The Woman I am Becoming No Longer Lives in The Unsaid

I sat there shocked, confused, and embarrassed. I could feel my anger seething up, but I knew I would not make a scene. My mind was racing with thoughts, but none reached a logical conclusion. The hurt I felt was more than I could bear. A part of me wanted to cause a scene right there and then, but the presence of people who were not immediate family stopped me. I stood up and walked away. "I would like to clarify that we are not planning to build Joyce a house here. Life is spiritual, and we would not want any confusion because we consider her married.” 

These are the words my mother uttered that sent me into that disoriented state. My mother can be a bit of a people pleaser. She is also moderately religious, which means she will consider the feelings of others before her own, especially those closest to her. Every Christmas, my parents host a fellowship. In this gathering, we reflect on the year that was, and we talk about our plans for the new year. On that day, my brother expressed his desire to build a large house in my father's compound with enough rooms for all of us. Me, my fiancé, and my other siblings. This moment of belonging, care, and love is what my mother felt best to clarify. 

As I walked away, I wondered if anyone else had noticed what happened. I couldn't look back because I was holding back tears. As soon as I got into the house, the tears dropped. Up to this point, I was reacting, but I was sure I did not want to be part of that gathering. Everything that would happen after would feel hypocritical. I wondered how she could only see what was culturally wrong and miss the kind and loving gesture. In my culture, my fiancé cannot sleep in my father's house. My brother knew this and hated that when we came for Christmas, we had to leave in the evening. His offer was a workaround that worked for everyone. 

Christians in African settings do this thing where every occasion is almost a church service. If you are discussing a family matter, land dispute, school performance, you name it. It will start with a prayer; there might be some praise and worship music and a word from the Bible. I often think that it is an attempt to have people show up the way they do in church. No one argues or disagrees in church. No one gets angry or aggressive despite what is said. I also don't think they realise it. This was the internal war before I walked away. Could I object right there in everyone's presence in the middle of this service? It felt wrong to do that. After I took too long to get back to the gathering, they sent my sister to come and get me. It dawned on me that they did not realise I was angry, much less hurt. I explained to my younger sister that I would not be going back and was waiting for them to finish so I could get out of that place. It did not feel like home anymore, and I didn't know what that meant. I could no longer be compliant, and I had run out of grace to excuse and be patient. I could no longer exist in the unsaid. 

This happened on the 25th of December. I left without the usual prolonged goodbyes. The ride home with my siblings and fiancé was silent. They seemed to hold space for me and what had transpired. They didn't ask a question or seek to clarify; they seamlessly moved on to other topics. Within me was the battlefield. I worried that maybe I was wrong. Would this be the thing that breaks the bond I share with my parents? Did I overreact? Even my brother had been told to buy a sensible car with a good resale value during prayer requests. He didn't seem to care too much about it. I felt free but scared. All I could do was wait for the unfolding. 

Depending on who you ask, I am direct and assertive. I have never been one for confrontation. Blame that on my Christian upbringing. However, on that ride home, I realised something. I was tired of the use of religion to discriminate. In fact, I was more tired of the people and the use of religiosity to do or say what was acceptable to them. I deserved the love and care that was offered by my brother without conditions or a spiritual narrative from my mother. Best of all, I could no longer play along for family, friends, or even my fiancé. I had worried that my walking away would make him uncomfortable. 

A day before the New Year, my mother called. In her explanation, she never realized she had said anything wrong and only worried when I refused to return to the gathering. She had used those days to reflect on what she had said that was so wrong, but was not sure; nevertheless, she was so sorry. Her intentions had never been to hurt her own child. I am not sure if it is still an apology without an acknowledgement of wrongdoing, but I guess this is as close as you get from African mothers. I, however, wanted to know why she said all that in that setting. Her honest answer was that she was worried that my fiancé would take it personally if they were building me a house. This goes back to her people-pleasing tendencies. I tried to show how people-pleasing can be a form of self-abandonment and hurt the people she valued most. I don't think she got the point. That did not matter to me any more because she was now privy to the woman I was becoming.