The definition of love is as old as mankind and each is based on variety of perspectives. Some define love as caring and wanting the best of the person even if it means putting behind one’s own individual needs. Love is to see the best in a person despite their flaws, believing in them even when they don’t believe in themselves, notice and appreciate every good trait about them, think about all the time and so on.
So you decide to spend the rest of your life with the person you love to make a home and raise kids together.
My name is Zainab. I was born and raised in Northern Nigeria. I went to an Islamic school and not the western type. My father is a strict and loving Muslim cleric. Of course with my father inclusive, we are a family of twenty five consisting of four mothers and nineteen siblings. I am the sixth girl among eleven and four are married. When I decided to get married I wanted to do it because I was in love and not to foster family ties or get married into a wealthy family, as some of my sisters did.
I found my mate in Musa, who was handsome, caring, a devoted Muslim and rich man. Yes, I was ready to be his wife, to the envy of other girls in my community. And so we got married, of course with my father’s consent.
I felt fulfilled. I had my own home in which I was comfortable, and a husband who cared for my every need and one whom I loved unreservedly.
This story was supposed to be happily ever after, or so I thought.
A year later, there I was, in the market when my brothers came to tell me that my father needed to speak with me urgently. With my heart in my mouth I asked “what is happening? Is Mama sick? Please do not look clueless” I pleaded. But I got no response. The instruction was to bring me to my father without delay.
My father smiled as I entered. “Sit down Zainab”, he said. “Is there anything you should have told me about Musa before you got married?”
I looked puzzled at my father, “No Baba, I told you all that I know about him, I would never lie to you” I answered.
“You are going not back to your husband’s house, Zainab,” “I have sent your uncles to investigate the report I got from your aunt, Hajara. And I expect the confirmation in the evening today”.
This discussion was going nowhere. I was becoming infuriated. I know he is my father, but what right did he have to tell me not to go back to my husband’s house. I did not elope to get married; I received consent from the man sitting across from me. Yes, my father.
“Zainab” Baba called. “Musa is HIV positive”
: DO NOT LOVE ME TO DEATH!!! http://.blogspot.com/2012/02/do-not-love-me-to-death.html?spref=tw
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