A dead woman, Ogochukwu Onuchukwu (she died
last month) shares her story and writes a letter to
her husband from the grave. I culled the letter
from her WEBSITE and wanted to share it because
it’s something we all need to read and hopefully
someone will learn from it. Read it below…
My mum is crying. I can see her from here. She
has aged since the last time I saw her. Why does
she look so old and why is she so thin? Can
someone console her? Can someone make her
stop crying?
I try to get up but I can’t. I try to reach for her, but
I’m stuck where I am. It is very dark in here, and
very cold, so very cold.
What am I doing here? Where is everybody?
Where are my children? I begin to panic, to
struggle; I want to get out of this dark room.
I can hear Uzo calling. She’s calling my name.
Then, I see mum again. And I hear Uzo again. I
don’t see my children. Where are my children? I
can’t see beyond the walls of this dark and cold
room.
This just messed with my head…I hope you fair
better. Continue reading…
Uzo calls again.
She sounds desperate to rouse me from my sleep.
I am struggling to wake but I can’t. I open my eyes
and they shut of their own accord.
I am powerless to keep them from shutting. And I
find as soon as I stop struggling, my sleep
becomes sweet repose. Suddenly I don’t want to
wake from it just yet. It is peaceful.
I see mum again, and I see Uzo. Uzo keeps calling.
She won’t stop calling. She is crying too, just like
mum.
Can someone bring Kamsi and Amanda to me?
Can someone bring my babies to me? I need to
hug them, Kamsi, especially. Is he crying too and
calling out for me? Does he understand that I am
gone? Kamsi will miss me.
He is a special child, you know; Kamsiyochukwu –
my son and my first child.
I prayed and longed for his birth. He was the
blessing from above that would seal Kevin’s love
for me and give me some footing in his home and
some acceptance from his family.
Before Kamsi, I was a nobody in Kevin’s home. I
was born the last of nine children, the baby of the
family. I was used to love and affection. I was
everyone’s baby. I grew up knowing that everyone
had my back, I grew up knowing the safety and
security of being the baby of the home. You may
then understand my shock when I stepped out of
my home and into new territory with the man of
my dreams only to find that I was really not as
special as I had been made to believe. I look back
to that day when Kevin took me home to introduce
me to my new family. The cold and rude shock of
the welcome his brother’s wife gave me set off an
alarm in my head.
These people didn’t think I was special. In fact, her
first words were, ”Kevin, ebe kwa ka isi dute
nka?” (Kevin, “Where on earth did you bring this
one from?) That would be the first time I would be
addressed as “this one” and from then on, I
grappled with the realization that I was not
welcome in my new home.
I remember my first Christmas at Ihiala as a new
bride. My brother-in-law’s wife would sneer and
clap and refer to me as “Ndi ji ukwu azo
akwu” (the people who process palm fruits with
their bare feet). I knew she meant my
impoverished home town of Nsukka. She would
sing to me all day long telling me the only reason
why their brother married me was because of my
beauty and complexion.
Now, I lie here and I wonder if I was in my right
mind to ignore the several other alarms over my
12- year union with Kevin.
I had to ignore them, I told myself. I had already
taken my vows to be with Kevin until death did us
part.
They never really wanted me, I can now see. But I
was too blinded by love to realize that. I needed to
do something to cement Kevin’s heart with mine. I
needed to remain Kevin’s wife and to prove to the
world that indeed Love would conquer all.
When after one year of marriage there were still no
children, the painful journey that sent me to my
grave started. I went from specialist to specialist,
ingested every kind of pill that promised to boost
my fertility. As my desperation grew, so did
pressure from Kevin’s family. My horror- movie life
story started playing out; the horror- movie life that
has sent me to an early and cold grave from where
I write this letter to my husband.
********************************************
*************************************
My sweet Kevin,
We started to fight over little things. The fights were
worse after you visited home or attended any of
your numerous family meetings. You came home
one evening and asked me to move out of the
bedroom we both shared and into the guestroom
downstairs. The next time you returned from the
meeting, you tied me up with a rope and used
your belt on me. No one heard my screams.
I remember when you told me that your family had
asked you to remarry. You showed me documents
of all your numerous landed property including
the house we lived in. Your brother was listed as
next of kin. When I asked you about it, your
answer rocked the ground I was standing on. You
said, “What have you to show that entitles you to
any stake in this household?” You were referring
to my barreness.
It is funny how to my family and friends, I was the
beautiful and loving Ogo, whilst to you and your
family I was a worthless piece of rag. You called me
barren. I could have fled but your love and
acceptance was of more worth to me than the love
and admiration of the world outside our home. I
desperately sought to be loved by you, Kevin.
