JUST IN: My Husband Is My Younger Brother

We were friends for a long time but I didn’t ask about his age. I didn’t think we’d cross to the other side of friendship so not knowing his age didn’t bother me until he proposed to me. I laughed at his tiny voice and the lack of confidence when he said he loved me. I asked, “You koraa how old are you that you want to date me? Are you not young enough to be my younger brother?READ FULL ARTICLE>>>>

He mentioned his age and I was like “Wow, you’re not that young. You don’t look your age.” He’s a year older than I am but looked so young and sweet, like a shiny toy you wouldn’t like to put down. I said yes but told him to man up and take his spot as the leader of the relationship.

He’s reserved and tiny. He’ll walk behind rather than be in front. He’ll let you lead with his permission rather than be the one to lead. I’m loud and boisterous, taller and also wider than him so when people saw us together, they didn’t think we were dating. My friends said it. Strangers said it. His friends teased, “Tiny man like you, you won’t go for your size. You’ve become the tiny mouse stuck inside a big bread and destroying it.”

With time, they got used to us and left us alone. When I took him home the first time, my mom asked why he was following me. I said he was my boyfriend and my mom looked at me again, with a shadow of a smile on her lips. When we were alone she asked me, “Is that all you found in the market or you simply want a man you can bully? He looks like your younger brother.”

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My response to her was “Dangerous things usually come in small packages. Look at a bomb.”

And then our wedding pictures hit the internet. I wanted to delete them; the troll, the questions, the tease, the love and the well wishes. I took them all in and came to the realization that we can’t force people to unthink what they are thinking. We can only live our lives and ignore their opinions.

We had a very balanced home. We did chores together, helped each other, goofed around whenever we were alone but each time he was shirtless, I asked myself, “What can I feed him to make him catch up with me? If he gets a body that complements his age, then people will stop making me feel like an old woman who married her son.”

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I woke him up early morning and fed him pasta and plenty of sauce. In the afternoon I gave him fufu and groundnut soup. In the evening he ate something that would get him inflated. Before bed, he ate another thing. The annoying thing about such people is that their bodies don’t pay homage to the kind of food they eat. You’ll smell the food and get fat but my husband’s kind will eat and the food will have no effect on them.

My friends saw me and were like, “Marriage is really treating you well, see the body.” Same couldn’t be said about my husband. I was worried. He made me feel so old sometimes I got angry, not with him but with myself. At a wedding, a relative looked at him and asked me, “Is that your younger brother?” I’d had enough so I nodded and said, “Yeah, he’s the one after me.” Then she said, “Ah, your mom had a boy after you?”

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I didn’t answer her. If my mom didn’t have a boy after me, then how could he be my brother?

Two years later, I got pregnant. I should have been happier. I was happy but I was thinking about how my body was going to handle the pregnancy and also handle the nursery period. In my family, we grow fat. When we do, we don’t go back to our formal size again so I was worried. I looked at my husband and wished he could carry the pregnancy to term if only that would burst his body open.

He knew my worries and always joked about them. When I was bent on not understanding him he asked me, “Who do you care about, the outside world or the man who married you?” That kept me quiet. For a while, until doubt kicked in again.

We had our first child, a boy. My husband doesn’t attend my church but we did the naming ceremony in my church. When the pastor called my husband to come forward and he did, the pastor kept shouting, “Where’s the husband? Is he not here?” I pointed at him and said, “That’s my husband.” My pastor looked down at him and asked, “So you’re the one handling this woman? You men of today have no fear.”

The congregation burst out laughing. I laughed too. After church, he came to congratulate my husband and thanked him for a good work done. When we were going home I told him, “When I tell you to grow up you don’t listen to me. That’s what they’ll always do to us.

But seven years and two kids later, I’ve come to realize that nothing will change until it’s time for change. No amount of food will make my husband look his age. No amount of words from the outside will make me look younger and more suitable to him so I accepted the situation as it is and told myself, “He’s all I have. I can’t allow people to determine my happiness in my marriage.”

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The last time a stranger asked if he was my younger brother, I nodded and added, “But this younger brother shares my bed and is the reason I have these two kids.” When she got the hint of what I was trying to say, she laughed and said, “He’s such a bad younger brother but it’s sweet the things he does to you.”

Calling my husband my younger brother may be a joke but the love we have for each other is not a joke. It was not a joke when I agreed to marry him. Our marriage is not a joke. It’s not a joke the way he’s committed to me and the family. It’s not a joke when he looks into my eyes and tells me I’m all he has. Those are the most important things and not what others say.
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We go out proudly, love each other desperately, and join the joke when they bring it to our doorstep. I’ve asked a lady to call my little brother for me, pointing at my husband. The lady tapped him and said, “Your sister is calling you.” When our eyes met we laughed. We can only laugh at what others think but we don’t laugh at the times and moments and memories we are creating together. It means everything and more.READ FULL ARTICLE>>>>