I am about to get married to my mother’s husband. Please, before you judge me, hear my story. My name is Sina. I have a young father who took care of me alone, without my mom being present or supportive. My dad came from a poor family. His father was a cleaner for one of the richest men in our village, but the rich man was not from the village. He bought the land and built a house there. The rich man has two daughters and two sons. My grandfather would always go there with my father because my grandmother had passed away, and there was nobody to stay with him at home.
When my father was 18 years old, one of the rich man’s daughters became friends with him, and one thing led to another; they made love, and the rich man’s daughter became pregnant. My grandfather was sacked without being paid. He developed strokes and died. My father was left alone. After some months, the rich man sent for my father. When my father got there, it turned out that the rich man’s daughter had given birth to a girl. The rich man told my father to take his child and go away, saying that his daughter would further her education and should not breastfeed a baby. My father carried me home when I was three months old. He started begging on the streets to buy me food. He really suffered just to make sure I wouldn’t die.
Fast forward to when I was five years old; my father stopped begging and wanted me to go to primary school. He searched for a job but couldn’t find one. He went back to the rich man’s house to beg them to assist him in training their granddaughter, but he was given a job as a cleaner. There was no salary, but they would pay my school fees. We fed on their leftovers. My father had no choice but to continue the work his father was doing. I started going to primary school. When school closed, I would go and meet him at work. I would always see my mom whenever she came back because my father told me she was my mom, but I should not call her “mom” so they wouldn’t sack her. Whenever I saw her, I always admired her so much. She and her siblings never talked to me.
There was a day I was playing around the compound. I accidentally touched the car. My sad mom and her brothers flogged me. They told my father never to bring me to their compound again. That was how I stopped going there. I started staying at home alone after school, waiting for my dad.
When I was 13 years old, I went to give my dad food at work. Yes, we had started cooking before I began doing farm work after school. They paid me, and we cooked. We no longer depended on their leftovers. When I got there, it was the rich man’s first son that I met. “Uncle, good afternoon,” I greeted him. “Please, I’m looking for my father.” “He’s inside the room arranging,” he said. “You can go and see him there because he’s not coming out soon,” he added. I went inside the room he described. Immediately I entered, he followed me in and locked the door. I was crying loudly for help. He covered my mouth with his hand and forced himself on me. I was bleeding. Immediately he finished and opened the door, the first person to rush in to see who was crying and shouting was my mom. She came in, saw me in pain, knowing that her brother had raped me, but she didn’t say a word. I was crying in the compound when my dad came, along with the rich man and his entire family. The rich man asked me what happened. I told him, and I also told him that his sister, Jane, who is my mom, saw what happened. The rich man asked Sister Jane, my mom, and she denied it. She said her brother didn’t do anything like that. That was how my father was sacked, and I stopped going to school. Four months later, my dad died. I was left with no one. For five straight years, life was not making sense. I wanted to join him by killing myself. I cried every time.
During that same period, I heard that the rich man’s daughter, who is my mom, got married. She and her husband now live in Abuja, and she married a wealthy man too. During Christmas, one of the women I worked for on her farm told me to come visit her so I could help her cook and take some food home. When I got there, one of the daughters promised to take me to Abuja so I could start working there. She got emotional when I told her about my story. Now this is my life in Abuja. The aunt who took me to Abuja enrolled me in a fashion school. I did well and was given a certificate. After two years, I looked for a small space to rent a shop and start sewing.
On my way, I met a man who stopped to talk to me. He said that immediately he saw me, something in him told him to help me achieve what I wanted. He asked me about my plans for the day, and I told him. He rented a shop for me that same day. We went to the mall and bought sewing machines and all the equipment I needed. He asked me where I was living, and I told him I was staying with my aunt. He told me to come out the next day so he could get a place near my shop. The next day, he rented a one-room apartment for me and furnished it. It felt like a dream.
Three months later, he asked me out, and I accepted. I told him my story, and he cried, promising to be there for me. Before we made love, I told him about my mom’s brother who had raped me. Seven months later, he got me a car. I saw my life changing. That same month, I found out I was pregnant. I was so scared to tell him, fearing he would run away. I finally told him I was pregnant. He was so happy that I thought he wanted to use a pregnant woman for sacrifice. But later, he said he had a confession. He told me he had been married for years, with no baby, and his family and his wife’s family were pointing fingers at him. “Please forgive me for not telling you my status initially,” he added. “It’s okay, please stop crying,” I told him. He asked me to marry him. I asked him about his wife. He told me not to worry about it. Then I accepted to marry him.
Three days later, he took me to the immigration office so I could get a passport. He wanted us to travel outside the country. That same day, I asked him to please show me what his wife looked like so I could avoid her. He brought out his phone to show me his wife’s picture. His wife is my mom, the woman who gave birth to me, the woman whose family cursed me and my late father. Immediately, I felt a sharp pain. I was rushed to the hospital, and I lost the pregnancy. The man is very interested in marrying me. Please, should I continue with his marriage proposal? Oh, it’s overwhelming. Guys, let us know what you think.
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