MAN TO THE WORLD

I just lost my job, and because I am a man, I am not allowed to talk about it. I am not to utter a single word to my wife because all hell will break loose. I have two kids; my firstborn is eight, and the second born is two weeks old. My wife has made a decision not to have more kids for fear of losing her figure. She says that once she becomes shapeless, I’ll start preying on small girls, which to some extent is true. I am a man, you know, and a woman is a man’s weakness. I love my wife, but that doesn’t stop me from appreciating God’s wondrous creation. But now that my job is gone, I cannot turn my head to look at the nice buttocks that pass my way. I have nothing to offer these beautiful lasses. It’s the world of today that lies to our girls. They believe money is everything. That it buys you happiness could somehow be true, but then again, how long does it last? Look at me now; I have like two naira in my account. My wife needs maintenance; my kids need clothes, shoes, toys, food, and school fees. The bills are calling me by name. Where do I even start?

Being a man is not easy, and let no woman fool you into thinking that they can comfortably play the roles of being a man and a woman, more so when she’s raising kids on her own. A man needs to provide for his family, and if he cannot do that, he is seen as a failure. In our society today, a man should have mullah, lots of it, for a woman to stick with him long enough. Good luck finding genuine women who will love you for who you are and not for what you have. Not that they are extinct; on the contrary, they do exist, but on a scale of ten, we have one. I met Mary when she was in her final year at the university. I was already working, so money was not a big deal for me. I treated her how women want to be treated. I took her out to fancy dinners, bought her designer clothes, jewelry, shoes, and handbags, and fattened her bank account. When I proposed to her after three months, she didn’t hesitate to say yes. I put a ring on her finger effortlessly. It is such an easy task to please a woman who has no source of income herself. These women would literally do anything for you. They are always at your beck and call. I want to believe you’ve had a chance to watch ‘Coming to America’, and a scenario where a stunningly beautiful woman barks because a man of status asks her to do so can never escape my visage. It is hilarious to watch how men can control meek women. Hah! Mary did things for me without me asking her twice. We had a smooth relationship until we tied the knot. She is now used to a roller coaster life, and I don’t know how to bring my termination to the table. She will leave me, I swear! I know the woman I married. There are days I would come home without bread—not that it was intentional, but you see, men have so much on their minds that minor details like this evade their thoughts. ‘Baba Peter, do you want us to eat stones for breakfast?’ came a sharp remark from my wife.

In short, she sees me as the sole provider for the family. She works as a banker, and honestly, I have no clue where all the money she is paid goes. Not that I am interested in knowing all that, but as a good woman, I think she should be chipping in at times. Up to date, I still buy her sanitary towels, pay her salon charges, and get her expensive lingerie, and to say I’m not complaining would sound ironic. I am thinking out loud. Mary, my wife, where do you take your money? When I was at the altar watching her walk down the aisle, I knew I had found a reassuring companion who would help ease the affliction off my shoulders. I have siblings who, since I started working, are constantly one call away. All the time, ‘Brother, send coinage for my tuition fees; my shoes are not fitting, I need a geometrical set, and my uniform is torn'. They act as though my parents were deceased. I relish supporting where I can, but what I can’t fathom is: do I have to carry the cross just because God blessed me in due time? I haven’t had the luxury to revel in my fortune, yet it’s all gone in the blink of an eye. There was this one time my kid sister called me up to say she went to bed famished, when the truth is, she stays at home, and there is no way ma and pa would frisk a meal, especially dinner. That was a dumb lie. Damn, these folks will slay me one day. My parents, too, are on my neck all the time. ‘We took you to school’ is constantly their vindication, and I promise one day I will take a pew with them and ask how much I owe them. I will remunerate to the last cent, for I am ashamed of the price tag placed on my head.