In your family’s presence I felt unworthy, unloved
and unwanted. Yet, I stayed on. I would make you
love me one way or the other and I knew that one
sure way would
be to produce a child, an heir for you. That was
the most important thing to you.
I began the numerous procedures, painful
procedures, including surgery. I gave myself daily
shots. At some point the needles could no longer
pierce my skin. My skin had toughened to the
piercing pain of needles.
After seven years of marriage, our prayers were
answered. God blessed us with our son
Kamsiyochukwu, which means ‘’Just as I asked of
the Lord’’. God had intervened and miracles were
about to start happening because for the first time
in seven years, my mother-in-law called me. Finally
I was home. I had been accepted. I was now a
woman, a wife and a mother. Finally there was
peace. Kamsi will be four in November.
The miracles stayed with me because 18 months
later through another procedure, Chimamanda
was born. Her birth was bitter sweet for me. Sweet
because you Kevin, my husband, and my in-laws
would love me more for bearing a second child,
but bitter because this particular birth almost cost
me my life. The doctors had become very
concerned. You see, I had developed too many
complications from all the different procedures I
had undergone in the journey to have children and
these were beginning to get in the way of normal
everyday living. I developed conditions that had
almost become life threatening. So the doctors
sent me off with my new bundle of joy and with a
stern warning not to try for another child as I may
not be so lucky.
I chuckled, almost gleefully. Why would I want to
try for a third child? God had given me a boy and a
girl, what more could I ask for. I was only ever so
thankful to God.
Kevin, you and I gave numerous and very
generous donations to different churches in
thanksgiving to God. All was well. I was happy and
fulfilled. Kevin, you loved me again. Your family
accepted me. Life was good. And all was quiet
again. …………………… For a while.
Then fate struck me a blow. As if to remind me that
my stay in your house was temporary and was
never really going to be peaceful, Kamsi – our son,
our first fruit, my pride and joy and the child that
gave me a place in my husband’s home, began to
show signs of slowed development; the visits to
the doctors resumed, this time on account of
Kamsi.
We started seeing therapists. After we’d been from
one doctor to another I decided I had to resort to
prayer. I was frightened. I was terrified. I was
threatened. I started to feel unwell. I had difficulty
breathing. I needed to see my doctors, Kamsi too.
He wasn’t doing too well either. He had difficulty
with his speech. He was slow to comprehend
things. I did not know for sure what was wrong
with him but I knew all was not well. Not with him
and not with me. We
were denied visas to the USA because we had
overstayed on our last trip on account of Kamsi’s
treatments. So whilst we waited for a lawyer to
help us clear up the immigration issues with
America, I applied for a UK visa and sought help in
London. But by then, trouble had reared its head
at home, again.
Kevin, you had again become very impatient with
me. My fears were fully alive again. The battles it
seemed I had won were again in full rage. My
husband, in your irritable impatience and anger,
you told me to my face that our son, my Kamsi, was
worthless to you. You said he was abnormal. You
said that our daughter, my Amanda, was a girl and
that you had no need for a girl child because she
would someday be married off. I remember, in
pain, that you didn’t attend Amanda’s christening
because you were upset with me. You told me your
mother was more important to you than “THESE
THINGS” I brought to your house. You were
referring to our children, were you not? “THESE
THINGS”.
My heart bled. I wept bitterly. Then I quickly
calmed my fears by telling myself that you were
under a lot of stress at work and that you were
also probably reacting to all the money that you
had spent on my treatments. Surely, all that was
getting to you? Even when you threatened me with
a knife, twice you did that, I still felt unworthy of
you and very deserving of your hatred. Even when
you would say: “I will kill you and nothing will
happen because you have no one to fight for you”,
I kept on struggling to get you to love me because,
Kevin, your validation was important to me
You had refused to give me money for my medical
trip to London. I knew then it was because you
had your hands full with caring and catering for
everybody who was dear to you. Your finances
were stretched. I thought then that in time you
would come around.
My health continued to get worse. Eventually, I
made it to London. After extensive consultations
and tests, I was given a definitive diagnosis. My
condition was life threatening. It was from this
time, when it was clear that I required surgery to
save me life that I came face to face with a different
kind of war from our home.
Kevin, you stopped speaking with me. I was in
pain, in anguish and in tears. I didn’t understand
what was happening. I had stayed three weeks in
London and Kevin, you never called, sent a text or
inquired how I was faring. You stopped taking my
calls. Instead I got a call from my cousin in whose
care I had left my children. She was frantic with
worry because there was no food in the house for
the children to eat; Kevin you had refused to
provide food for our children. Kevin, you had also
refused to pay for Kamsi’s home schooling.
