Settling

Settling. 

You have begun to think of the word more often. It probably is what describes how you feel the most. You think settling is more apt because as a verb, it connotes an action - not a final act. Something that happens one action or inaction at a time, one compromise at a time, one act of deprivation or saying ‘yes’ when your head is screaming ‘no’. A quiet series of surrender. A gradual drift. This has to be what settling feels like. And with this settling (or whatever else it is), you have begun to feel less like yourself.

It started small, almost unnoticeable. Like when Emeka, your husband, made that first comment about your weight. “If I didn’t know you, I’d think you were pregnant,” he teased. You were startled, asked him why, and he pointed at your dress, how it hugged your stomach more than before. You laughed it off, blaming it on overeating.

The second time, you told him you didn’t like it. He apologized.

The third time, you repeated your discomfort, but he brushed it aside. “If I don’t tell you the truth, who will?”

Soon, it wasn’t just jokes. He compared you to other women. Like the new research lead at his office. “One would think you were older than her even though she has 3 kids and you have none.” You felt disrespected and silently wondered if he meant to make you feel inadequate. Or was he interested in her? You however didn’t want to look insecure so you said nothing.

He became even more aggressive with his comments about your body. Then came the day at the supermarket. You picked out cookies, seven packs, small delights to make you smile. At the cashier, Emeka pulled them out of the basket. “We’ll buy fruits instead.” He knew when you picked them; he could have spoken up earlier.

But he waited, making the sting sharper. You said nothing and shrugged it off. You wondered why because it was unlike you to not call out his actions.

But you recalled your sister’s advice the last time you complained to her that Emeka was acting differently from the person you knew. “Marriage is compromise. Pick your battles. Be the bigger person.” She had been married seven years, so you listened.

You had shared how he told you dress for your body and joked about moving into another room as the bed you shared seemed to be becoming too small for you both. “We both know who has been getting bigger”, he mocked.

He had also asked you to try driving to work twice a week and opting for public transport for the other days. “Your work has you sitting all day so a little exercise would be good”.

You replied that you’d join the gym close to the office so you could work out after work before coming home and he laughed “You want to expose your body as it is in front of women who are already fit from exercise and discipline?”

You told your sister about these and she said to be the bigger person and ignore. You silenced your protests.

But the silences grew louder.

Like the time when you wanted to go on vacation together. You had both saved 30% of your salaries and because he earned significantly more, his contribution was more. You dreamed of travel, a shared escape. But when the time came, Emeka announced a new plan, to use the money for his father’s new country home ahead of his 75th birthday. You questioned the need.

“Daddy’s current house has 5 bedrooms and more than enough space with only Oluchi your younger sister left in the house with him and Mama. Why does he need another country home?” You asked.

Emeka paused for about 3 minutes as though trying to process what you had said. “So is it now a crime to want the best for my parents? Should I wait till they are gone and spend the money on a befitting burial instead? You are supposed to support my decisions as my wife, besides, my family is also now your family so it’s a home for you and our children.” He replied.

You asked why he didn’t say this all the while plans were going on for the trip. The money would also not be enough for a building project, you noted.

“I’m making the first contribution and my siblings will also contribute.”

You frowned and stormed out but softened later when he reassured you of other opportunities to travel. “We have our whole lives ahead of us and I’ll not forget your sacrifices”, he said.

You were not happy yet you compromised.

You think on it now and realize it was all settling. This opportunity cost in the form of depriving yourself of experiences and things you were used to just to accommodate others or save more.

There was his new found love for golf too. The cost of registration took up a chunk of your joint savings but Emeka said it was an investment in your future. “I get to have access to the men that matter. Instead of writing proposals, I can have face to face conversations with them. Think of it as down payment for the life of our dreams.”

He spent two days playing golf every week but months later you were yet to see the fruits of your down payment besides invitation to society weddings with Aso Ebi that cost about half your salary and spray money that took up a good chunk of the joint savings. “Appearance is everything. You know this na, people will give you anything so long as they assume you don’t need it”.

