All of Our Hope
Photo: Ayoola Salako
All was well in the world again: my baby boy was in my arms. I was finally a mother, after six years in a childless marriage. My smile was as bright as the morning sun seeping through the window blinds in the private hospital room I had birthed in. “Chiemela,” I named him. God has done well.
I held him tight, smiled at him adoringly, called him by his full name, like it was a chieftaincy title, “Chiemela Joseph Okeke”. The smile on my face surely gave away that I was the happiest person in the world. It’d been a twenty-hour battle to let him out; I was exhausted yet unwilling to let him go when the nurses had to take him away for clean up and evaluations. I made sure I held him, skin to skin, to begin the bonding process.
Charles, my husband, stood beside the hospital bed, the headrest partially elevated to allow me sit as I cradled my baby. He’d stayed with me in the labour room. I wished he’d held my hands and reassured me through the birthing process, but instead he stood beside the bed with his hands clasped, praying loudly for my safe delivery. As I screamed, his voice got even louder that at some point my screams were almost drowned by his voice.
He cooed over our newborn and gently stroked his cheek, smiling in unabashed adoration. This was indeed the happiest moment of our married life. He took my hand in his as we momentarily stared at each other lovingly; it’d been a long time we looked at each other that way. And even as I felt immense joy over the birth of my son, I couldn’t help the feeling of despair that constantly nagged my senses, from the moment I found out I was pregnant.
“Chukwu emela ya o. God has done it as we hoped he would,” Susan, my husband’s elder sister, announced her presence, waltzing into the room without knocking. She left the door ajar as she danced—slightly bent over, waist swinging—and made her way towards us, singing while at it.
“Let me see my son,” Susan said. She smiled at Charles and hugged him. Turned to me with an all-too-familiar scowl. “Hope you’re doing well? And my nephew as well?”
She sounded genuinely concerned for my wellbeing, but I knew better. The woman despised me. And I knew the birth of my son didn’t miraculously wipe the feeling.
“I’m doing well, sista, thank you. And Chiemela here is perfect,” I replied politely.
“Sista, he is a healthy boy, weighed 3.7 kg, big boy. And Ella here delivered him safely, like the Hebrew women.”
“As she should. I delivered my four children vaginally, all weighing nothing less than 3.5 kg. 3.7 kg is not that large. My first was 4 kg, and I did it.”
“Sista, biko, don’t start.”
“Don’t start what? My dear brother, I’m only saying Ella has done what real women do. Bring forth a child into this world. We were beginning to think it would never happen. Ah, the shame that was upon us as people asked how a pastor and his wife could not have their own children six years after marriage, and yet pray for the fruit of the womb for other couples.”
“And as I’ve always said. Delay is not denial,” Charles calmly said to his sister.
“But God wouldn’t have delayed this blessing had your wife not committed a serious sin.”
Everything suddenly felt heavier within me, I felt my heart drop to my stomach.
“Sista, that’s enough, please. If you’re here to celebrate with us, then do so without insulting my wife,” Charles berated his older sister in a low tone. He never could raise his voice at her; she held too much authority over him which meant he could hardly defend me from her vile and aggressive attacks.
“Okay o,” Susan said dramatically as she leaned towards me, her focus on Chiemela.
“Ah Nna, he is a fine baby boy, but he doesn’t look like you at all.”
That did it. It was enough. I wasn’t going to let Susan poison my husband’s mind.
“You sadistic woman,” I shouted, “how dare you stand there and unleash your evil rants on this very special day? I won’t take it anymore. Get out!”
“Will you shut up! So because you’ve given birth to a son, you think you can now insult me? Nna, have you seen it? Didn’t I tell you from the very beginning, even before I knew she had an abortion, that this woman you’ve chosen for a wife is a horrible woman and will not make a good wife?”
Tears burned my eyes as I listened to Susan and watched my husband’s meek attempts to subdue her. It was then I knew I couldn’t remain married to him no matter how much I wanted to hold on to my marriage. I had hoped that once I had a child for him, he would learn to defend me against the attacks of his family. He’d love me again as he used to when we first fell in love, even though I’d been broken.
A broken engagement and an abortion, I was suicidal when I stumbled into Divine Ministries Church, down the road from my house. I lived alone in a rented apartment; an only child and an orphan, my only companions were a handful of friends and distant relatives.
I needed a sign, any sign of hope to alleviate the hopelessness and unworthiness I felt. And there Charles was, as I laid at the foot of the altar, crying and praying to God for a sign. I was twenty-nine, single, and had a miserable job as a customer care representative in a commercial bank. I hated my life and needed an anchor to keep me grounded on earth. I felt like I was floating through life, landing on swamps instead of solid land.
