THE OTHER GENDER 1

(Photo by Sofia Sforza on Unsplash)

https://unsplash.com/@raisedheroes

A Collobaration with Adebanjo Abiola Deborah

(email- abioladeborah123@gmail.com; Instagram- @biiolar)

(The Present)

I awake to the bright morning; I yawn and stay back on the bed; stretching my bones for few minutes. My face turns to the ceiling which is coated in a white color. I pause for a moment, my eyes still fixed on it; it reminds of Lilian my only child; {it has always been her favorite color}

 

Some voices outside the window draw my attention. I rise to see what’s happening. I can see two people; a male and a female, exchanging words.

 

“You idiot, don’t you have manners?!! Didn’t you see my tomatoes before running your useless car over them?!”

 

“Madam, don’t annoy me this morning o!, you purposely spread your goods on an area where vehicles pass, why won’t I run over it mistakenly?” He fires back; anger building within him.

 

As I try to understand what exactly is happening or about to happen, she brings out a pistol which is tucked in one end of her wrapper, and ends his life with a bullet.

After watching him fall to the floor, I hiss and shut the window. “These men still don’t want to learn their lessons” I mutter. 

 

“Mummy good morning” 

I turn and fix my gaze on the half open door. It is Lilian greeting.

“Hey baby gal, how was your night?” 

“Very well mum” she says, rubbing her hands over her eyes.

“Are we going shopping today?” 

 

I shrug  “If your aunty Vicky visits today, then we’ll go” 

“Ah! Mummy you promised that we’ll go shopping today o, I really want to have ice creams” 

 

“Lilian leave my room, don’t come here this morning with your unnecessary whining!!”

Soon, she shuts the door and leaves in tears; she’s always too emotional which is irritating.

 

“What’s with children and over excitement?” I ask myself, only to realize few seconds later, that I was once a child too. I shrug and turn to pick up my phone; a notification has popped up, on the screen”

 

‘PRESIDENT AINA RITA INAUGURATES HER VERY FRIST FEMALE CABINET MEMBERS’ 

 

I smile with confidence to my self; the pride of being a woman wells up inside me. I’m not surprised that the whole cabinet will be made up of females, because that’s what it should be.

“Serves every man right” I mutter to myself yet again.

 

I sit back to imagine how the country is progressing without the effect of the so called gender: ‘MEN’. Those demons who pride themselves and feel like they’re the owners of the world. At some point I see myself laughing at their current predicament. They must be somewhere in their houses lamenting and trying to understand if all that’s happening is a dream or reality.

 

(The past)

I can recall that it all started about a decade ago when one Mrs Mary smart had a breakout with her husband. Philip, just as every other man, was stern looking, his face always gave an impression of terror. In fact his facial appearance showed what he was capable of doing, or what he would be capable of doing some day. The story had it that, Mary smart was always bombarded with questions from her female church members on a daily basis;

‘How are you coping with this man? We know you’re trying to put up a face that everything is ok? Speak now before it is too late”

She would smile and reply them; 

‘I serve a living God, don’t worry about me I’ll be fine; I always believe that things will get better. 

 

They would keep staring at her sadly, some shaking their heads in foreseen pity for her. But she would stand strong and continue. 

“in fact, I believe he’ll change; at least he has never laid his hands on me’

 

Well, her belief that he’ll change came to pass, few months later, only that it was the opposite.

 

The woman who had hoped that things would get better, saw herself going to the court of law with stitches on her face. She was ready to file a divorce.

She sued him and complained in the court of law that he recently started beating her up, almost every night; he would give her multiple slaps and also deal her blows over little mistakes. She had turned to a punching bag who always visited the hospital four times a week to treat her wounds.

 

The man on his own part, denied all allegations, and with the way he defended himself In the court of law, everyone nearly believed him, until something led to another, and he went ahead to prove himself wrong by giving her a slap right in front of everyone; the court, the judges, the witnesses, the crowd. Such story wouldn’t have caught my interest if not that I was able to get hold of the convict‘s narrative of what exactly happened between him and his wife. Anyways; after several years, we were able to get his own side of the story; while still serving his terms in prison.

{PHILIP…}

‘Imagine pondering the hypothetical scenario of a world devoid of one gender.

