THE KNIFE
He came to pick me up in the month of August, after I had stayed at my parents’ house for two months.
Lo and behold, when we got home, I was met with a mountain of work.
Oh my gosh—the kitchen was filled with dirty plates, clearly left unwashed for almost a month.
The toilets were in an awful state—messy and smelly.
I said to myself, What is this? What can I do?
I had to get to work immediately. I managed to clean what I could and then fell asleep out of exhaustion. The next day was a Sunday, and it happened to be the naming ceremony of the landlady's baby—Mummy Timi—who lives next door to our rented apartment.
Mummy Timi and I are very close, like sisters from different mothers. She had just given birth and was looking forward to me surprising her by attending the naming ceremony.
I did just that. During the event, I was helping to serve food to the guests when my husband suddenly walked up to me and pulled me aside.
He complained, asking how I could be bending down to serve food when the doctor had warned me not to stress myself.
I apologized and left for our apartment. Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months—each filled with different issues.
But I won’t bore you with all of them.
The most terrifying incident happened on the 23rd of December 2018. A day I will never forget. That morning, we had a slight argument about me working or not.
I tried to persuade him that we needed the little money I was earning, especially since his business had not yet stabilized.
He acted like everything was fine until around 7 a.m., when he suddenly started yelling and acting aggressively.
I was confused—what is going on?—when he began pushing me around and locked all the doors, saying I wouldn’t be allowed to leave the house. Hmmm… I respected myself and quietly went into the room.
As God would have it, one of the landlords who normally dropped off passengers at Ketu was passing by.
I called out to him through the window and signaled for him to come in and help calm my husband down.
The man came in and spoke to my husband, who promised never to act that way again.
Hmmm... I didn’t know that was just the tip of the iceberg. As soon as the man left, my husband started again—but this time, it was worse.
He brought out a knife and chased me into our room.
At that point, I knew only God could take control—or else... He raised the knife to stab me. (I was six months pregnant at the time.)
I screamed and started begging him, invoking the memory of his late mother to plead for my life.
He yelled and began stabbing the bed instead, trying to release his anger.
I somehow managed to grab the knife from him and ran for dear life. May we never encounter evil—Amen.
Despite my condition, I jumped over the fence to the next house.
Thankfully, Mummy Timi had heard the commotion and quickly opened her door.
It was a terrifying moment. My husband seemed bent on killing me that day. Mummy Timi broke down crying and started pleading with him to stop.
Somehow, he calmed down a little. Immediately, I picked up my phone and called my eldest brother, who happens to be a pastor.
I told him I was done—I couldn’t continue with the marriage.
He told me to come to his office immediately, even if I didn’t have money. He said I should take a taxi and that he would pay the fare. When my husband saw that I was serious and already calling for help, he broke down in tears, begging me not to tell my brother what happened.
He pleaded with me to cover for him.
I cried too and told him it was already too late—I had already spoken to my brother.
But I promised I would try to soften the story. Right there, he picked up his Bible and swore never to raise his hand at me again.