Charles noticed me that day; he counselled and prayed for me. I needed a confidant and Charles became one. I soon became attracted to him; his good looks were appealing. Tall, dark, and ever so gentle, I couldn’t help but fall hard for the pastor who was affectionate towards me. At first, it seemed that for him it was all about a shepherd and his flock. But it grew beyond that eventually, and Charles would say God sent me his way so he could save me. It made me question his love for me at the beginning. Was I just a project to him? A broken human he needed to make whole? I didn’t care though; I clung to him like he was my last hope at happiness. I’d prayed for a God-fearing Christian, and God in his infinite mercy gave me a pastor; I’d prayed for a financially independent man, and God gave me a rich man. I’d prayed for a man in tune with his emotions who would love, respect, and adore me; Charles was that man.
“Sista, please. She’s tired. She just had a baby, kindly give her space to rest.”
“So, you’re asking me to leave? Eh Charles? But did I lie? The baby doesn’t look like you at all.”
“Sista, please stop. The baby is barely a day old. You can’t tell what he looks like just yet.”
“Even if he doesn’t look like Charles, what does it matter? He looks like me, and I’m glad. Matter settled. Now please, get out of here, sista Susan, and don’t come to see me again.”
Charles and Susan both held stunned looks as they stared at me. I was never brazen in my dealings with any of Charles’s family members. I accorded them the utmost respect and tolerated all their insolence towards me partly because I was ashamed of my barrenness.
“I know I was clear enough, sista Susan, I want you to leave, right now!” I was typically a woman of few words and never involved myself in confrontations. My boldness even shocked me, but I went along with it.
“And so it begins. The birth of her son has revealed her true nature. I knew you couldn’t hide forever. I will match you! How ever you want it, fire for fire! You know me na, I’m a war on its own. You can’t stop me from seeing my brother or his child.”
“Charles, if she doesn’t leave, I’m going to call security to kick her out.”
I saw Susan raise her hand, but it didn’t register that she would actually aim to strike me while I held my sleeping baby. Charles stopped her before she could reach me, lifting her off her feet and carrying her a few feet from the bed, away from me, as she barked threats and insults at me.
“Sista I won’t tolerate this anymore! I’m with Ella on this. Please, just go, you’re disturbing the peace here. Think about my baby,” Charles said, scolding his sister for the first time in my presence. The woman had once poured a bucket of water on me in the sitting room of my home as she asked me to leave: she’d found a new wife for her brother. Slapped me on a different occasion when I objected to the “spiritual” materials she gave to me to help me get pregnant. Both incidents were in the presence of her brother, and he did nothing to defend me.
The only consolation I had was that no matter how many times his family members, especially Susan, asked Charles to divorce me and remarry, he remained obstinate. I knew it was not because he loved me; he just wanted to prove a point as a pastor that no matter how long it took, all of our hope was in God and we would eventually be blessed with a child.
*
The collapse of our marriage began in its third year. I suggested to Charles that we seek medical attention, and he flared up. There was no need he’d said. We had to have faith in God. God’s ways were different from man’s. Our faith was being tested. Medicine had no power compared to the almighty God. All we had to do was pray. And so we did.
Charles had told Susan my suggestion, as he did other matters in his life. It vexed me that he had no barriers when it came to what he told his sister, and whenever I spoke against it, it created even bigger friction between us. Susan was the oldest of five siblings. Charles’s mother died as she gave birth to him, leaving him as a newborn. His father had taken another wife, and Susan had taken responsibility for her younger ones. She moved to Lagos from their hometown in Anambra at only sixteen, in a bid to secure a job and make enough money to cater for her younger ones.
At eighteen, she married a wealthy and much older man who was a young pastor at the time, and moved her younger ones to Lagos, where she raised them and her own growing family. Charles said he got his calling from God to follow in the path of his brother-in-law, who was like a father to him.
He went through pastoral training in his brother-in-law’s church which became one of the biggest Pentecostal churches in the country, with several branches in different parts of the country. The entire family were strong Christians. God was their ultimate passion in life. They lived to serve and win souls for God. The doctrine of their church entailed not believing or engaging in things of the world including not seeking medical treatment for conditions like childlessness which God alone had control over.
I accepted the dogmatic Charles, although I often wondered how an educated man with a degree in accounting and a job in a reputable finance organisation could have such limited views outside his church’s beliefs.
“I don’t feel so good,” I said to Charles. He sat on the only chair in the hospital room, beside my bed, brooding over the scuffle with his sister. He stood up and came to me. He’d managed to get his sister to leave. I felt a bit of pity for him as I’d watched him struggle with his decision to take my side for once.
