I spent the year I turned 20 practicing. I practiced my reaction for when my husband would eventually leave.  When he’s had enough of my self-destructiveness. When he walks out without a word. I wouldn’t be caught unawares like aunty Hauwa who roamed the streets for years or my mother with suicidal tendency and unstable female children (the high priest said there were no males in her womb).

In my marriage our destruction will be calculated. Precisely 8 years and 3 months into the marriage. I would practice the high-pitched screams and yell curses staring at the mirror. I would cuddle in corners and wonder where the good years had gone. Run my hand through my thick hair. Stare at the bills I couldn’t afford. I would turn to religion. Turn to alcohol. Anything that would make me feel less alone.

Still staring at the mirror I pray that he will never leave me.


2 thoughts on “Practice

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