I Married My Best Friend

I wasn’t sure what it was that irritated me more; that someone sitting next to me poked me every other time to ask what verse the preacher had quoted or that the preacher had such poor delivery of our lords message that I had to sieve it to get a piece of the bread. Every time the person poked me I responded without looking. Three pokes later and I got pissed. I signed an agreement with my head that if he poked me again I’d turn, look at him and give him a piece of me. Was it the devil himself trying to distract me from sieving Gods message?

The forth poke came and just as the treaty dictated I turned sharply and behold I was hit…, and what hit me, hit me well. My everything got excited and that sermon I was sieving sublimed. A man can be handsome and this one was the definition of that. I quickly composed myself and asked why he kept poking me all the time. He said he was sorry and that it’s the preacher who wasn’t audible. I responded asking him why thinks if he can’t hear, I can. Did I have sound enhancing ears or what? It sounded funny. And we both laughed. I too did not know it would come out that funny.

We became inseparable months later, we would sit together in church, sing in the choir- he was in the choir,I wasn’t but joined just because. Slowly the whole world knew we were together. We couldn’t hide it. What he loved I loved, wherever we were together we had fun. A pastor friend of ours then advised him one time as they were chatting that it would be smart to marry now that he was 27 and that he had the company and love of an amazing woman that was me. The pastor said “marry a friend because when love fades-like it always does, you’ll have a friend to talk to but if you go for a woman you are in love with you will end up broken and hurt and divorced because she was not your friend”

He visited me and told me about pastor’s wisdom and I liked it. I really liked him, so much that I couldn’t tell if I was in love with him or not. I just wanted to be with him. I didn’t care about anything else. Our wedding was out of this world, small, invites only. Somewhere on Mombasa’s little known Chale island. It felt exactly like heaven (Been there in dreamland).Then we went for honeymoon, then we took pictures, then we travelled the world for three weeks and I was sure this was he who God set aside for me.

Life was good, so good, we prayed every morning, we hugged,we held hands, we told each other how our days were, we kept no secrets,we lived like a serious couple ought to live. One November three years later, I noticed change. He avoided morning prayers and came late for dinner most of the time. He did not prepare for church and I promised myself I wasn’t going to ask him to. I hummed my favorite hymn and drove off to church. I would be lying to say I remember the day’s sermon. I wasn’t listening to the preacher. All that was in my mind was to figure out what it was this man was going through or what it was that he was hiding from me.

I tried to act nice, concerned even and asked him why he was changing. I was slapped with silence and whistling to a non-existent song. (he hardly listened to music, I wonder what song he was possibly whistling to) I would have turned red if I were white. Never in my life had I been so mad. When he left for work, I cried and stood in front of the mirror to check if I was Fat. Maybe it was I who was the problem, maybe I’d grown fat, maybe my dressing embarrassed him, maybe I didn’t cook as well as I used to. I promised to change.

I changed my wardrobe, tried to be less nagging and cooked his favorite meals in sequence but still he did not change. I wanted to leave him. I wanted to file a divorce but a friend advised that I take time. I took time. I had reached the point where I was going to act exactly like he was. I would come home late, not cook, not do his laundry, not go to church and I would whistle to a nonexistent song in case he tried talking to me. It was fun! You should have seen his face and heard him click his tongue every time I walked past him. So he too had a heart that could get disgusted.

It was on a Friday evening when I decided to go shopping for the house. We had a joint account and I knew we had quite an amount in there. I did not believe it when I learnt that the account had been swept clean. Thank God I was smart woman, I had two other accounts he did not know about and so I wasn’t going to die of hunger like he possibly was thinking. I shopped quite well and drove back home. I found him and his big head and ugly face glued to my T.V. I walked past him without a word. I made food enough for me and went to bed. I no longer wanted to be with this man.I couldn’t sleep, I kept wondering what he did with the money. I kept wondering if it would be ok to ask him about it or not. I however decided to act like I had not yet realized he had stolen from me.

I went swimming the next day and by the pool I met a woman sun bathing and reading my favorite novel. I couldn’t resist picking up a conversation about the book and in our chatting we became as close as old high school friends. She told me her story about how she came to learn to love herself and not a man. Somewhere in between her narration, I held my breath and fought hard to hide my shock at the possibility that she was my co-wife. She told me of this man who loved her and threw her a super wedding, only for him to steal from her three times the amount he had used. To confirm my worst fear she finished her story sighing in his name “wa! Peter Mwaura” I froze.


That evening I sat on the couch across the dining table and watched him chew his food lazily. Or maybe contemptuously I don’t know. This man I loved was now the one I hated with my whole soul and every time he swallowed, I hoped he’d choke to death. He was very handsome back then but now all I saw was a big head and unproportioned shoulders.

We met in church; the only place a girl of my kind would meet a man worth marrying and his ‘love’ for Christ is what made me want him more. I never imagined that this man was a con artist, this man was impotent, this man was not 27,this man was a thief and I was his fourth wife.(he was a serial husband) I wasn’t going to commit suicide. I wasn’t going to tell anyone about it, not my family, not the police, I was going to strangle him and take the secret to my grave..a pillow would work quite well and I doubt anyone will report a missing person.


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