There were naming ceremonies with receptions that rivaled any party you ever attended in your life. The most worrying were the nights out with the boys from the golf club. Emeka spent three nights aside the two spent playing golf at lounges and clubs. He would rave about how big boys burnt money on drinks like it was nothing and when you complained that you were losing quality time, he would say “Success comes at a price. It’s at clubs that most major deals are signed, office meetings are merely formalities after the decision has been made in the night”.

You were confused. Was it no longer at the golf club that deals were sealed? Was it now in night clubs or both?

Still you dismissed it, “it’s only a phase”, you thought. You promised yourself that it’d pass and to convince yourself, you began to dream of better things, experiences, freedoms and days. This lightened you up and made it easy to deal with the involuntary ‘settling’.

But ‘settling’ you are now learning is a journey and not a destination. The farther you go, the more difficult it is to return and the more you lose. With each compromise, you pay for more than you bargained. The quality of your life is affected and the bursts of inspiration that came with certain forgone experience is lost.

Work was hectic, your husband spent less time with you and when you were together focused more on your weight, your tired eyes, the double chin that was becoming more visible, your heels that were too chunky. “I’m working hard for us to live in luxury but you also have to look the part. You need to dish those kitten heels and be more daring. Pencil heels are more chic and fashionable”. 

He would talk about Otunba’s wife who looked 25 at 55, and Victor’s wife who after four children looked like her tummy had never borne a child. “Don’t worry, we will get some work done on your body once I hit the deal I’m working on. I’ll take you to the best plastic surgeon and you will be transformed.”

You wanted to tell him that you didn’t want to be transformed and was in fact comfortable with the life you had but you kept mute. Instead you continued attending the high end parties and events with him, plastering on makeup, corsets, six inches pencil heels, and smiles despite the discomfort you felt.

You realize that you are giving up more than you anticipated and initially shrugged it off as the price to pay for your marriage and future but now you find yourself wishing you could go back. To the place where compromising didn’t cost so much, when you had the freedom to choose, to be or do what was best for you. And you longed for the people who made it easy to just be, to not have to deprive yourself, to live and to grow without feeling held back by sacrifices.

You look at Emeka and realize that the man you married no longer existed. But in his place now stood a man consumed by money and vanity. Who laughed at crude jokes and encouraged you to smile even when demeaning comments were made. “Why did Odera think it was okay to bring his side chic to the wedding? Why was Felix talking about side chics being like new engines that fire better than old worn engines in front of me? Why did you even laugh? How was that funny?” 

Emeka shrugged it off. “They are just being boys” he said. “You know I’m faithful to you so it doesn’t matter”, he added. 

But you knew it was only a matter of time before he became just like them. He had been sucked into their world, and found it easy to miss church even on Sundays so that he could attend ‘emergency meetings’ with partners that just came in from Singapore, China, Japan, Jupiter. 

He had begun to get some contracts that paid decently but he spent a large chunk on Daddy’s country home and a good percentage on luxury watches, shoes, clothes, and perfumes. He also bought expensive gifts to curry favor and get more contracts from clients.

“Consider it down payment for the future” became an anthem. You watched Emeka and wished you could go back in time to be with the man you married. How did he metamorphose into this person? Or was he always like this and you didn’t see it?

Now you watch as he had begun to walk away from you when he had to answer certain phone calls. He had changed his password and often giggled while typing and obviously chatting. He stayed out more and got easily irritated by your questions and concerns. 

You watched and wished for the man who promised to cover and keep you safe no matter what, the man who you called clingy in your dating days and early years of your marriage. You watched, grieving silently. You wanted to believe he was still faithful, but deep down, you knew the tide was shifting. 

You hadn’t conceived yet, and part of you wished you had, perhaps then, at least, you’d have your own child to hold onto. Most of all, you wish you had spoken up and stopped him when he first started adopting his new lifestyle. You contemplated moving on to start a new life but you were not sure how.

You imagine life without Emeka but you know he would be the only love of your life. What would be your identity without him? 

Now you wish that something drastic would happen to bring him back to reality, to normalcy, to earth, to you.

And as you wish and long, you realize that more than an imagination, it might be real, you have settled and it is not a probability but a quiet truth. One that may have cost you everything.