I THOUGHT I LOVED HIM

Seven years ago, when I got married, my mom was the saddest and happiest being on mother planet, both in equal measure. Having grown up as an only child, mother never believed that I would be safe in anyone else’s hands. If I were in her shoes, I imagine I would hold the same sentiments. Mother was overly firm in discipline but also extravagantly pampering. I got married in November, coincidentally my birthday comes a few months thereafter in February. I guess the New Year came with mother worried about how my first birthday would be like in marriage. Not that she used to throw lavish birthdays for me as a child, but my birthday never went unnoticed by her. She would give me a card and a small gift, which she would be quick to add that was full of love. I believed her. To avoid any impending crisis in my young marriage and knowing that she had boundaries in the way we run our family affairs, she planned a counter strategy through a friend. Hubby got the message and planned a splendid surprise birthday party for me. With or without this birthday do, I thought I loved the man I had married.

Months turned into years and to say that I was blessed in this marriage union would be an understatement. When I was expecting our first child, I had a habit of eating hard corn in the middle of the night. This seemed to bring untold solace to the tumultuous nine-month journey. Looking back, I wonder how hubby put up with the night munching for all this long. Probably that is what it means that marriage is not for the fainthearted. On one fateful night I got a strong craving for a pineapple. Fortunately, we had the pineapple in the house. Tapping gently on hubby who was deeply asleep, I woke him up to help me with an urgent ‘small’ assignment.

‘Please cut for me the pineapple.’ I whispered.

The look on his face could tell that he thought I was crazy. Probably he was right. Who asks for a pineapple to be cut at such an ungodly hour? He knew well that a request from a pregnant woman is a polite command. He woke up and cut the pineapple. With plate and fork in his hands, he asked me to sit up and eat after a few minutes. I told him that I no longer wanted the pineapple; the craving had disappeared as mysteriously as it had come. I covered myself and went back to my sleep. Whether he understood my explanation that night or not, I don’t remember being any remorseful.

A few weeks back, hubby asked me to go with him to church in the evening of our seventh marriage anniversary to thank God for the journey thus far. How do you turn down a request that comes laced with God? I knew that was an impromptu programme but I didn’t want to look like the ungodly wife. He drove passed the church and offered an explanation before I could ask. He wanted to fuel the car first so that we drive home straight after the thanksgiving prayer. I believed him. He stopped at a coffee shop, squeezed my hand and whispered that we were here for our anniversary celebration. He managed to surprise me. I had not anticipated the surprise at all. I knew that the Gross Domestic Product (GDP) of our household was struggling, just like the national economy! The population growth in our household was registering a steady growth curve per annum in the last seven years. I console myself that it is partly because there were no health communication Obulamu messages then. I ordered for chips and liver; my favorite dish. I remembered my dear mother again. I silently thanked her for taking me to school, the reason why I don’t pronounce liver as river and for tipping hubby in my first year of marriage that such gestures as surprises are good for my health.

When I met Tumuramye Dickson, I thought I loved him. Accepting his marriage proposal, taking the marriage vows, living with him for the last seven years; I thought were all clear indicators that I loved him. How wrong I was!

As we start our eighth-year journey, I now know without a doubt that if I thought I loved him, I now love him more than I have ever known. Happy anniversary to us.

©Prim K. Tumuramye

5^th December 2017

Prim is a Christian, wife, mother and Communications Specialist at Compassion International. She is passionate about reading, writing, youth mentorship and intentional parenting.