Ojú l’ak`an fi nsori (The crab uses its sensitive eyes to stay alive) – Yoruba proverb
Enough already! I just read the story of Omodolapo Yetunde Jagha (nee Olotu), a devout Christian wife who recently died of cancer in the Dublin, Ireland. Her story and letter to the public include accounts of her pastor husband’s infidelity, domestic violence, and religious dragooning. But the most grievous of his heinous crimes was to coerce her to “fast and pray” for her healing rather than seek medical attention in her fight against cancer! While I can’t confirm the veracity of her story, it is all too familiar. In February, I read a similar story about a lady who was beaten to death by her abusive husband. Prior to her death, she had been counseled by her pastor, parents, and well-wishers to remain in her matrimonial home and to endure the abuse. Like Yetunde, she died from abuse.
While I can go into a treatise on how the church is failing abused women, sending them to early graves instead of providing a refuge, it is not my purpose in this piece. For sure, it is no secret that many who parade themselves as pastors today are nothing but glorified thugs and hustlers. It is also a fact that many denominations demand little or no accountability from those they place on pulpits in their parishes, focusing instead on remuneration and empire building. Ipso facto, we cannot rely on religious pundits whether big and small to protect the victimized. Thus, my purpose in this piece is to EMPOWER THE VICTIMIZED!
By their fruits, (NOT by their professions), ye shall know them says the good book. Too often, we don’t take these words seriously. When a person borrows without repayment (see my article, Of Liars, Borrowers, and Thieves), lies habitually, and generally bullies those around him, HE IS A THUG. He may tell you, he is a man of God, an excellent husband, or wonderful father; those titles are merely a figment of his imagination. He is a thug and should be treated as such. When you don’t treat such men as they behave, you get tragedies like Yetunde’s. For instance, when she once got a restraining order against him, she was advised to drop it. Yet, a restraining order is only the beginning of a survival plan against thugs, bullies, and hustlers.
I got married mid-1997 and by March 1999, my husband was expressing the symptoms of manic-depression. In his manic stage, he would stand upstairs in our high ceiled home and yell curses down at me holding our three month old baby. This would go on for about three days then he would hit a depression and go around moping about how sorry he was. Having never experienced abuse, I had no clue what was going on in my marriage. I mean, an average disagreement would turn into a shoutfest – him shouting and me locking myself in a closet till he was done because he’d told me I could not leave the house during an argument. Eventually, things got to a head and we involved his friends who advised me that there was something horribly wrong with their friend. I stood my ground and made him go seek medical attention but he refused to accept the diagnosis of bipolar disorder. So the war began.
For five years, we lived the bipolar roller coaster of highs (mental and emotional abuse) and lows (remorse and sadness). Initially, there were periods of tranquility between episodes but after he lost his job, the frequency and gravity of outbreaks went haywire. The first time I considered leaving, my pastor counseled me against it and the church began to work harder at monitoring him. I took out restraining orders, changed my child’s daycare and the locks to the door till things appeared better. Then came the day, rather the night, that determined the fate of my marriage. We had gone to church in separate cars and he’d returned home before us. When I drove into the garage with my two girls and their nanny, he was waiting. As soon as we went indoors, I heard a banging noise from the garage. I found him hitting my car with a hammer. I asked, “What’s the matter?” He replied, “hand me your keys or I will smash this car to bits.” Now, I was in a quandary because if I turned over my keys, I would be stranded and unable to leave the house yet I could not watch my car being smashed to bits. So, I made a split second decision to get into the car and head back to church which was seven minutes away.
Unfortunately for me, he followed me in his car and tried to run me off the road (you know, like in the movies). Once, he passed my car and threw the hammer through my window. The side glass shattered. Then he butted my car as I tried to avoid his. Thank God, I live to tell this tale. Nobody needed to convince me to LIVE, FOR GOD’S SAKE! Hmm, that could also be written as LEAVE, FOR GOD’S SAKE. But I would never forget the words of a sane pastor who advised, “I have met your parents and I would not like to be the person to give them the bad news of your demise. Do what is best for your children.”
So, how did I survive? Obviously, by the grace of God, but also by a lot of quick thinking and strategizing. I still have the quick wit to disappear in the blinking of an eye, along with my kids if I sense danger, lol). And I must credit my pastors who were supportive and forward thinking. I didn’t get many statements like, “Stay with him, you know he means well” or “A wise woman builds her home.” Instead, I got sound strategies and when those failed, quiet resignation to the unavoidable. BUT, I still have some advice to share with those who are not as fortunate to have good people around them. So here goes:
In conclusion, do everything you can to LIVE! Remember Abigail who strategized to stay alive rather than die with her fool husband. And do it for God’s sake because He doesn’t want you to perish, etcetera. After all, He allocated to you at least four score years.
NB: Singles, read my article, Beware an Insecure Man.