People say that life is a journey, but if it really is just a journey then it was a very long one. It was almost unbearable trudging through life without anyone to call your own and no one to tell about the burden that lay heavy on your back.

Life swallows us; it chews us and then spits us out, leaving us trying to mend the broken bones and torn fleshes.

Exactly ten months after my marriage, I held my first child Usman Isah Al-Razam. Isah was a very proud father and I was also proud of myself; I had given birth to a male child named after my father and my husband.

Isah's friends and family all came around to see the baby and they couldn't stop gushing about how beautiful the baby was. Our life was prosperous and very fulfilling. After his PhD, Isah began to fully pursue his political career and everyone seemed to love him. What was not to love about him?

Exactly two years and a month after the birth of Usman, I gave birth to a set of twins – both of them boys and Isah couldn't stop himself from bellowing to the world of his blessing and how much of a man he was for fathering three male children in such a short time. He was immensely happy and that year he got me a brand new car worth millions and we moved into a newer and grander house.

There were a few months of tension in our home because he was running for the position of the state Governor. He won the race. On the day he was sworn in as the newly elected Governor, he gave me a gift of a set of gold bracelets with matching necklace and earrings. I have birth to our fourth child that same year, a female child which Isah named Kafila after my mother.

All was well in our world until Isah informed me of his decision to get married to another wife. Yes my religion supports a man having more than one wife, but some men were just not wired to practise equality in their treatment of both wives. I simply never imagined that Isah was one of them. I was hurt and angry that he wanted another woman, but there was nothing I could do.

His new wife was young, barely nineteen. Who was I to compete with such youthfulness? They were the 'it-couple'. He showered her with love and gifts but I was content to wait on the sideline thinking it was because he had just newly married her. The newly married fever would leave him soon and he would come back to my side. My Isah would never abandon me.

He eventually diverted his attention back to me after a year, he was unapologetic but I was content to have his attention back.

The first debilitating crisis happened when our two year old Kafila became sick. She was hospitalised for days before she was well enough to come back home. She was sickle celled and her complications started early in life. Despite the analgesics and Isah's efforts to find a cure, Kafila suffered chronic anemia and intense pain crisis until she was four years old. I watched my daughter waste away not able to do a thing.

I lost Kafila during one of her episodes of Acute Chest Syndrome. I was at the hospital when she suddenly began to cough and gasp. Kafila was in coma for two weeks where she slowly slipped into the hands of death. All that was said to me was “To Allah we belong and to Him we shall return”.

Yes to Him we belong and to Him we shall return, so we went on with our lives. I prayed and fasted when we were asked to bring in the other children for a genotype test. All for naught, only my Usman was of the AA genotype. The twins were both sickle-celled.

Isah married another woman a year after Kafila's death, since his second wife was unable to give him the children he now desired with frightening intensity. My children were no longer an assurance, they could die anytime.

In between the hospital visits and the vigils besides their hospital beds, our love for each other began to wear off. We would argue endlessly for no reason, exchanging bitter words which would resort to him leaving the house and me not seeing him for weeks on end. The twins' crises did not help matter. If I had not passed through it, I would not have believed that such little boys could rapidly use up so much money. It was as though all the forces in the world had converged against me. We spent millions just to keep them alive and that didn't endear us to Isah.

Barely thirty years old, I was struggling with trying not to lose my place in my husband's home and keeping my children alive. I lost one of the twins the day after Isah's third wife gave birth to a twin set of baby girls. He attended our son's burial and went back to the new mother.

I was inconsolable when I lost the other twin seven months after the first and when I looked into my husband's eye I could see his disappointment and frustration at me.

Within another year Isah got married to his fourth wife since the third gave birth to another girl. After the twins death I had an implant without his knowledge, I couldn't go through such loss again. Not that there was a point to that anyway, I hardly ever saw my husband talk more of him sleeping with me. He sent money to my account and I saw him a few times every month. I consoled myself with the fact that his barren second wife was not even able to see him at all. I was still the mother of his only male child; he could hardly abandon me totally after all.

He diverted his attention to me when he welcomed another female child – his fourth – from his fourth wife but he soon pushed me aside when he saw I wasn't becoming pregnant anytime soon.

