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Anyone who has been married before knows the pressure on newly-weds to make sure they appear to be in love and happy. Each person makes a picture of their significant other their profile picture on BlackBerry Messenger (BBM), Facebook, and Instagram. Some write sweet long messages about their significant other on Facebook, while others brag about how their spouse is the best in the whole world and how they have been “blessed” to have found such a person who was “made to love them” and “made for them”. We have all seen these play out before, and when I got married, it was no different. 

I quickly changed my name on Facebook by adding my new last name to my maiden name, which made it a compound last name. I did not want to lose my identity because I was married, and creating a compound last name seemed more appropriate because it depicted exactly what had happened - a coming together of two people from two families. My then Mother-in-law called me almost on a daily basis to check on us and make sure we were happy. When our neighbours and friends visited, I was expected to entertain them with mouth-watering dishes and cold drinks, while acting like Fabian and I were in love.

A few days after our wedding, we went around thanking friends and family for their support during the wedding. That was when I found out that my whole family planned to spend Christmas in Calabar. Fabian already lived and worked there. My family invited me because they thought I would not object and they did not think spending Christmas in Calabar with Fabian was out of place. I was not even given the opportunity to decide whether that was where I wanted to spend Christmas or not. Before I knew it, an air ticket to Calabar was made available and my family and I were on our way to Calabar.

One of my favourite cousins lived in Calabar at the time. It was customary to stay at her house anytime I visited Calabar. Before I got married, we’d plan how to paint Calabar RED, and since I grew up in Calabar, it was not difficult to find friends and extended family who helped make colouring the city a really fun thing to do. But this time, Fabian had paid for a room in the renowned Channel View Hotel where we would spend our first Christmas. Once we arrived, Fabian was at the airport to pick me. 

The ride to the hotel was mostly silent with a few words from him and monosyllabic answers from me. Fabian sensed I was not really happy. He kept asking if I was okay. I told him everything was fine and that I was just tired from sitting in the Abuja airport waiting to board our flight that was delayed for four hours. I could tell he was not satisfied with my answer but since he did not push any further, there was no need to offer any more clarification. I was glad. 

We got to the hotel and checked-in. It was a nice room, well chilled, spacious with a big bed and nicely decorated with simple modern furniture. It was important we got a room that afforded us an exclusive view of the Calabar Carnival, scheduled to take place two days after Christmas. I heard many fun stories about how enjoyable the Carnival was and I looked forward to attending and having as much fun. The view from our room afforded us the opportunity to watch the carnival from our balcony.

But I did not want to stay there. After spending the first night at the hotel, I went to my cousins house and did not return to the hotel. The next day, my mother heard I did not sleep at the hotel with Fabian. She called my cousin to persuade me to go back to the hotel. My cousin did, but I just had no interest in going back. I appreciated the effort Fabian put into making sure that I was happy during my visit, but I wanted to stay with my cousin. I felt at home in her house. It was where I felt welcome and comfortable. 

About two days to Christmas, the pressure from my family to return to the hotel to be with Fabian became unbearable. I could not understand why I couldn't just stay with my cousin and visit Fabian during the day. My cousin was under pressure too and it was not fair to her. 

A day to Christmas, I packed my bags, went to the airport, and bought a one-way ticket back to Abuja. 

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During the wedding, when everyone was focused on me and congratulating me, it was easy to get carried away basking in the euphoria of being celebrated. I believed I made the right decision since everyone was proud of me. So when the curtains closed, reality hit hard and I suddenly did not feel so good about getting married. 

I never wanted to spend Christmas with Fabian. I did not mind being in Calabar and attending the Carnival, but I did not want to be with Fabian I was getting increasingly irritated by him and his advances. At the same time, I was trying to figure out why I didn't want him to touch me. At the end of the day, I spent Christmas alone in our home in Abuja, while my mother called incessantly, reprimanding my decision to abandon my husband in Calabar. She instructed me to return to Calabar, but her words fell on deaf ears.

Fabian was himself the whole time. He was quiet and non-confronting. He did not even express any anger, only shock at my sudden disappearance. He maintained that if being alone in Abuja made me happy, he did not mind.

I was already getting irritated being around Fabian and forced to act like I was happily married. But I was not. I questioned my decision and, somehow, blamed Fabian for being married to him. It sounds crazy now, but it made so much sense then. I blamed him for coming along and proposing in the first place. I blamed him for not noticing that I was lesbian. I blamed him for not asking enough questions to get to the root of why I came up with excuses for why I could not spend time with him before the wedding. I was unhappy and I blamed him.

It was comfortable to blame Fabian, but I agreed to move forward with marriage plans, and the only person to blame for this situation was me.

“Oh shit…

What the hell have I done?”