In one interpretation, a feminist might envisage a landscape where women confidently embrace their bodies without shame, free from societal pressures and male dominance. Conversely, a perspective from a masculine standpoint might foresee unhindered progress for men, with financial independence unencumbered by external influences. Imagination and suggestions ceased when a female attained the presidency. Life took a drastic turn for the male populace. Safety in daily routines became precarious, men refrained from challenging their wives, and even the burliest individuals were easily moved by their spouses. It was a puzzling transformation.

 

I recalled my altercation with Mary in court, though she remained unaware of her offence. Only I, Philip, understood the reason behind my actions, and I harbored no remorse. Some may label me weak, a descriptor I accept, yet before you pass judgment, allow me to share my tale.

My name is Philip, In the not-so-distant years between 2028 and 2030, my life began to unfold like a captivating story. Back then, the distinctions between genders remained clear: females were females, and males were males. My wife, Mary, would lovingly prepare meals and patiently wait for me to finish eating. It made me feel powerful, almost arrogant, knowing I had everything a man could desire. Yet, beneath that veneer, I prided myself on being a caring, devoted husband. 

I abhorred disrespect and always spoke the unvarnished truth. Mary accepted me just as I was, and for that, I was grateful. The contrast between my wife, Mary, and myself was stark. While she exuded joviality, I often appeared stern, causing her to tread carefully around me. Occasionally, at church gatherings, she yearned to join the lively discussions among the women, yet her demeanour shifted whenever I was near. Despite never laying a hand on her, it was evident that Mary harboured a fear of me. She would visibly tense up and avoid certain interactions in my presence. 

The thought of inflicting pain upon her was abhorrent to me; after all, I cherished her deeply. Recollections surfaced of overhearing church women gossiping about me, unaware of my proximity. 

Their assumptions about me as a potential abuser weighed heavily, especially during Mary's testimony in court. If only I had foreseen how my life would unfold, I would have adamantly proclaimed my devotion and care for my wife to everyone. I grappled with my inability to connect with others, reflecting on the missed opportunities to share my thoughts and feelings, especially regarding my marriage. Mary's portrayal of me to others, though unsettling, didn't provoke anger. However, I’m so angry at the other thing she had done and this time I don’t feel like a beast for behaving in this manner. I can still recall the moment the judge asked if I ever laid a hand on my wife.

 

"Mr. Philip Oyelu," the judge called out sternly, "Your wife testified that you frequently harass her both sexually and physically. Do you agree with her testimony?"

With a firm "No," I denied such a notion, I was puzzled by the very idea. Mary's desire for a divorce left me bewildered until the reasons unfolded. Despite my initial shock, I soon faced the truth, realizing I had turned a blind eye to her unhappiness. Reminiscing about our early days together, I remember how I candidly shared my strengths and weaknesses with her on our honeymoon. Her acceptance of my faults was a comfort, but I failed to recognize the depth of her reservations. Even as Mary playfully admitted to being a food lover, I failed to delve deeper into her concerns. Looking back, I regret not addressing her doubts, assuming our happiness was mutual. Now, here we stand, at the point of no return, facing the judge. Whatever flaws I may have inflicted upon my wife will be laid bare today. I awaited the evidence that supposedly showed I had harmed Mary, even though she avoided making eye contact with me in the courtroom. Here, in this space, we will lay everything out, and the judge will determine who is at fault.

"Mr. Philip, who is your witness?" the judge inquired, prompting me to confidently call upon my friend, Emeka.

Emeka strode forward with pride, ready to defend me. Then, the judge turned to Mary and asked, "Ms. Mary, who is your witness?" The shift from "Mrs." to "Ms." caught me off guard, prompting an inner reaction of disbelief.

As Mary's witness approached, I glanced up and felt a mix of surprise and disbelief. It was the same man who had caused strife in our marriage, the man with whom Mary had been having an affair behind my back. Seth Collins, the very person I had caught her kissing in the royal garden near Emeka's house, was now here to testify against me.

The judge's voice broke through my thoughts, bringing me back to the present. "Mr. Seth Collins, please approach," the judge commanded.

"Yes, my lord," Seth responded, making his way down with a brazen glance in my direction, akin to what Gen Z might call a "bombastic side eye."

(Continued in part 2)