Divorce Diaries Season 2 Episode XII Sat 12th March 2016

My name is Ummi Turaki. I am from Wase in Plateau State. I am a civil servant with the federal government. I was married for 5 years to Architect Murtala. I would like to share my Divorce diary with you.
I met murtala at work. He came to my ministry to inquire about some information. It wasn’t love at first sight,we became friends because he was a frequent visitor to my office and was always somehow quarreling with my director. I was the peacemaker between them.
He was a nice guy, always polite and warm. I liked him. After about a year of making peace between murtala and my boss, we started dating. He was so lovely, caring and thoughtful during our courtship. Naturally I agreed to his proposal.

After we got married, I soon realized that my mother in law was not my biggest fan. She didn’t like me and she did not even try to hide it. Her grudge with me was that I was not Fulani enough for her. She was from the North East and considered herself of pure Fulani blood. It was odd to me because I was also Fulani, only that I was from wase in plateau state! She would make snide remarks about how her grandchildren would have polluted blood… at first it was difficult for me to understand her dialect. But you know how you just know when someone is talking about you? Ehen.
She also disliked me because she had a bad outlook on women who were educated and had a job. She told me to my face that any woman who woke up in the morning to go to work, instead of taking care of her home was only a little better than a prostitute.
I hoped the harassment would end at the snide remarks, but they didn’t. It became like being in a competition with her. She would refuse to take her bath until she saw what wrapper I wore, and then she would wear the same exact wrapper. I learnt that he bought her the same exact wrappers that he bought in my kayan lefe!
To make matters worse, she came and moved in with us because her house was under renovation. Every day was a battle. Every day there was one problem or the other.
She said I didn’t know how to cook, that I cooked like people naked on the mountain. She said my house wasn’t clean enough. My dressing was proper enough. One day I made chicken stew and Rice. As she demanded I had put the food on a tray and instructed my maid to take it to her room. There was a loud wail: “inna lillahi WA inna ilaihi rajiun”she exclaimed.
I dashed to the room to find my mother in law scowling asked what the matter was.
She hissed and told me that she wasn’t a servant. Only servants eat white rice and chicken stew. She yelled and cursed at me. I didn’t understand why rice and stew would make anyone angry! As I stood there apologizing she threw the salad bowl at me and the last thing I remember before I blacked out was her saying, grass was meant for goats not human beings.
The glass bowl hit me in the head and I had to be hospitalized,all because of chicken stew and rice!
After I was discharged tried my very best to stay away from her but my husband wasn’t having it. He refused to see things from my point of view. He became very unreasonable towards me and berated me for being rude to his mother! What made matters worse was that murtala was her only son, he had 5 sisters. Managing them after the incident with Hajiya (my mother in law) became a herculean task. One of the sisters, maimuna also moved in with us to ‘protect her mother’. Hajiya had told everyone that I went to her room that day to attack her and that’s why she threw a glass bowl at me. No one wanted to hear my own side of the story.
Maimuna was twice divorced and was in her 40’s. She was even more ruthless than Hajiya. She didn’t answer my greetings. And she only hissed to acknowledge my existence or sometimes she would intentionally barge into me. I went to my father in law to complain about what was going on. He listened to me but told me there was nothing he could do.
I was resigned to my fate.
One day after I came back from work, I found Maimuna in my room, going through my clothes. With a scissors in her hand, cutting up my clothes!  Naturally a quarrel ensued between us. What the hell was this woman doing? As we insulted each other, she just slapped me. And at that point I had enough.
“Slap me again adda maimuna, at least I am in my husband’s house. And kin san me? It is your brother that will replace all these clothes you have destroyed! Instead of you to stay in your own home, you have come to cause trouble in mine”
Honestly I was surprised at myself because na san gori ba kyau. Immediately I felt bad and tried to apologise but the damage had been done. She went straight to her mother, crying that I beat her up because she asked to borrow my clothes.
For 3 hours Hajiya and her daughter railed and cursed and abused me. When my husband finally came home, I was relieved that he would pacify them. Oh but I was wrong. He completely took her side and forgot about my own side. As usual no one was willing to hear my own side of the story. I really felt let down that day. At least let my own side of the story be heard.
Eventually I had to apologize (on bended knees) to all of them. It was during the apology session that I was informed of my husband’s decision to marry a new wife. His mother announced that Murtala would be marrying a proper Fulani wife who would take care of her. Stunned is an understatement. I think I almost fainted due to the shock. I stared at him. Why couldn’t he tell me himself? hmm..
What could I do but to accept my fate?
Six months later, my ‘pure’ Fulani co wife came into the house. To be honest with you it felt like I had 3 co wives already. I was now sharing my home and my husband with my mother in law, adda maimuna and the pure Fulani idiot, Hasiya.
Hasiya was an expert at scheming and making you look bad for something you had no idea about.
One day I was cooking when she came into the kitchen and started calling me names while rubbing her pregnant belly to annoy me. As usual I tried my best to ignore her but she kept on going. Just as I was about to reply her I heard Murtala drive in. that was when this girl carried the soup that I was cooking and poured on her feet. I rushed to help her and collected the pot of hot soup from her hand. That was when everybody walked into the kitchen to see me standing over Hasiya with hot pot of soup in hand and Hasiya wailing:
‘Wayyo Allah ta kashe Ni! Wayyo Allah ku taimake Ni kishiya za ta nakasa Ni da miya!!!”
That day I got the beating of my life from my husband and Adda Maimuna. His excuse was that I wanted to kill his unborn baby. As usual nobody heard my side of the story. After beating me black and blue, he drove me back home to my parents and submitted my letter of divorce.
I am still healing from the painful events that happened. But what is even more painful is the stigma that I suffer because I am a divorcee. People talk to you anyhow and nobody respects you.  I hardly go out for social events because I don’t belong with the married women and I don’t belong with the single girls. Besides none of them wants to be seen in public with me due to my bazawara status. Married women avoid me because they feel I will wreck their homes. Single girls avoid me because their mothers tell them I will corrupt them. I have lost friends because of my situation and even members of family treat me with disdain. This is very unfair.
Nobody in their right mind will wish that their marriage will end. But it happens and it is very difficult to go through. I appeal to you to treat us divorced people with kindness and compassion because e fit be you tomorrow… we need to be allowed to mourn the death of our marriages and to heal from the painful scars of divorce. Judgement makes our lives even harder.
I didn’t choose to end up like this. I wanted to be married till death do us part. My mother in law brought chaos into my marriage and my dear husband played right into her hands. They won’t even allow me to go and pack my things. May God Judge between us on the day of judgement.

Thank you for reading my story.




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