My Isah was practically like a stranger, using and discarding women the way he wished. His money doubled and tripled as he discarded his moral in his business and political dealings. His desire for more male children increased on daily basis.

My sympathy lies with his second wife whom he later divorced in order to get married to a Yoruba lady, Azizah who had two male children from her deceased husband. And with the typical Yorubas, a polygamous home was a war front. And another wife was referred to as orogun – one's rival on a battle field.  She learnt well from whoever taught her because she turned our home into a real war–zone.

On one cursed day, a friend of Isah's came to visit him but he wasn't home. He decided to wait for Isah. I served him food and drinks while he waited, not knowing that Azizah had been feeding Isah with malicious rumors concerning me and his friend.

Isah flew into rage on getting home and accused me of sleeping with his friend. It was as though his friend and Azizah had planned it, because the man only kept on apologizing to Isah. Making me guilty no matter what I said.

We were presented before a cleric. Without any witnesses to bring forth, Isah swore by God that I was guilty of adultery and invoked the curse of Allah upon himself if he was lying and in order to defend myself, I also swore of my innocence. Automatically we were irrevocably divorced by li'aan – the oath of condemnation – leaving God as the judge of everything else but the society had already judged me. I was ostracised and laughed at by Isah's family and neighbours; including Ramlah.

Isah got an apartment for me and Usman away from his house and he sent monthly allowance to us. I had no choice but to accept his charity because I've never had to work for a living, suddenly the golden rug was yanked away from my feet and I hit the bottom. But I didn't hit rock bottom until years later.

I was brought back to the present by the pain that racked through my body as I gave in to the fit of cough nudging at my throat. Slight coppery taste of blood tinged the saliva on my tongue making me feel nauseous.

I answered the person knocking on my door as I moved to the bathroom to rinse my mouth, only to come out and meet Ayyub peeping into the room. He smiled when he saw me.

"How did you get into the building?" I asked, wrapping my veil more securely around my head.

"Zhulfah allowed me in because I am a rich man," He winked referring to the shelter’s manager by her first name. "Besides almost all the women and kids are at the picnic ground already. I was wondering why you are still inside all alone."

"Can't an old woman wallow in pity in peace? Besides I was busy dressing to outshine all the women there." I replied with a smile as I put on my slippers.

Ayyub simply smiled at my statement as we walked outside together and sat on a mat beneath a tree a few paces away from the others. We watched the children display all forms of talent and the women displayed their handmade wares to the visitors in the shelter.

"Haneefah." Ayyub called and I turned to face him knowing what was at the tip of his tongue. "Marry me."

"I...you know. I can't." I stammered and he shushed me.

"When you rejected me back then, I never argued. I let you go thinking perhaps you are not my destiny despite how much I loved – still love you. I could have forced your hand back then but I didn’t want you to hate me".

"You should have, Ayyub. You should have. I might have hated you for a while but I would have learnt to love you eventually. Perhaps I might have been spared all of these."

"Forget about the past. You marriage to him happened because Allah willed it to be so." Ayyub said softly. "Don't deny me now, Haneefah. I don't care about anything that is wrong with you. Just do not deny me the remaining years of your life. Do not deny me the right to wash you when you die. Do not deny me the right to be with you if I make it to Jannah. I am but a man and a man can only take so much rejection. Think about this because as far as I am concerned, you were always mine to take care of and I am not willing to leave you." He turned his face away from me.

"Oh Ayyub!" I whispered with joy even though it was mingled with trepidation. "I would be honoured to be your wife, if you are willing to have me with the broken pieces and all."

"Glory be to Allah!" He cried out with joy turning back to me and engulfed me in a hug that was broken by someone's cough.

"Careful. We haven't gotten you both married yet." Zhulfah, called across the field with a smile.

"How did you know? I only just accepted his proposal." I called back with the same teasing lit.

"It was always just a matter of time." She smiled and I turned to find Ayyub itching his beard – a glaring sign of his embarrassment. And for the first time in more than fifteen years I laughed out long and loud – a sound rusty from years of unuse.