Of all the love stories I have read and heard, my grandmother’s love story stands out tall above the rest. My grandfather was a merchant who traveled far and wide with his bicycle. As a result, his trade took him to a tiny hamlet where my grandmother was born and raised.
At this time, there were many girls of marriageable ages in the hamlet. Men travelled from neighbouring towns and villages to seek their hands in marriage.
My Grandfather’s Story
My maternal grandfather not only stood out among all the men but also, a sight to behold. With the prestige of owning a bicycle in those days, many girls sought after him.
Unfortunately, my grandfather wasn’t looking for a wife to marry at the time. No, he was in search of clients, his business was the focal point of his life; something to enhance his wealth not the number of women he already had.
The Meeting
One moonlit evening, fate decided the course of the lovebirds. My grandfather met my grandmother and the story changed for the two of them, but, there were obstacles from different angles: the girls of the surrounding villages, cultural differences, and disapproval from both families.
The Tribulations
After their marriage, my grandmother bore years of infertility and the cruelty from other wives. Part of the tribulations she faced was the killing of her son by the co-wives. Out of pure hatred and jealousy, my grandmother lost a child.
The co-wives conspired, then, sent my grandmother on an errand one sunny afternoon with the assurance of babysitting. Before her return, they put their plan to work and strangled the toddler. She met her dead child with all the telltales of their wicked acts.
My grandfather (who saw beyond what she knew), fought her battles. He stood by her when the whole world was against her. He had the wisdom she didn’t know of and gave her the wings to succeed after his death.
The love between the two of them conquered hatred and cruelty. As the only woman he married by himself, she remained the only wife with him till his death.
In the same manner, my grandmother refused to remarry. She sang the eulogy of her late husband to anyone who cared to listen. She was a great storyteller, her skills were put to good use in portraying the beauty her husband possessed, the mental agility and sheer delightfulness of knowing him.
My grandmother saw the best in of her husband, she endured with patience bored out of love and support from her man. She only concentrated on his goodness, his kindness and what made him special.
Who I am. A Far Cry.
In contrast to my grandmother, I pay more attention to my partner’s flaws, as well as his past mistakes. Criticising his parenting skills is a norm for me and the imprudence of not seeing things as I see it.
Likewise, I often forgot (or maybe ignore) his generosity, neglecting how amazing he has been to me, to his kids and to the life we share together. I turn a blind eye to his commitment and to the challenges he faces in other to make ends meet. I have been totally unfair to this poor man I chose to share my life with.
As with most relationship, we had faced our share of life’s pill. He had held on many times while I wanted out. We have stood still in some harshness of storms, we’ve waddled out of hardship together with great difficulty. We held on to the foundation of this union despite treading the path where most fizzled out.
For how else would we enjoy the time we still have together if all I do is to exhume the buried old corpse?
We’ve been through it all and comparatively, my focus should be less on what he is not; rather on what he is. With this in mind, I need to buckle up and enjoy the one who is closest to me in flesh and in mind.
Life is a lesson and a reflection of some sort. I am open to learning from the lives of people who had an impact on my life: The love life of my grandmother. The real knots of my heart.