My friends have convinced me that I am not doing anything wrong. That is how this whole thing started.
Maybe that is also how most men get themselves into trouble. They sit with their friends, everybody talks confidently, everybody has an example, everybody suddenly becomes a relationship expert, and before you know it, you are walking home with a decision you had been afraid to make for years.
My name is Jide and I have been married for six years. Six years. We have two children, a boy and a girl. We have survived pregnancy, bills, school fees, family meetings, sick children, power outages, arguments over whose turn it is to buy foodstuff, and the occasional “I’m not talking to you” from my wife.
I love my wife. Let me say that clearly. I do, but for some time now, I have been thinking about taking another wife. It isn’t something I woke up one morning and decided to do because I saw a pretty woman. Well…pretty women exist, I am not blind. But this is bigger than that.
I come from a Yoruba Muslim family, and in our religious understanding, a man may marry more than one wife, within the conditions and responsibilities that come with it. It is permitted and it isn’t compulsory.
But lately, I’ve been wondering whether it might be something I want. Or perhaps something I can handle. Or perhaps, if I’m being completely honest, something my friends have convinced me I can handle. Because, according to my friends, I have been “thinking too much.”
We were sitting together earlier that evening. Just the usual boys’ gathering, drinks, food and laughter. Everybody discussing marriage as if we had all collected certificates from the University of Marriage.
One of them said, “Jide, you already know the answer.”
I looked at him, “What answer?”
“The second wife matter.”
I nearly choked, “Who told you I want to marry another woman?”
Everybody burst out laughing, and that was when I realised something. I wasn’t hiding my thoughts as well as I thought.
One of them leaned closer, “My brother, you are not the first man to think about it.”
Another nodded, “Besides, if your religion permits it and you can afford the responsibility, why are you behaving like you want to commit a crime?”
I laughed, but I wasn’t entirely convinced. Because affordability is one thing and peace is another. My wife is not a handbag, you can’t simply decide you want another one and expect the first one to sit on the bed smiling. I told them that and they laughed even harder.
One of them slapped my shoulder, “That’s why you need wisdom.”
“From you?”
“Exactly.”
I don’t know why that sentence was supposed to reassure me. Then another friend started giving examples. His uncle had two wives, his neighbour had three, someone’s father had four and another man’s father had two and “everybody was fine.”
I didn’t have the heart to ask whether everybody was actually fine. They kept talking, about fairness, about responsibility, about culture, about religion, about companionship, about how children eventually grow up and leave and about how a man shouldn’t put all his emotional expectations on one woman.
And, of course, somebody eventually said the sentence every man in that room had apparently been waiting to say.
“Jide, if you don’t do it now, when?”
I laughed, but that question stayed with me. By the time I got home, I had practically given myself a motivational speech.
I was going to talk to my wife, calmly and respectfully. Like a mature man, no pressure, no shouting, no assumptions, just a conversation. That was the plan.
The children were already asleep when we got into bed. My wife was arranging her pillow as I lay beside her. My heart was beating faster than it should. This was ridiculous, I had stood before people, made presentations, handled difficult conversations, and yet here I was, afraid of my own wife.
I cleared my throat and she looked at me.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
She looked at me again, I knew that look. The look that said: You have something to say.
I sighed, “There is something I’ve been thinking about.”
She waited while I started slowly, “I’ve been thinking about our marriage.”
She nodded and I continued, “Our life together.” Another nod, “Our future.” Nothing. I took that as encouragement.
“We have been married for six years.” She nodded again, “We have two children.” Another nod, “We’ve built a lot together.”
She was still silent. At this point, I started feeling strangely confident. She wasn’t interrupting. Good sign, very good sign.
I continued, “You know my beliefs.” She nodded, “You know our religion.” Another nod, “And you know that, within our faith, a man can marry more than one wife.”
Silence which made me pause. She didn’t say anything. I looked at her and she looked at me, then she looked away.
I continued, “I have been thinking seriously about it.” Still nothing, “I don’t want you to think that this means I don’t appreciate you.” No response, “You are my wife.” Silence, “You are the mother of my children.” Silence, “You’ve been there for me and I am grateful.”
She blinked. I started becoming even more confident. In my mind, her silence had become acceptance or at least consideration. Maybe she was processing it, maybe she had expected this conversation and maybe she had even thought about it herself.
I started talking more freely. I explained that I wasn’t trying to replace her, that nobody could replace the years we had shared, that she would remain my wife, that our children would remain my children, that I would do my best to be fair and that I understood there were responsibilities involved.
I even started discussing practical things. Where everybody would live, how expenses would be handled and how I would ensure there was no favouritism. At one point, I caught myself sounding like I was presenting a business proposal.
“Of course, everything would have to be structured properly.”
She looked at me and I stopped.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
And there it was again, nothing, so I continued. By now, I was feeling very good about myself. This conversation wasn’t going badly. In fact, it was going remarkably well. My wife hadn’t shouted, she hadn’t cried, she hadn’t thrown anything and she hadn’t even said, “Are you mad?”
I was practically celebrating inside. My friends had been right, women sometimes just need time to process things. I nodded to myself, yes, this was going well.
Eventually, I finished. I had said everything I wanted to say. The room became quiet. She sat there still. I waited, one second, two, five, ten, I began wondering whether she was going to say something.
Finally, she turned towards me. Her face was calm, too calm, and then she asked:
“Jide…”
“Yes?”
“If you are allowed to marry four wives…”
I nodded slowly.
She looked directly into my eyes.
“…why have you assumed that your first wife is automatically going to agree to be one of them?”
I opened my mouth, nothing came out. She continued looking at me, and suddenly…I wasn’t so sure anymore that her silence had meant what I thought it meant.
Read the part 2 here: Jide: Part 2