.

Patrisiah from  Nyanza province Kenya

My husband died 19th october 1995. He suddenly started complaining of headache and fever one night and he drank a pain-killer. Because we had no money to hire a taxi to rush us to the hospital and he was getting more ill the next day, I had to use the public bus  to the hospital, unfortunately he died before we could reach the hospital. Keeping the body in the mortuary, I went home.

That was the beginning of trauma. 

When I got home and narrated my ordeal, everyone in his family became aggressive, asking me questions one after the other on the cause of the death. I tried to explain how it happened but no one was listening to me as they continued their complaints. Why didn’t I let them know that their man was sick that night? They actually concluded in their arguments with the accusation that it was only me who knew the cause of his sudden death.

But in my clan even if  the husband has been bedridden, the relatives must look for something to link you up with the death of the husband .

As expected the relatives especially in-laws start saying all manner of things against me. These accusations are what usually lead to the rejection of widows by everybody in the society.

For me, it all starts from that day the husband dies. His body stayed about  2 weeks before burial. During these days, nobody shares anything with you. You see a group of two and more, to confirm you’re either the subject of discussion or an object to avoid, if you try to reach them, they immediately disperse. You are automatically alienated as I look on with pain all through the period of burial arrangements. That’s the start of journey of LONELINESS and EMMOTIONAL TORTURE.

During my husband’s burial I was seriously harassed and abused. A month after his burial one of my in-laws beat me upon and sent me out of their home.

Mind you some widows get chased away after a short period of time as they take the properties left by the husband. You remain with nothing including lands.

As a widow you must do what they want you to  or else they chase you away from their family.

Four days after burial an old woman came to my house as early as 6 am, before that they had sent the news of the activity of that day which is shaving the hair plus your children. This is done with razor blade,water and soap.

Until all the activities are performed, you don’t leave your compound to go out or meet with any woman of a young age. You immediately become alienated by friends.

After shaving your hair and that of your children’s, you are to stay within your compound until the new hair grows, only then are you free to walk around.

After all these activities, before you are allowed to go back to your normal activities, you will be told that since you have children, you will NEVER have any sexual relationship outside your family. This message is passed strongly with instruction that all your children will die once you do that. We are usually very afraid when we hear this as such are caught in the trap of abuse.

Traditionally you are the one to talk to the man to come to you and “inherit you”, because inheritance is a must in this side of our culture. When you feel like having another man, you can go to one of the widows and ask her to help you go talk to a man you have feelings for.

But you must first go and tell one of your in-laws to be one. The man can either agree or disagree. Often, a man can make mockery of you that he agrees but goes to tell the wife to refuse on his behalf because the wife must agree too. Sometimes the man might want you but the wife disagrees.

There must be in a consensus to the love affair by both parties (husband and wife)

It can be scary. Because of this, often most women on seeing you speak to her husband or the husband of her friend, be sure you will be given the insult of your life with questions as; did you kill your husband for mine? 

We live an emotional painful life here. During this period, no man can come to your house. Even widows themselves live in fear of other women with their husbands as your simplest hello can bring the most embarrassing situation from other women. The general public attitude is poor as people in their actions humiliate widows as they go through all forms of mistreatment.

Yes, all this still happens, shaving a widow’s hair plus her children is still happening. Late last year 2019 and this January 2020 it happened to 2 young widows of my clan

In all these you continue hunting for the man that will stay with you after being a widow in the kindred. 

When you fail to get that one you like, this the time you will pick any man you meet in order to release you from these dangerous signs that have been stated if you step out of your clan.

All these happen because there is none of your in-laws who is ready to break these chains of traditional belief and if, in any case you are lucky get one of your in-laws who volunteer to break these chains. Be assured you’ve applied for gossip and war from the wife.

But all I can say is that they are refusing to do these things because of greediness and if you avoid all these and bring a man from outside, your in-laws then come after you. As  they complain and accuse you of bringing in someone else to come and eat their son’s wealths. It is a complicated life;

“you said right, it’s way too complicated and callous”.

After getting a man, to bring him to your house, there are a lot of things you are to do. The first night you’ll be alone with him forcing your children to spend the night away from home. By the next day you will be a strange woman in this community because that “mama mzee” the old woman, will come again and repeat those rites that she did on you on the fourth day after the burial date and after that the man can become your live-in lover.

And it is you that will take the man back to their home. On that day you’ll meet another old woman waiting for you with a traditional herb to pour in the food that his wife had cooked for you. The wife again can wait for you in a nice manner as you think all is good since it’s the “our culture” but on reaching there she’ll give you the beating of your life as she ask you; did you killed your husband inorder to take hers? Explain why and how did you start after completing this course and when you started with an emotional life that “uta juta”. By the time all these are over you have lost all yourself esteem. 

Watch out for the concluding part.