When you are raised in a not-so-well household in African society and your doors of triumph open, you are barred with numerous accountabilities. The hamlet will take you as their main source of income, ever providing, and lest you start getting cranky about it, you get badmouthed. Apparently, a massive number of us have a self-image to shield, so we would do the whole kit and caboodle to be on the virtuous side of others. Micah, my pal, had it all. He won the lottery and invested his money in real estate. He went back to school and worked his ass off to get papers for himself. After three years of sweat and pain, he secured himself a degree in economics and was blessed with a job contract almost immediately. He later married Charlotte, who was the love of his life. His one true motto is ride or die. This girl, Charlotte, was truly heaven-sent and among the few women I know to be incredible. The two were from besieged backgrounds, so when God decided it was their time to get blessings, they expressed their gratitude to their extended families. A year ago, the duo was involved in a fatal road accident. A truck ran over their Lamborghini, and death claimed Charlotte on the spot. My friend’s limbs got amputated, and for that reason, he started using a wheelchair. I went to pick him up from the hospital on the day he was being discharged, and one look at him and a tear escaped my eye. If I told you that he lost everything overnight, then you wouldn’t believe me. This is what happened. It all started after his wife’s interment. The two had not had any kids yet. Rumor had it that his late wife was sterile. I shrug my shoulders at this, for it pisses me off at how ruthless some humans can be. Charlotte’s kin made an entrance at the memorial filled with rage and fury, creating havoc, and had the guts to say that their daughter had been used for rituals. The fact that Micah was grieving and incapacitated did not frighten them at all; surely, who does that? They went ahead to petition for reimbursement, and God knows I don’t know what for. They had the nerve to say their soul benefactor was gone. Micah was now ‘a useless man’ in their eyes, walking in a wheelchair. Even his blood relatives now saw him as not manly enough. The role he had comprehensively played when things were working out for him had been forgotten just like that. If you think that only women go through the trauma of being mistreated after a spouse’s demise, then I pledge to brainstorm your thoughts. I watched all this in utter disbelief, and when I received the heartbreaking news of Micah’s death, it hit me how much civilization has cast a blind eye to the macho gender. The man, who was still so young, had fallen into hopelessness after his ego was battered, and he took his own life. He lacked the audacity to talk to others for fear of being judged as weak. Before his bereavement, I used to visit him three times a week, and trust me, I never saw the signs of a broken man. All I saw was a brave man moving in a wheelchair, cracking jokes at everything. A man who had succeeded in curbing his pain when in the presence of others, even when he knew his world was crumbing on him. I had missed the signs that he was struggling to stay sane, and you obviously can’t blame me. Knowing men, they all hate unsolicited advice, especially when they didn’t ask for it. Charles, my campus mate, intentionally left a lit jiko in his room and went to bed. The morning after, the entire campus was in mourning. Some of my former colleagues drink alcohol like water. Whenever we go hang out, they dread going back to their homes, and I’m puzzled as to why. These people drink to die, and not a single one of them will tell you what’s going on. It’s up to you to join the dots. Men have unsolved concerns that they won’t tête-à-tête about. Plenty is concealed within them. I recall my wife’s disapproval of Micah which commenced after his confinement to a wheelchair, but that did not bother me, and one day I dismissed her, telling her to go to hell. What’s wrong with some women, though? When you are well and walking on two legs, they will adorn you, worship you, and bless you, but if you lose your feet one day, you’ll be deemed unworthy of everything. They’ll spit on you, call you names, disrespect you, and treat you less like a person. A number of females overlook how they were hand-picked from the sewers and bred to become who they are. Does it mean that to be a man, you need not fall on any hard luck whatsoever? That your life must be seamless at all costs? And as men, this is one big challenge we face. We have the battles that we silently fight. There are demons that won’t leave us, and the last thing we need is a woman who spits fire on us. The reason most of us won’t willingly concede defeat and that we have been pushed to the wall is the fact that society wants nothing to do with weak men. Telling our stories and glitches is reckoned to be one of the thousand ways to plug a vulnerable man. What the realm wants is a man who fixes his problems, and what society does not know is that a man is not God. For crying out loud, we are mortal too. We feel the pain and experience emotions. It doesn’t get any better because the ones being born come with standards too. As a man, if you can’t provide, you are not enough; if you can’t perform in bed, you are useless; if you can’t listen to your woman, you are not humane; if you can’t fix broken furniture or leaky sinks, then you are definitely another 'woman'. Society supposes you to have noble days even on your debauched days. You are not permitted to cry, and you are not supposed to openly admit love to any woman, for they’ll use it as bait to get what they want from you. Some women, though! They say a man must work hard. There is a major difference between a man going hard and playing tough. Tough is for that man who doesn’t want to accept that he needs help. Going hard for a man means that he is willing to climb mountains just to get there. What goes on in the latter drives us to play tough, and when the pressure is so intense, we take the rope. I am a man who does not know what will happen tomorrow. In front of me is a tough decision. I must make a tough call to either admit it to my wife, who I am not sure will continue loving me after I disclose my termination, or make the ultimate decision to hide my secret in the closet while I look for another occupation to make ends meet. The two are solutions, but the chances of things backfiring on me are high. This is not the time to say I regret anything, for it will be rendered useless. I will not emulate Micah, who chose the easy way out by committing suicide. I will not be like my campus mate, who preferred silence, which consumed him. I will not be like my ex-colleagues, who would rather take alcohol and cheat on their wives just because they live in fear of their wives. I will be the man that I have always been. Tell my wife the truth, and whatever she decides, it is up to her. If she decides to pack and leave, then it’s all on her. It’s her call to make. I want other men out there to be bold enough to speak for themselves. I want them to fear nothing except God. As tough as it may be, I want them to know that fear is worse than the trial itself. The number of men committing suicide is so alarming that I’m scared that one day we will wake up to a world with zero men. I want men out there to know that it is okay to cry. Away from the norm, a man doesn’t cry. You are fortified to cry; you could even wail. It’s the magic of lifting weights off your shoulders. I want men to know that there are women out there who you can vent to. I don’t know about mine, but I’ll find out tonight if I married the devil herself. I want them to know that there is power in prayer. Pray for a good woman, a supportive family, and a peaceful job. I want them to know that money does not buy happiness, and if it does, it will be temporary. Look at me, for instance. Don’t use wealth to impress; use it to invest. It’s how you live. I want them to know that suicide has never been a solution to problems; instead, find the courage to converse with people. You’ll be appalled at how eager some people are to sit down and hear you vent your worries. Above all, I want them to know that good women exist; take your time finding them, and when you do, please keep them, for good things take time, and if taken for granted, they wane into thin air.

Let me now have a heart-to-heart conversation with my wife. It's about time.