This article is the fifth in a 10-part
series of true stories of Somali women and men and their blunt assessments of
their relationships. The first six parts deal with Somali marriages in America
and the last four with issues of courtship. The names and locations of the
individuals have been changed to ensure their privacy.
Where is my Dough?
My wife is secretive and, hence,
does not share anything with me. She is involved—depending on what region you
hail from—in what is called, “ayuuto”
or “shalongo” or “hagbad” (an informal money pool in which
a small number of participants put in the same amount of money every month and,
by turn, one individual takes all the proceeds every month). My wife used to put in $500 every month from
“her own money,” as she said, and, once a year, she collected about $6,000. She
never shared that money with me nor did she contribute financially to our
household expenses. I paid all the household bills.
I found out about my wife’s
involvement with the money pool activity through her best friend’s husband.
Apparently, it had been going on for three years without my knowledge. I
confronted her and she did not even deny it. “Certainly, it is my money,” was
her assured response. “I thought it was our money,” I said. I was
flabbergasted. My wife had access to all my bank accounts. In fact, we had
joint accounts. A marriage is a team and it should be based on honesty and trust.
After that discovery, I set up a
new account on my own and asked my employer to deposit into it. I also began
giving a set amount of money to my wife every month for food and other
miscellaneous expenses. The housing, utility, cable, and telephone expenses
were paid directly through my new account.
My wife became angry. She accused
me of “controlling” her financially. “It
is all about power and control,” she said.
Sometime later, I heard my wife
was no longer a member of the money pool. Apparently, she used to siphon $500
every month from our household expenses, but I am not sure. When it comes to
money management, we no longer trust each other. As sad as that sounds, we are
still married and care about each other, but in reality, we are having a tough
time forging a new bond of trust. My wife has been talking a lot lately about
getting a part-time job. I would bet my bottom dollar that I will never see a
penny of that money. But, it is okay. I also have earnings by doing consulting work.
Do you know any good investment
agents?
You, Imbecile
Before our marriage, my wife
Duniyo would teasingly and laughingly tell me, “Shut up, idiot.” At the time, I took no offense and considered
it part of the banter of a close relationship. After we married, however, I observed
disturbing behavior that suddenly appeared in her communication. She would call
my stepchildren, ages 11 and 13, names such as “doqon” (idiot), “saqajaan”
(jerk), and — even the English phrase —“mother…….” I was appalled and told my
wife that such name-calling was tantamount to child abuse. She dismissed my
concerns out of hand and portrayed me as being overly dramatic. You do not
understand, she would say, “I am very close to my children.” Then, she reminded
me that our Somali parents had done the same when we were children and
occasionally called us “dabbaal”
(stupid) to motivate us. Not my parents. They were strict but respectful,
demanding but loving, and always kind and caring.
My wife was respectful of me at
the beginning of our marriage. However, after eight months, she began to show
her true colors. First, she told me, “War
naga aamus, doqonyahow” (Keep quiet, you idiot). I was flummoxed. “Please,
do not insult me,” I protested. “Oh, you are sensitive, aren’t you?” she
retorted.
I thought my marriage to Duniyo
will be an upgrade of my first. My first marriage was unstable, contentious,
and a source of constant pain. I did not want to have another relationship that
was similar in any way. Unfortunately,
my current marriage is now showing the same permutations as my first. My wife
simply became verbally abusive over time. She initiates our arguments and then
ends them with very hurtful words. Worst of all, she is not one to apologize.
I have concluded that my
relationship with my wife is a mere replay of each of our prior marriages. We
both still have unresolved issues that mar this relationship. I am a very
sensitive man, that is true, but I do not deserve to be verbally abused,
especially in front of the children.
