This is the last installment of a two-part series of true
stories of Somalis in the U.S. and their relationships. The series is part of “Courtship and Marriage: The Somali
Experience in America,” a book project that the author is finishing. The
names and locations of these individuals have been changed for privacy reasons.
I will let each protagonist tell his or her story.
***
Family Meddling
I am going
crazy because I can’t stand my wife’s family.
In reality, my wife and I come from two different regions: I
from central Somalia, and she from the south. Her family tradition is for
relatives to live together or close by. Her grown-up siblings and their
families all live either in the same building or a block away from their
parents. When I married my wife, her father asked me to live with them but I
politely declined. Apparently, he has not forgotten this snub and has carried a
hateful resentment toward me ever since. In fact, he has declared war on me. Quite
simply, this man hates me.
My father-in-law tells my wife what to do, how to spend her own
money, and how much money to give him. Once, my father-in-law collected a
sizable amount of jewelry from all his adult daughters and paid off a debt
totaling $30,000. He also stockpiled obscene amounts of money from a dozen
community members for a failed business venture. My father-in-law’s daily drill
includes calling his adult children and inquiring about their circumstances, grilling
them to tell him if anything is new in their lives. At times, he talks to his
grandchildren, like my daughter, 11, and reprimands them for some infraction
here and there. To him, I am merely a figurehead, not the head of my household.
Two of my sisters-in-law went through a divorce because of their father’s
interference in their marital relationships. I have talked to my father-in-law
about all his meddling, but to no avail. My wife, on the hand, is too accommodating
to him and fearful of him for a legitimate reason: He is known for his temper
and confrontational behavior.
I tolerated my father-in-law for a long time and, in fact, I
was resilient in the face of derision. However, I finally snapped.
One day, I went to a city 300 kilometers away from home for work
and ended up staying there longer than I anticipated. I sent an airline ticket
to my wife to visit me over the weekend. On her arrival day, I went to the airport
and eagerly waited for her. Unfortunately, she was a no-show. Concerned, I
called home and, surprisingly, she answered the phone.
“What happened?”
“Nothing. I decided to stay home.”
“Why?”
“My father said so.”
“What?”
“It is not safe for me to travel, he advised.”
“Who is your husband? Me or him?”
“You are, but I have to listen to my dad, too.”
I was burning with fury and started unleashing a litany of
vile Somali curses on her and her dad.
“I am done with you,” I screamed. “I have had enough of you and your father.”
All hell broke loose after my split from my wife. My
father-in-law was elated because he had finally dispatched his old nemesis with
ruthless efficiency. However, my children and their mother were heartbroken. Subsequently,
my ex started to challenge her father for the first time and, according to my
children, became more assertive and rebellious toward his demands. It was
indeed a new imbalance of power dynamics: A father who once was a stern
presence in his large family’s life suddenly becoming a man with a diminished
role. For me, it was a painful two-year period in which I was single and
miserable. I missed my family and had allowed one man to ruin my marriage.
Long story short, I am now back with my family but things
have changed drastically. My wife is a changed person and tells her family that
she will not allow anyone to come between her and her husband. My father-in-law
is not involved in our life, and everyone in my immediate family is ecstatic
with the change. Mark Twain once said: “Adam was the luckiest man on earth
because he had no mother-in-law.” In my case, it was my father-in-law who was a
thorn in my flesh. At least, for a while.
The Unforgettable
One
I have been married three times. My current husband is kind and generous, a great provider. He is good to my children, who are both from a previous marriage.
Husband number two was a hard-working man whose loyalty was
unmatched.
My first husband is the one I still remember today. In fact,
I have developed an ongoing habit of comparing all men to him. He was my first
love. I was barely 19, and he was 27. The age difference was a blessing for me
because he was mature, responsible, and attentive, and he spoiled me rotten. We
joked around, laughed, and cherished each other a great deal. I grew up in a
small village in southern Somalia and he came from Kismayo, the third largest
city in the country. We lived in Portland, Maine, in a sizable Somali
community. We were true partners with a strong love for each other and a stable
marriage. I still shed tears when I recall all those good memories. What is
painful is that our union came to an end four years later.
My husband wanted children but we couldn’t conceive. We went
to numerous doctors and clinics, but no problem was ever detected. I also
wanted children, but I was more flexible than he was. I believed we had a
unique marriage full of compassion, passion, respect, and love—a marriage that
could grow without children. I guess it wasn’t meant to be. My husband and I
talked about the problem of conception, and he decided that we had to split.
After the divorce, my life spiraled into depression. I quit
my part-time job, went to live with my parents, and isolated myself from all my
friends. I was a total wreck. My husband left Portland and moved to Columbus,
Ohio. He found a nice job, and, after a year, got married again. I also moved
on after two years and married my second husband. Then, three years later, I
got divorced again and married my current husband.
Something interesting has happened, however.
Both my first husband and I are now parents, separately: He
has three children and I have two.
Many intense memories came back to me when my first husband
and his family came to visit us in Maine. My current husband and my first
husband were schoolmates in high school in Somalia. They had stayed in contact
and, of course, my current husband knew about my earlier marriage to his
friend. What a small world! It was a most awkward moment, seeing my first
husband so many years after our divorce. At dinner, I found myself going out of
my way to give more food to him. “Do you need anything else?” I kept asking. In
a way, my question brought back the memory of how I used to overfeed him. His
wife and my husband definitely noticed how I was catering to my ex much more
than to anyone else.
After our guests left, I was depressed. I was obsessed with thinking
about my ex-husband and the life we could have had. I know it was not meant to
be. Most likely, he is happy with his new family, but now I am no longer happy
with my life. I am miserable. I feel that another woman has taken from me what
was rightfully mine.
Suddenly, I view myself as unhappy. My current husband does
not know what is bothering me. I keep telling him that I’m not feeling well,
but I don’t want to get professional help. He is patient, but deep down I know
he is frustrated with me. I have a feeling that one day my husband will leave
me. Maybe I should get divorced and try to win back my ex-husband.
Do you think I’m crazy?
I think so.
My Best Friend
Okay, online dating has been getting a bad rap, but I can’t
complain. I met my best friend, Anab, through online dating several years
ago.
Anab lived in Europe and I in New York. That, of course, made
our relationship desperately hopeless. She told me upfront that she would not
move to the States and I told her I would not move to Europe. She had a big
family there and most of my family members and friends live here.
Thank God for the internet. Anab and I have exchanged emails
for the last five years. I tell her what I do every week and she does the same.
We have—and still do—exchanged pictures, gossip, and ideas. I constantly seek
her input and she gives me her honest opinion. I look forward to her frequent
emails because they are nourishing. I never had a female friend—or male friend
for that matter— with whom I felt so comfortable. In a nutshell, Anab was the
woman who got away, but instead ended up being my best friend.
Anab and I have never met; however, there is a new
development in her life: She got married two years ago to a “wonderful’—that is
her word—man. She is happy and I’m rooting for her to have a successful and
lasting marriage. I’m not married yet because I’m a workaholic. I haven’t tried
online dating since 2010. Anab is always encouraging me to settle down, to
which my usual answer is: “Insha’Allah” (God willing). What else am I going to
say?
I was looking for love and matrimony on the internet;
instead, I got a best friend. I got a jewel from the bedlam of the internet.
Not everything about online dating is bad. That is my personal view.
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