My mom raised us on her own. We are three siblings from two different fathers. After our fathers, my mom had other relationships too, but none of them worked out. My mom’s elder sister is also a single mother with four children from three different men. As I speak, my cousins who got married before me are all divorced.
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The story in the family is that we are cursed. They say the women in my mother’s generation were cursed because my grandfather had an affair with a married woman. When the woman’s husband found out, he cursed my grandfather and all his generations.
When I heard that story, I took my prayer life very seriously. I went to church, and every chance I got, I prayed against that curse. I spoke to my pastor about it, and we prayed together. I fasted, sowed seeds, and gave generously to God’s work. My pastor assured me the curse had been broken and that I was free forever. That gave me the confidence to tell my boyfriend I was finally ready for marriage.
Kofi was my boyfriend then. We had dated for six years. He was ready for marriage long before I was, but I was scared the beautiful relationship we had would collapse once we got married. I was afraid the curse would manifest in our lives and destroy us. I had always wanted to marry only once and make it work. Kofi was perfect for me, so I agreed to marry him.
I took him to see my pastor even before I introduced him to my parents. My mom whispered in my ear, “He’s a great guy. Where did you find him?” Once Kofi left, my mom started talking about the curse again. I told her, “It’s because you believed it that it worked in your life. God has given me dominion over everything, and that includes every curse the enemy has proclaimed or will ever proclaim over my life.”
Our wedding almost didn’t happen. That was the first sign that everything wasn’t going smoothly. We changed the wedding date three times. Every time the date drew close, something happened that forced us to postpone it. We persevered. We kept telling ourselves that nothing was bigger than our love, so we wouldn’t allow any problem to defeat us.
Eventually, we got married, and that was when the real problems started.
Kofi never used harsh words on me while we were dating, but right after marriage, every little mistake I made attracted insults and name-calling. He called me unintelligent so often that one day I decided to remind him of the kind of woman he had married. I told him, “You married a well-educated and resourceful woman. Never call me unintelligent.”
That was the day I received my first slap. It was so loud and hard that I saw blood in my eye. I screamed, “You slapped me? Did you really do that?”
He answered, “I did, and if you dare me again, it will be worse for you.”
I was so shocked I couldn’t move for several seconds.
Later that evening, he apologized. All of a sudden, he looked like a mouse standing before a cat—deflated and weak. He even cried while apologizing. I told myself the devil was a liar. I convinced myself it was the curse trying to manifest. I decided I wasn’t going to let it destroy our marriage, so I hugged my husband and begged him never to hit me again.
A week later, it wasn’t just a slap. He stepped on my legs, threatening to cripple me. A few hours after every assault, he would become calm again and apologize. I never told anyone what was happening. I never discussed the abuse with anyone. I endured it quietly until, three years later, we realized we still didn’t have a child.
All I did was ask him to visit a clinic with me.
He screamed, “Are you calling me impotent? How dare you?”
Then came another slap, a kick, and more slaps. Even after I fell to the floor, begging him to stop, he kept hitting me.
I grew thin, and my body became covered with bruises. I started wearing clothes that covered my entire body so no one would see the marks.
One day, after another fight, I ran away from home and went to my mom. I told her everything. I showed her the bruises. She warned me never to go back, but I said to myself, “You want to destroy my marriage just like yours.”
So I went back.
The next time we fought, he picked up a knife. Fortunately, I was close to the door, so I ran outside and called the neighbours for help. The moment they arrived, he suddenly came to his senses and started begging me in front of everyone, saying he didn’t know what had come over him.
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We’ve been married for four years, and there hasn’t been a single week that I’ve not suffered some form of abuse.
Now I don’t even know if what I’m going through has anything to do with the curse. My mom was never beaten, so why is my own situation different? If not for these repeated episodes of abuse, my marriage would have been perfect. Everything else is good except the abuse, and I don’t know if that’s what the devil wants to use to drive me away.
I’m so confused at this point and honestly don’t know what to do.
—Lady
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