A year ago, my wife was so
enraged with me that she called me a “naag”
(woman). In front of our children, she told me that I should start wearing
female attire. She had asked me to do something for her and I told her I wasn’t
going to do it. Her insult was stinging. I was angry and the children were
outraged. This time, my wife, for the first time, apologized for calling me a
woman. I have nothing against women—please, do not misunderstand me—but a wife
should never call her husband a woman. Perhaps the reason my wife apologized
was that the children were disturbed by her unjustified verbal attack on me. At
any rate, terrible damage was done. I now ask myself how long I can endure this
abusive behavior. I have already contacted Child Protective Services to report
my wife’s treatment of our children. Unfortunately, the social worker assigned
to investigate the case closed the file because the children were afraid and
non-cooperative.
My father has asked me to stay in
the relationship, but I can’t. On the one hand, I want to be like the pious man
in ancient times who was married to a difficult woman, but very tolerant of her
outbursts. When people asked him why he did not divorce her, this man answered: “I am afraid if I divorce her she would end
up marrying another man who will not be patient with her and may harm her.” On
the other hand, I do not want to suffer anymore.
The Would-be President
Politics and Somali men mix all the time.
As a rule, Somali men are
obsessed with politics and political chatter in particular. My husband Omar is
no exception but he has taken this endemic obsession to a higher level. He
wants to be the next president of Somalia.
There is a tiny problem with that: He has no extensive education, no
government experience, and no history of stable employment. Needless to say, he
is only 28 and, per the provisional constitution of Somalia, he has to wait
more than a decade before he can qualify for such a coveted position. Omar is
the first to arrive at political events and the last to leave. He likes to be
acknowledged in these gatherings and thanked for doing this thing or that
thing. Unfortunately, he is too inexperienced, too shallow, and too clannish to
become a leader of an entire nation. That is not my opinion but surprisingly
his, too. He is perfectly aware of his own limitations but, alas, the man has
boundless ambition. Ambition does not require any reasoning. I have pleaded
with him to give priority to his family. Unfortunately, he never listens to me
and, at times, accuses me of being jealous of him. Jealous of what, I wonder.
My husband needs clinical help because he has this exaggerated view of his own
importance.
My husband does not know the name
of the school our children attend, their doctor’s name, or what each child
likes. He has not taken the children for an outing for a long time (five months
to be exact), nor has he asked me to join him for an outing for coffee or
dinner. However, I can tell you all the little things about his uneventful
life: The last political event he attended, the names of the guest speakers,
and even where my husband was seated. I can also tell you what his latest posts
are on Facebook and Instagram, and his last tweets. Sometimes, I ask myself if
this narcissist married me to be his trophy wife; the kind of woman who will
appear next to her politician husband smiling and clapping.
My husband is married to his political ambition. I am
saddened that my children will one day find out their father — the “would-be
president” — was nothing but a bust.
Cloud Nine
My husband
wants a new drug. Prescription medication, that is.
Actually, my once-model husband has turned into a druggie.
After many years of what seemed to be a stable family life, my husband
developed a habit, a bad habit. He became addicted to prescription medication.
He would take an amalgam of this kind of medication and get high.
The problem started when his cousin came from Europe to live
with us. The two started experimenting with different types of drugs. My
husband first graduated to hard liquor and then finally drugs. All these
problems unfolded while he stayed home.
It was painful to watch the man I loved descend into such a
deep abyss. He became a totally different person, growing physically and
verbally abusive. Then, he ruined my almost perfect credit rating because he
stole cash from me for drugs and used my credit cards illegally. I became like
the Somali woman who lamented about her former husband: “He stole my heart and
my money.”
Finally, I
kicked him out and got a divorce.
He turned the children against me. I was portrayed by his
family as the ungrateful woman who kicked her husband out of his home. Even my
own parents cut their ties with me for a while because of him.
To make a long story short, my ex-husband returned to
Somalia. He does not get access there to the types of drugs he used in the United
States. However, he has become addicted to khat,
a mild stimulant plant.
Do you want
to know something odd?
I am
currently supporting him. Yes, I send him money regularly.
Why?
I do it
because he is the father of my children, and the rate of unemployment in
Somalia is very high.
Do you want
to know something even weirder?
All of our
children are now adults.
Okay, in
truth, his presence in Somalia is better for the children and me. No more
headaches!
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