Then Kevin, I received that e-mail from you. The
only communication from you for the entire period
I was in London.
Do you remember? It was an angry email. You
berated me for putting your integrity at stake at
your work place. Apparently your employers had
called a hospital in London to inquire about me
and were told that no one by my name was ever
their patient. I later found out that you had given
the wrong hospital name to your employers. Do
you remember, Kevin?
For the first time in my 12 year marriage, the alarm
bells in my head began to sound real. For the first
time in 12 years, I felt real anger stir up in my
heart. Kevin, I was angry because you paid no
heed to the hospital where your wife was at in
London. You had no clue and cared little about
what I was going through. Yet you would berate
me for putting your INTEGRITY at work at stake.
Your integrity was your primary concern, not my
health.
Then it hit me! All these years I was trying to be all
I could be for you, Kevin, to make you happy, to
please you, Kevin, ……… you actually hated me. You
didn’t want me in your life. The signs were all
there. Your family had showed me from day one
that they didn’t want me. I was the object of a
hatred that I could not explain. I
couldn’t understand why.
Then I saw the hand writing on the wall, all those
many things that went on. You even sold my car
whilst I was still lying on a hospital bed in London,
with no word to me. I was not to learn of what you
had done until I returned to Nigeria. The doctors
had allowed me to return to prepare for surgery.
Kevin, do you remember that on my return I gave
you a pair of shoes I had bought for you? Kevin,
my husband, do you remember hurling those
shoes at me? Kevin, do you remember me
breaking down in tears? Kevin, do you remember
me asking you that night, many times over, why
you hated me so much, what I had done to make
you hate me as much as you did?
“You are disturbing me, and if you continue, I`ll
move out and inform the company that I no
longer live in the house. Then they will come and
drive you away”. Kevin, my husband, that was your
response to me. Did you know then I only had
days to live? Is that why you told me that would be
the last time I would see you physically? Did you
know it would only be a few more hours?
I still had a surgery to go through. Kevin, since you
wanted no part in it, I had contacted the medical
officer in your company directly for referrals. I left
Eket for Lagos on Saturday. That same day I
consulted with the specialist surgeon and surgery
was scheduled for Monday morning.
In those final hours, as I prepared for my surgery,
I was alone, my spirit was broken. I had lost all the
fight in me. Kevin, I knew that nothing I did or said
would turn you heart toward me, and I had
nobody for whom you had any regards who would
speak up for me.
In those final hours, Kevin, I called you. This was
Sunday morning, less than 24 hours to my death.
Do you remember, Kevin? I called you to share
what the specialist surgeon had said. I was still
shaking from your screams on the phone when I
got in here. You did not want me to bother you,
you screamed. I should go to my brothers and
sisters, you screamed. I should pay you back all
the money you gave me for my treatment in
London, you screamed. Kevin, did you know that
would be my last conversation with you? My last
conversation with you, my husband, my love, my
life, ended with you banging the phone on me.
Recalling the abusive words, the spitting, the
beating, the bruising, the knifing, and the promise
that I would not live long for daring to forget to
buy garden eggs for your mother, an insult you
vowed I would pay for with my life ……., I knew
then it was over for me. There was no rationalizing
needed any longer. Even the blind could see ……….
You did not want me in your life.
I went in for surgery on Monday morning,
February 27, 2012, and after battling for several
hours, I yielded my spirit.
Kevin, my husband, I lived my promise to God. The
promise I made on the day I wedded you.
For better ………………………… For worse
For richer …………………………. For poorer
In Sickness ………………………. And in health
To love ………………………….. And to cherish
Till DEATH US DO PART!
And it has.
NOW I AM DEAD!!!!!!!
Just as your mum predicted ….. Her cold words
follow me to morgue. She swore to me that I
would leave her son’s house dead or alive. I
couldn’t leave whilst I still breathed. It had to be
through death, and death it has become.
Kevin, you are FREE! And, so am I.
Your freedom is temporary. Mine is eternal.
Whilst you still have freedom, remember Kamsi and
Chimamanda.
Lovingly yours until death,
Ogo.
I am gone. Gone forever. But if one woman, just
one woman will learn from my story, then maybe I
would not have gone in vain.
My heart weeps for my children, my mummy, my
sisters and my brothers, my extended family. These
ones, I was a gift to. These ones, they loved me.
These ones, they wanted me. These ones, they
needed me. These ones, they wish I had spoken
out earlier.
***
Written by someone who was part of her life and
witnessed her struggles. RIP Ogo.
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