“Jesus! The sheet is stained. You’re bleeding. I’ve to get the nurses.” I’d been feeling uncomfortable all day but did not pay it any mind. Having Susan around was enough to send me over the edge. But I had also just given birth, and my genital area was sore. The doctor had also informed me of a tear which he’d stitched, and I could feel the anaesthesia used to numb the area wearing off. But when Charles noticed the blood, I began to feel weak and had difficulty breathing, and as two nurses ran into the room, with Charles on their tow, I started to shiver.
“What’s happening to me?”
“Calm down and tell us how you are feeling,” one of the nurses said, instructing her colleague to call for my doctor. I told her my symptoms.
“You can obviously see she is bleeding. Why?”
“Postpartum bleeding is normal sir.”
“But this is excessive!”
“Kindly wait outside sir.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Chiemela made it known he wasn’t pleased with the loud voices in the room as he started crying in the cot beside my bed. I wanted to reach for him, but I was weak, too weak to even form words. My doctor, Osai, entered the room. My unsteady legs planted at the foot of the bed were apart. The nurse crouched with a cloth, damping at my bleeding genital area. I could see that the white cloth she drew up was soaked with blood. She dumped it on the floor and picked another.
“Tend to the baby,” Dr Osai instructed the nurse that entered the room with him. “And can you please leave the room, Pastor Charles?”
“I won’t say this again. I’m not going anywhere. Don’t attempt to force me. What is wrong with my wife?” I heard Charles say, as I struggled to stay conscious. But it was hard. I passed out.
When I came through, I couldn’t tell how long I was unconscious, but I had an oxygen mask on. Breathing was easier but still a struggle. I still had all the symptoms and that scared me. I scanned the room and spotted my husband at a corner of the room with Dr Osai and another doctor. They looked frantic.
“If we don’t give her blood, she is going to die. Do you understand what I’m saying, Pastor Charles?”
“You doctors tend to use death as a scare tactic. My wife will not die. You’re not in control of her life but God. Her eternal life will be jeopardised if you administer blood transfusion. We’re dedicated Christians. Please do not ask us to denounce our faith.”
“We’ve done our best, Dr Osai. We can’t force him at this point. Their case is in God’s hands.”
Dr Osai glanced in my direction and caught my gaze, he walked me to me immediately.
“She’s awake. Ella, can you hear me? Can you speak? How are you feeling?” He was on a first-name basis with me. Over the course of my pregnancy, we’d become friends. It was easy to be friends with Osai; he wasn’t much older than me, and he was charismatic and charming.
“Squeeze my hand if you can hear me. You need blood Ella, and your husband isn’t giving us permission for a blood transfusion.” I didn’t squeeze; I couldn’t move. It felt as if I was having an out-of-body experience; I wasn’t in control of my body. Laying on the bed, dressed in a fresh hospital gown, I knew I was dying.
“I don’t appreciate you trying to coerce my wife. I’m speaking on her behalf as she isn’t strong enough now. She needs to rest, and we—my family and some church members—are already praying for her to recover from this. All of our hope is in God.”
I needed the blood transfusion, and I wanted it. I’d desperately wanted to be a mother, and now I could die before I experienced motherhood. And I’d leave Chiemela in this cold world to be raised by Charles and his family. No, I wanted to live! I had much to live for. Chiemela needed me. I listened as Charles and Dr Osai exchanged words; Dr Osai was pleading for the blood transfusion while Charles remained unmoved.
“Pastor Charles, do you think God will miraculously supply your wife with all the blood she has lost?”
“I don’t have to answer your blasphemy.”
“No, Pastor Charles, I seriously want to know what you’re thinking in letting your wife die because of misplaced ideas of faith in Christianity. This is part of the problem ruining us in society. God will not stop loving you if you let your wife get the blood that will save her life. After all, the bible says the love of God will never depart from us. Please for goodness sake, don’t let this woman die because of your blind faith.”
“Dr Osai, That’s enough. It’s not our place to fight his decision,” the other doctor present said.
“Yes, it is. She’s my patient. I’ve been with her all through her pregnancy journey. I know how she suffered, how long it took her to conceive, even her fears that the IVF would fail.”
Lightheaded, I was in and out of consciousness; I wasn’t completely aware of my environment and the conversations, but I could pick on a few. I could feel my time ticking, as if I was on a countdown, slowly and dreadfully leading to my death.
“The guilt she felt having to keep the whole process from her husband. I’m sorry that I’m revealing this to him, Ella. But maybe if he understands that medical science is the reason why he is a father today and not his blind faith, then he’d come around.”
