“Many stories matter. Stories have been used to dispossess and to malign. But stories can also be used to empower, and to humanize. Stories can break the dignity of a people. But stories can also repair that broken dignity.” – Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie
I apologise for the lull in updating this series. I got married the traditional way and married life is remarkably different from anything you have been told. Do I now deserve the acronym MBM? 🙂
I have only loved one guy…scratch that, I still love him. We met while I was still teaching at the School of Nursing and he ran a pharmacy and supplied the clinic at the school.
We were to have a demonstration and I’d gone to the clinic to pick up something. He was carrying some cartons which obstructed his view. He bumped into me and the forceful, unexpected contact sent his products flying. (I know, like something out of a Hollywood rom-com for gays).
Over drinks soon after, he asked me out and proceeded to tell me things about me; it would appear that someone had really done his homework. I was both intrigued and perplexed that someone took the time to learn about me. He also told me that he was married with three kids.
I wasn’t fazed. And thus began six years of a blissful relationship with more ups than downs, until the morning of 13th August, 2015 and that phone call!
“Hello, Mr. Nuel, your attention is required at the police station in respect to one Mr. Michael,” the voice at the other end of the call mechanically said to me.
I wanted to learn more about why I was needed at the police station but no other information was forthcoming. I dressed up and went to the station.
At the station, the OIC related what happened. My boyfriend Michael lent some other man some money, and the man then refused to pay when the agreed time for payment was upon him; and the debtor proceeded to use their gay alliance to set Michael up and get him locked up. Of course Michael couldn’t call his family, and so, he gave the police my number. Understanding the grimness of the situation, I ended up paying his bail and some money to hush the case.
Thinking that was the end of the case, I drove him home. His wife invited me into the house (nothing unusual here, I’m a fairly frequent visitor) and told me she was aware that her hubby spent the night in the police cell. She was also aware of the reason. (This treacherous debtor had apparently spilled the beans to her). She went on to tell me that she was already aware of her husband’s love for men and – much to my stupefaction here – of our relationship. She also wanted me to know that this wasn’t a biggie for her. She however wanted me to promise to be her husband’s sole male lover. That it’d give her peace of mind knowing it was just me.
It was an awkward proposition. I told her I’d think about it and left for my house.
I was distraught that my boyfriend had cheated on me (ironical, I know). I couldn’t bear that he had been with another man, and that the result of his cheating had brought about this much trouble. I broke up with him but still remained friends with him and his family. Subsequently, his wife never brought up her request again.
Written by Nuel