The distant future Lum-Limunga envisioned for herself was a vibrant tapestry woven with threads of personal ambition, professional success, and the freedom to choose her own path. It certainly did not include an arranged marriage, especially not to a man like Atangana. Her parents, in their wisdom or perhaps misguided affection, had introduced her to him – a security officer from Freca, a man whose robust physique was matched only by the perpetual sternness etched upon his face. He exuded an air of self-sufficiency, a stoic independence that conveyed a distinct lack of interest in romantic pursuits. There were no roses, no grand gestures, no sweet words she had read about in the romantic novels she devoured in her youth. Atangana was, unequivocally, not her ideal man.
Indeed, Lum-Limunga wasn’t even sure if an “ideal man” existed for her. At the cusp of adulthood, her heart pulsed with dreams far removed from marital vows. She longed to experiment with audacious new hairstyles, a stark contrast to the severe, low-cut hair mandated during her secondary school years. More profoundly, she yearned to pursue higher education, to attend a prestigious professional school and emerge as a formidable lawyer. Ambition coursed through her veins; marriage, however, was conspicuously absent from her list of aspirations.
Her adoptive parents, Sir Williams Copperfield and his wife Anne, were undeniably strict, yet their strictness stemmed from a deep-seated love. They had nurtured Lum-Limunga since bringing her from a German orphanage, raising her in their home in Brisouca. To them, she was their precious child, their little girl, and they harbored their own dreams for her future. They feared the world’s harshness and believed a good man offered the best protection. When Atangana failed to impress her, they presented another option: Emeka. Emeka, a wealthy businessman, was shorter, sported an unnervingly permanent smile, and was a single father. He seemed more eager to marry Lum-Limunga than Atangana, but she felt no connection to him either. His evident preoccupation with his son made her fear becoming an afterthought, an insignificant detail in his already busy life.
The weight of her parents’ expectations pressed down on her one evening at dinner. “Do I really have to get married now?” she ventured, her voice barely a whisper across the dining table. Anne, her mother, reached out, gently stroking her hair. “Baby,” she began softly, “we are your parents. We know what is best for you. Just trust us. We’ve chosen two of the best men. Simply tell us which one you prefer, and we will send you to him. Trust us, you will be fine.” Lum-Limunga gazed at her mother, her eyes clouded with uncertainty, before managing a subdued “okay,” a syllable heavy with resignation.
February 11, 1961. This was the ominous date marked for Lum-Limunga to select her future husband, much like a child choosing a toy from a shop. The grim irony was that, in this scenario, the child desired neither the shop nor any of its offerings. Her heart ached for autonomy, to become a truly independent woman. She had heard countless chilling tales – stories of women whose lives soured dramatically after entering relationships, narratives of men who metaphorically and sometimes literally whipped the very life out of their wives. These men, she knew, often denied women their individuality, made every decision for them, assimilating them like colonial masters claiming new territories. Women in such relationships merely existed, shadows of their former selves, having become inextricably bound to their oppressors. Lum-Limunga had witnessed this tragedy firsthand in the lives of two close friends, watching them wither away daily, even as they continued to breathe. Her heart bled for them; she refused to become another statistic.
Her deepest desire was to forge her own path, to live life on her own terms, making her own choices. If marriage were to enter her life, it had to be her decision, born of genuine affection and respect, not as a transaction where she was a commodity to be delivered to a man’s house. Her parents, ever reassuring, promised her that her marriage would be nothing like the harrowing stories she’d heard. They asserted that her future husband would shield her, providing stability and security. Their intentions, they insisted, were solely for her well-being.
And so, on that cold February day in the early 1960s, a profound choice loomed before her. She stood before her parents, trembling, her breath catching in her throat. A single tear escaped her left eye. Anne, her mother, stepped forward and enveloped her in a comforting embrace. “Honey, you will be okay,” she whispered, her voice a balm. More tears welled up, but Lum-Limunga looked at her foster mother and, with a heavy heart, nodded in assent. She reached for a napkin from the nearby cupboard, wiping away the tears and the watery discharge from her nose. “It is Atangana. I will go live with Atangana.”
Her choice was made. Atangana over Emeka. Emeka, with his child out of wedlock, represented baggage she felt unequipped to handle. Atangana, though undeniably unappealing, seemed like the lesser of two evils. It felt like a choice between the devil and the deep blue sea, and she chose the vast expanse of the ocean. She couldn’t contend with the perceived ‘devil,’ but perhaps she could find a way to navigate the sea. The women of Lum-Limunga’s hometown, unaware of the internal turmoil that fueled her decision, celebrated with joyous songs and rhythmic waist-wriggling:
Marrate oh, marrate oh
Oh marrate!
Marrate fine, marrate sweet
Oh marrate
(Marriage oh, marriage oh! Oh marriage! Marriage is fine, marriage is sweet. Oh marriage!)
Her parents informed her that she would move in with Atangana immediately, a decision she accepted with an obedient nod. Without the solemnity of a marriage certificate or the blessing of a church ceremony, she packed her belongings and embarked on a new, uncertain chapter of her life.
