[dropcap]T[/dropcap]hree or four years ago, my mother-in-law sent me a video. It was of ‘Nara ekele’. That was the first time I heard Osinachi. She raised goose-bumps, and had my spirit beating against the prison bars of my own ribcage, asking to be let out. Ah! Then I listened to ‘Ekwueme’, and thought – Wow, what a voice. No, not the voice. The…tremor beneath the voice. As if, at a certain point, a door within her opens, and something deep – cannot quite be cloaked in words – emerges. I tell you, it is hard to listen unmoved. Yes. I wonder now. Was it the Holy Spirit that moved me so? Or was it the pain within her own spirit? Yes. For deep calls to deep. And divine essence and human trauma, I carry both within me too…
So, as an artist, I know. That we can bleed on stage – and weep on stage, and cry on stage, for help, for love, for understanding – and those watching us will only applaud. But this is not what I am here to say. What I am here to say is this. You see this marriage thing? Yes. It is a contract, yes, but not a contract for sale. No. You do not own me. To do with me what you will. No. See, you will never have that power. For I am a human spirit. And my first obligation is to find and fulfil the purpose for which I exist. Not to love you, or cook for you, or care for you, or sleep with you. It is to become, to the fullest extent possible, what God made me to be. My sister, that is your first obligation too. And a marriage that no longer respects this has become bondage.
For to love is to serve. It is to ask – how can I help you become? And to be loved is to be served. It is to be asked – how can I help you become? Yes. It is this exchange of service, between two people of equal value, that is marriage. Not blows, and self-centered demands. Not abuse, and a desire to control so strong you lash out violently every time I deviate from what you wish. Come, na who you be sef? See, I will not tolerate it, this abuse. To be slapped, or pushed, or punched, or kicked, or spoken to with words that strip me of my dignity, self-belief, and sense of purpose. I tell you. For nothing – nothing! – the abuser offers to pay back for what they take. Get out of there!
Divorce is not a dirty word. No. It is an acknowledgement that, at 25 (or whenever it was you entered into an abusive relationship), your eyes were not as clear as they are today. It is to know that ‘for better, for worse’ anticipates change, yes, but the sorts of changes we cannot anticipate, you know? Like cancer or dementia or the loss of a limb. Not intentional ones, like your spouse waking up one morning and deciding to maim, murder or de-humanize you. No. Divorce is recognizing that marriage – which does not exist in Heaven – cannot be a condition for making Heaven. That if it is truly two becoming one, then the one who reaches across to strangle the other has physically ripped that curtain in two. Which marriage again? That the same Jesus who asked you not to cast stones at a woman they said they caught in adultery, will not stand there glaring at you – as you run out of an abusive home – with a deep frown on his face. You see? That theology is contradictory. And the confusion is not in God. It is in the minds of those who teach this. That a godly woman is one who can take a punch in silence.
God forbid! It is the smuggling of culture – a culture in which marriage is seen as a sales agreement by which man purchases wife – into faith. You see? That the Word is used, not to set free, but to reinforce the bondage of women. I tell you, many things are worth dying for. Our faith, after all, is rooted in redemptive suffering. But an abusive marriage is not one of them. No. It is never faith that keeps the abused with the abuser. It is the fear of what we would all say if a famous gospel singer abandons (for that is how we will report it) her husband and children. You see? It is never faith that keeps the abused with the abuser. It is the false hope we peddle, in the guise of counselling, that enduring – without actively resisting – abuse will somehow lead to change. You see? It is never faith that keeps the abused with the abuser. It is the knowledge, at the back of her mind, that if she leaves, we will allow her to stay with us, maybe a few months, but after he comes begging, with some pastors in tow, we will gently coax her back…
Yes. For Osinachi Madu who put her trauma in her voice, and in her brokenness gave faith to so many. For her who could not defend herself. For her! Let us draw these lines in the sand and say it, as Christians, with our full chest – domestic violence is grounds for divorce.
Dike Chukwumerije is a Nigerian spoken word and performance poetry artist and an award-winning author. He has eight published book including the novel Urichindere, which won the 2013 Association of Nigerian Authors (ANA) Prize for Prose Fiction, and a poetry theatre production – Made In Nigeria – currently touring the country.
The opinions expressed in this article are solely those of the author.
