Tuesday 25 June 2013

Bigger than divorce

I once mentioned that I was probably not going to be spending any vacation time in Nigeria with my children this year (http://remembering-my-journey.blogspot.com/2013/03/no-place-like-home.html).

Well, I changed my mind. I’ve booked the flights, too, so there’s no going back. And I’m quite pleased with this plan. It’ll be a nice change for us all.

The length of the trip will be just right: not too long and not too short. But short enough for me to have to alert my in-laws to the fact that we will be arriving so we can schedule visiting dates. The news has been met with much excitement on their part. Even though I shouldn’t have been, I was still a bit surprised by the elation our impending visit has caused. Every single phone call I have made to announce our plans has gone the same way: First, they want to know if I’m actually coming with the children. I say yes. Then, they ask if I mean I’m coming with my son and my daughter (whom they haven’t met yet, and who is named after my mother-in-law). Each time, I’m very amused and I remind them that I have two children – a son and a daughter – and confirm that I will be coming with both of them. Then, rejoicing, they either tell me in advance what they’ll prepare for us (a goat, for instance), or ask what I want them to prepare for us (soup, for instance).

The truth is, I hadn’t planned to pay a visit to my ex-husband’s village. I plan to be in a central enough location where my in-laws can easily get to (one of them actually lives in the same city) so that those that would like to can see the children and spend time with them. Apart from the fact that I’m no longer married and don’t want to give anyone the wrong impression, I would rather not have my children making any long-distance road trips at this time. So I planned to just stay in one spot.

Of course, my in-laws are putting immense pressure on me (in the nicest way) to make that trip to the village, and their eagerness to see the children warms my heart. My mother-in-law is getting older, and it would be great for her to see her grandchildren.

I mentioned to my son this evening that it looks like we’ll be spending a night or two in his village. He immediately replied: ‘I’m not going.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Just tell them I said I’m not coming. You guys can go ahead, though,’ he said flatly.

‘Why would you say that? Where’s this coming from?’

He said something about how, with his father’s sparse involvement in his life, he didn’t see why this particular visit to the village was necessary.

I paused.

‘Come here,’ I said. ‘Close the door, let’s talk.’

And I told him about all the phone conversations I’ve had in the last week and how his uncles and aunties were all beside themselves with joy at the prospect of seeing him and his sister. About how, when I said I was coming with ‘the children,’ they all wanted to be sure I meant I was coming with both my son and my daughter. (He was as amused by this as I was).  I told my son that his family is much bigger than just me and his maternal relatives. I told him how much he is adored on both sides of the family. I told him that his father’s people are his people, and that they are good people. He comes from a large family of good people. I told him that if I had to choose in-laws again, I would choose the ones I originally chose.

I told him about my traditional wedding: about how, when my soon-to-be in-laws paid a visit to introduce themselves to my people, and later on, on the day of the bridewealth payment (a misnomer in my case, as my father didn’t believe in receiving bridewealth for himself), his father didn’t utter a word. It was ‘his’ wedding, but he barely featured in it because it wasn’t about him, really. It was about two families of good people coming together – and he (my son) was a part of this big, new family. I told him about his paternal grandmother, great-uncle, and uncles, who did all the talking that day on his father’s behalf.  My in-laws came along with their in-laws, too, that day – men who had married their daughters. My father was very impressed by this and would later remark that they put together ‘a powerful delegation.’ I have always been pleased with my parents’ impression of my in-laws. They are truly people who know how to ‘do’ family.

I told my son that where we come from – where he comes from – a marriage is not just about two people. About what a good thing that can be because it means that he is protected and will always ‘belong’ somewhere. He will always have an intact identity, no matter what. I told him that in his culture, it doesn’t matter that his parents are divorced; this means little when it comes to him as a child. His parents’ divorce has not changed his location in his father’s village because his family is much, much bigger than just me and his dad. And this is why they were all busy twisting themselves into a pretzel trying to figure out how to welcome him.

I said a lot of other things that I can’t remember now. What I will not forget is the fluctuating expression in my son’s eyes, which went from defiance, to surprise, to pride, and finally, to respect.

‘Okay,’ he said, soberly. ‘I’ll go.’


So, Nigeria: here we come.

14 comments:

  1. Ach. Love that sweet boy. Respect your wisdom and delicacy in dealing with him even more. Bless.

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    1. Thank you, jare. Love him, too. He'll thank me later at his own wedding, when he realizes how important it is to have people ('inwe madu' - ha ha ha). I told him about weddings, and deaths, and births, too, and how important both sides of your family are for those occasions; forgot to mention that.

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  2. eyah, i am touched by this post, i am sure your son will always cherish this conversation...and welcome home (how be it for a short while) ..hugs

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    1. Oh, thanks, Jemima. I hope he does O. This parenting thing ...

      It'll be good to be home with the children this time - many thanks.

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  3. You done tay for abroad o! No one ever says when they are visiting home anymore, contrary to the travel advice from foreign embassies that you should let other people know about your movements. The fear of kidnapping and armed robbery means that your trips must remain top secret even to your best friends and even to some family members who are merely told that you wanted to surprise them. Safe journey but spare us the details until you return safely and feel free to change your plans by making yourself scarce where you were expected to be. That son of yours might have some intuition!

    Ichie

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    1. Hahahaha! Not really, but I hear you. Some key people do know that I'm coming, but they don't know when and they have no idea where exactly I'll be lodging. (I still have some small Naija wisdom in me; isn't it sad that is has to be that way, though?) Thanks for the pearls of wisdom, though, seriously.

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  4. You are always insightful and I love reading you each time. It's impressive how you dealt with his, not just divorce and African extended families, but the parenting in general. Thanks for sharing.

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    1. Oh, thank you, Myne. Love reading you, too. Nice to have you here.

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  5. what a wonderful mum, your son will always thank you for this.

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    1. Thank you, Anonymous; I hope he will. I often doubt myself as a mother, but one thing I know for sure is that I'm just doing the best I can.

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  6. You brought tears to my eyes with this post. Few divorced parents can talk to their kids objectively about their ex's family. Honestly don't know how you do it. Manage to do / say the right things in the midst of all this.

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    1. Awww, thanks for leaving your comment, Seyidott. To be fair, few divorced parents have in-laws like mine, so I suppose it's easier for me to 'act right.' Bless you.

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  7. RMJ...this your heart...Love it.

    This singular act has inspired me. I am not really great about keeping in touch period, but you have reminded me, that this walk is not to be taken alone, but step by step we fall into the rhythm created by a community of steppers and that is what makes life sweet like a highlife song.

    So with this your heart...may you dance and may you sing and may you love and always be loved.

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    1. You're too kind, Ekene. Thank you for sharing and teaching. And amen and amen to your pronouncement. I will dance, and sing, and love, and be loved (I love doing all of those things, by the way!).

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