“My wife had an IVF? That’s how she got pregnant?” I could hear the shock, laced with disbelief and betrayal, in Charles’s voice.
“That’s very correct. She went about the process alone. She had an anonymous donor; she asked you to consider going through the process with her, but you refused.”
“Dr Osai, you’re breaching patient-doctor confidentiality!”
“No, Dr Ahmed, I’m not. Ella told me all these as a friend. If at all I am betraying anything, it is her trust in me as a friend. But I’ve to do everything to save her life. I hope you understand Ella.” Dr Osai squeezed my hand on the bed as if to convey his apologies. Struggling to live, I felt glad he was fighting for me, even if it involved letting out the secret I’d kept from my husband. I tried to muster the strength to squeeze his hand back, to let him know I wanted to live. I tried to formulate words, but I couldn’t. I started to visibly struggle, restless on the bed.
“She’s pale, and she’s gradually going into shock. Once that happens, her organs will slowly start to fail, and she’ll slowly die. Please, if you’ve ever loved this woman that loves you so much all she wanted was to give you a child and bring joy into your lives. Allow us to administer blood. She’s O-negative; we’ve more than enough in the blood bank. Pastor Charles, I’m begging you.”
“Pastor Charles, please, God will surely understand.” Dr Ahmed joined Dr Osai in his pleas, as Charles stayed pensive.
Could Charles’s faith co-exist with science? Could he accept this discordance in his religion? I knew the answer and dreaded it. For people like Charles, their religion was the way of life, such beliefs in eternal life in heaven could not be compromised. In many ways faith in religious beliefs affects various aspects of life positively, providing a moral and ethical compass in the vast majority of people, that translates into the economic and social aspects of life. Certain values that people of faith live by help shape society for the better, in business ethics, anti-corruption, peace-making and conflict prevention, and human rights empowerment.
But then, the values of the same people such as my husband—the man whom I thought I would find happiness in and a purpose to live for—could mean acceptance of certain indoctrinations with harmful implications. Heavily influenced by a lack of self-worth, I’d ventured into a union in which I was completely dissatisfied from the very beginning. A woman of faith myself, I’d lost my way and followed the path of another, moulded myself into a life that was never meant for me.
I knew it wasn’t too late for me, every experience throughout my marriage had been preparing me to be resilient towards life troubles. I had the power over my life; I didn’t need to depend on anyone to find a reason to live; I was reason enough. The self-determination that awakened in me caused me to form the words I most needed to get out.
“I want to live.” With the oxygen mask on me, my words came out muffled, but Dr Osai beside the bed realised I was speaking.
“She’s saying something.” Charles and Dr Ahmed both rushed towards me, standing on opposite sides of the bed. Charles stood alone on my right side, and he looked at me with pain in his eyes.
“So Chiemela isn’t my biological son?” I was dying, desperately needed a transfusion, and he chose to ignore all that.
“Answer me!”
“Calm down Pastor Charles. You can enquire about that later.”
“Shut up, Dr Osai. Stop interfering between my wife and me. My stance on things remains the same. You’re not administering a blood transfusion on this devilish woman! You went behind my back and got a child from God knows where, went against our faith. It’s no wonder God is punishing you now.”
“I want to live,” I said louder, ignoring Charles. I focused my gaze on Dr Osai, and at that moment, I knew he was a godsend. It was providence that made us become friends, for a day like this when I’d be in dire need of someone to fight for me, when my husband would rather see me die because of what he perceived as betrayal. I sensed it wasn’t about his faith anymore; he was being vindictive. I never would have told him Chiemela wasn’t his biological son. I did what I’d to do to save my marriage, to save myself from the constant throes I faced in the course of our union. Maybe I was selfish, but I was desperate, and in all, I had no ill intentions but only love in my heart. I raised a hand to the oxygen mask and shifted it down to my chin, “I want the blood transfusion, Dr Osai. I have a right to decide for myself. Please let me sign whatever document I need to sign. Please hurry, save my life, I really have no strength left, I feel as if I’m on borrowed time.” My look to Charles was brief but seemed long for how agonizing it was, then I said all I needed to say to him at that moment, “I want a divorce. Our marriage is over.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Lucy Chiamaka Okwuma is a Nigerian from Anambra state, she is an optometrist with a passion for writing. She credits her love for writing fiction to reading a lot of novels growing up. She self published her debut novel, Neglected, with the hope of raising awareness of mental health. Lucy can be reached on Facebook at ‘Lucy Okwuma’ or Instagram at ‘Diamete.’