The initial days of her new arrangement were surprisingly blissful. Lum-Limunga experienced a degree of autonomy she had never known. She consulted Atangana on shared plans, fostering a semblance of partnership. Her hair, once rigidly controlled, was now styled as she pleased. Most significantly, she enrolled in law school, a lifelong ambition finally within reach. A tentative fondness began to blossom for Atangana. Perhaps, she thought, her parents had been right all along.
Then, one day, the illusion shattered. Atangana struck her. The catalyst was a simple question: she had asked him about the funds in her bank account, money designated for her tuition, earnings from the oil business her parents had entrusted to her. His hand, heavy and deliberate, met her cheek with a resounding slap. Lum-Limunga fled to the kitchen, tears streaming down her face, her heart alight with fury. How could a man who supposedly loved her inflict such pain? That brutal slap marked the genesis of a terrifying pattern, a series of malicious acts that would define their arranged union.
In the ensuing years, Atangana’s control escalated into an oppressive reign. He dictated every aspect of her life: how she wore her hair, which friends she could keep, where she could visit, and what she was permitted to cook. He seized control of the money she earned as a lawyer, demanding she speak Cerf, his traditional language, instead of Silgne, her own. He systematically usurped the oil business her parents had painstakingly handed over to her. His actions were simply despicable, calculated to erode her self-worth and independence. Any hint of opposition was met with severe retribution. He would withdraw privileges, confiscating her car keys and forcing her to take taxis to work, systematically stripping away every vestige of compassion he once feigned. Following these episodes of cruelty, he would sometimes appear with expensive gifts, offering a fleeting moment of relief, a fragile smile that invariably vanished as another cycle of abuse began.
This torment persisted for years, an agonizing eternity. Lum-Limunga endured beatings, scorn, mockery, and unspeakable acts of rape. She was, in the truest and most heartbreaking sense, maimed – so profoundly broken that she walked with her head bowed, her self-confidence irrevocably shattered. She lived like a stranger within the walls of her own home, a prisoner in a life she hadn’t chosen. Yet, with a cruel irony, Atangana meticulously celebrated their anniversary each year, marking the day their “relationship” began – a chilling paradox for the woman trapped in his grip.
One day, having reached the absolute limit of her endurance, Lum-Limunga found the courage to write a note to Atangana: “My dear husband, I would like us to talk. These years with you have been pure hell for me. I want us to go back to how it used to be, to how I could make my own decisions, speak my own language, and keep my own friends. Please let’s talk about this. I want this union to work. I love you.” She slipped the note into his pocket as he left for work that morning. It was the first thing he read at his desk. He read it, then he laughed – a deep, guttural laugh that startled a co-worker, who hurried over to ensure he was alright. “I am not done with you yet!” Atangana sneered at the piece of paper, as if addressing Lum-Limunga herself.
When he returned home that day, he said nothing of the note. He resumed his usual routine, systematically violating the very essence of her existence. Lum-Limunga watched him daily, desperately hoping he would acknowledge her plea. He remained silent. She penned a second note, and then a third, reiterating her message, yearning for a dialogue. He made no effort.
Then, one fateful evening, as he arrived home from work, she stood waiting for him at the door. In a surge of raw defiance, she grabbed him by his testicles. “You must talk today!” she exclaimed, her voice trembling with a mixture of fear and newfound resolve. Atangana feigned shock, his eyes widening. “What is it with you, woman? What do you want this time?” “Wulilililililililililili!” she screamed, her voice piercing the evening air. The escalating volume of their argument drew neighbors, who began to gather, curious spectators to the unfolding drama. “Lum-Limunga, what is it?” an older woman asked from the swelling crowd. “Mama, ask her oo,” Atangana responded, his face a mask of feigned innocence, a stark contrast to the villainy that had characterized his private life with her. Lum-Limunga released her grip, looking at him with disbelief etched across her face. She turned to the crowd, feeling an urge to weep openly, but from deep within her heart, a powerful resilience surged forth.
“Wulilililililililililili! Whooosh!” she shrieked, circling erratically, like a woman who had finally shed the burden of sanity. “Make we tok di tori as e be!” (Let us tell this story as it is!), she declared in Pidgin, her lingua franca, her eyes wide with a burning intensity. “Fifty years ago, my parents forced me into a relationship with this man!” She pointed dramatically at Atangana, whose face now contorted in a grotesque mix of mirth and despair. “This man was supposed to love and cherish me. He was supposed to protect me. But what did he do? He beat me up. He broke my bones. He raped me. Yes, he raped me. He took away my car keys. He controlled the money I made as though it were his. He made fun of me. He laughed at me. He treated me like trash. And when I begged him to talk with me, he ignored me.”
“Wulilililililililili!!!” she screamed even louder, her voice echoing with years of suppressed pain. “Look, Atangana, your end is here. I will not allow you to treat me as a lesser person any longer. Give me back my life! Give me back my peace! Give me back my money! Give me back my everything! I am done with you. I do not want this union anymore. We don’t even have a marriage certificate in the first place. I’m going to move out of your house and live my life free from your wicked claws. A caged woman needs to liberate herself!” “No be so?” (Isn’t it?), she asked the captivated crowd. “Na so!” (It is!), they affirmed in unison, their voices rising in a wave of collective understanding and support, signaling the dawn of Lum-Limunga’s hard-won freedom.