My realities as a 23 years old housewife

Written by: Admin_SheEvo

 

Living amidst a group of people who I would consider to be illiterate made me see a world of constant chatter, insults, and a lot of unplanned pregnancies. My journey into the life of a housewife began when I was 23 years old, having just met my boyfriend. I adored him deeply, envisioning a future of growth, marriage, and a beautiful family. Little did I know that our love story held more complexities than I ever imagined.

To give some context, I had recently emerged from a painful relationship where I had poured my heart and soul into caring for a man I thought I loved. I did everything for him, from affection to financial support. In the eyes of a modern woman of the 21st century, my actions may appear naive, but at that time, I was simply lost in my feelings. I couldn’t pinpoint where things had gone skewed, but our connection had always revolved around physical intimacy, financial dependence, and my role as a caregiver. It eventually took a toll on me, and I had to summon the courage to end the relationship, leaving both my heart and my spirit broken.

Simultaneously, I was in my final years at the university, battling through the hardships of exams. But after the breakup, a new chapter unfolded. I met my boyfriend, a man who embodied everything I had prayed for. However, as is often the case, there were challenges. It seems like I had chosen love over wealth and, to this day, I take pride in that decision.

Here’s a glimpse into my unique experience during those two weeks I spent with my boyfriend’s family in a compound house, surrounded by ten other families, each with their own distinctive stories.

In Room Number 1, there resided a woman and her daughter. Curiously, her husband was nowhere to be seen. The gossip mill suggested she had experienced a bout of madness, as her behavior was consistently erratic.

Room Number 2 housed a couple with five children, and the wife was also expecting another. Regrettably, education seemed alien to them, and their home echoed with curses directed at their unfortunate children. They shouted, beat, and made the compound an unbearable place for everyone.

The occupants of Room Number 3 were young men who indulged in substances like weed, even with children present in the compound. These men were known for their womanizing tendencies, and rumors spoke of a young girl from the compound who they had impregnated and subsequently neglected.

Room Number 4 was home to a widow with three children and an additional child she had taken in. While she refrained from insulting her own children, she showed no mercy when it came to the girl she had invited into her home. Gossip suggested that after her husband’s passing, she had taken up with a younger man her age and resorted to multiple loans from different banks, resulting in regular visits from debt collectors to the compound. Rumours also hinted at her having multiple sugar daddies.

Room Number 5 was our sanctuary, shared by my boyfriend, his parents, and his siblings. Some of the siblings were married and had children, but people in the compound were baffled by the constant stream of attractive visitors who came despite the family’s limited financial resources.

In contrast, Room Number 6 was an oasis of normalcy. A family of four resided there, with the mother being pleasant and the husband simple and kind. Their home was the only one free from scandal and gossip.

Rooms 7, 8, 9, and 10 housed women with the most challenging characters, lacking in both manners and education.

Those two weeks of living as a housewife, without venturing outside or working, were an unforgettable and eye-opening experience. It was a story worth sharing, a chapter in my life that added depth to my understanding of human nature and relationships.

Written by Asem Martina Biankie.

Instagram: queen_biankie