A walk on thorns

Prologue

Third person's POV

Are you born into a family where the moment a female child is born, her naming ceremony clothes are bought, and the pots she'll cook for her husband are already waiting? It takes until your first birthday to own all the appliances needed for the kitchen, because that’s the only life they’re preparing you for.

A single mistake, and Aunt I Too Know and Aunt Perfection will pounce, attacking your homemaking skills as a woman. They bombard you with questions like, “Is this how you’re going to behave in your husband’s house?” and you have no right to speak. No amount of explanation will make them understand that you, too, as a woman, are something to be considered. After all, a man is meant to be worshipped, right? I salute you, mini gods.

I can’t wait for the day I leave this place, to live the life I’ve always wanted, free from people who reduce me to nothing. Free from those who doubt my capacity to get married because they think I’m not doing it the right way.

Both Mama and I, we’ll rest. Sorting out our differences has been a war none of us could win, nor lose. We are both hell-bent on our own opinions and policies. Baba, on the other hand, is a file of a case no one wants to open or discuss. Astafirullah, but honestly, I’ve never encountered a man more backwards than him. A typical Hausa man with a mentality like, “Taking back my words is like belittling myself as a man of honor and great reputation.” It doesn’t matter if you’re dying, he won’t take it back! Period.

Hands down, marriage is one of the most beautiful things in the world, especially when you do it for your own happiness, for yourself. It’s a personal achievement, whether they like it or not. That’s why I see no reason for Aunt I Too Know or Aunt Perfection to pressure me into marrying someone I don’t even know, someone whose life direction is unclear, or with someone whose personality is polar opposite of mine. As an ambitious woman with a vision, clear goals, and a purpose in life, I want more than just to be a housewife. Singlehood is the perfect time to build, to establish my life, because with no responsibilities or expectations to hold me down, I can do what I need to do. But remember? Not in the family I come from. The moment you turn eighteen without being considered by a man, or at least without bringing a suitor home, you’re already a topic of discussion, whether you know it or not.

Their pride lies in finding someone, anyone, even if he’s a liability, and tying him to your leg in the name of marriage. Perfect!

Baba, on the other hand, is a little more civilized since he allowed us to study past secondary school, but even he has his rules, As long as you’re married during or after school, no coming back, no matter what. Please, which is better? What if the husband dies? Or decides not to stay with you anymore? For goodness sake, women don’t divorce themselves.

I wish for the day my family and society understand that they are feeding a wrong narrative, prioritizing things that even religion only makes optional. But before that day comes, I have myself to fight for. There is no going back.

First person’s POV

Sound! Sound!! Another sound!!

The thud of my fists against the punch bag echoed in the room, relentless, like my fury had found its home in the fabric. Each blow was a scream, a desperate release of what I couldn’t voice, each thud a cry that went unheard. Thud-thud-thud. The punches came faster, harder, until exhaustion bled into the air, mixing with my own sweat as it crawled down my body, soaking me from head to toe.

I stopped. I couldn’t breathe anymore. I was suffocating, under the weight of my own thoughts, the weight of the life that had been thrust upon me. The punch bag swayed back, daring me, testing me, and with all the strength I had left, I stopped it with my palms, as if I could somehow stop the horror unfolding in my life. If only I could...