Hello lovely people, today is my sixth wedding anniversary!!! To commemorate the day, I’ll share with you my wedding night story, first published on my ‘sister’, Commy Mussa’s blog, SISTERS SPEAK 237. I’m about to tell you everything that happened right after this photo here:
The moment everyone had been waiting for came. The pastor, in an enthusiastic tone, announced:
The upscale interior decor was refreshing to the eyes. Various works of art garnished the walls around us. It was a pleasant sight.
The eyes of a brown-skinned receptionist at the welcome desk greeted us. As we negotiated for a room, I could only think of the three letter word that makes the world go round.
The room didn’t fall short of my expectations. The red sheets on the bed spoke the language of love. It was a calm and convenient cubicle. It seemed like the perfect place for a romantic adventure.
When some family members saw us the afternoon after, dressed in matching clothes, they started ululating . Little did they know that we had not consummated the marriage.
I was totally disappointed in myself. What was I missing? How could I really be ‘sweet’ in bed? We kept trying for the next one week with the same results. Then Mr. N had to leave for work. He worked as a Marine Electrical Engineer in Equatorial Guinea and was going to be away for two long months.
The level of disappointment in myself grew. It was a mixture of confusion, uncertainty and doubt. After examining my lady parts, I concluded that there was no way a thing that big was going to go through and stay there.
I also thought I had been bewitched by some ill-meaning family member. Thoughts were running through my mind like waves in a torrent.
The over one week of trying to eat the fruit of marital goodness seemed like a wild-goose chase. The only results I had were soreness,
I wondered why a thing that novels, movies and friends said was so good had turned out so gruesome. Those had been my ‘formal’ educators on sex. When I started menstruating, my mother warned me sternly, “If a boy touches you now, you will get pregnant.” That was about all she ever told me about sex. My father? He lived his life as though sex didn’t exist. As if that’s not how he produced me. He never went near that topic. Not even in a joke.
Then my biology teacher had managed to teach about sexual intercourse when she inevitably had to cover the topic, ‘reproduction’. The reaction from the class was enough to make a coy lady quickly digress to something else. Yet, among the jeers and boos she pressed on. For the first time, I heard words like, ‘erection’, ‘penis’, ‘vagina’, and others in the sex dictionary pronounced by real lips in the open. It was a pretty rough ride for the teacher, dealing with curious teenagers but she pulled through.
My other form of sexual education was in the church where I was taught that godly principles required that I remained untouched until my wedding night. It was said that the greatest gift I could ever give my husband on our wedding night was my virginity. Anytime the topic of sex was mentioned in a church youth gathering, there was a rehash of this same phraseology, “keep your primary or secondary virginity as a gift for your husband.”
So, on my wedding night, I matched like a queen into the hotel room with my bridal tiara still on my head as though I was going to receive a “bride of the year” trophy. But the gift I had kept as strictly instructed refused to be unraveled. Our various attempts at penetration failed. It was a night void of coitus.
It took another two months before our breakthrough came in a moment of pleasure mixed with pain. I was glad that the spell was broken. It did not however stop me from wondering if my case was anomalous.
Some months later, I had a chit-chat with a friend who shared a similar experience. She and her to-be husband tried to unlock the gate to her womanhood but kept hitting the wall. She said she thought she needed to have surgery done in which a hole will be created for ‘it’. When I told her my experience, we laughed together.
I understand that a lot of parents, pastors and role models in the society refrain from talking to young people about sex because they do not want to stir the wrong emotions. But there are age appropriate discussions that should take place. What you will tell a 3 year old, may not be what you will tell a 13 year old or even a 30 year old.
A 3 year old may need to know that what she calls ‘pee-pee’ is actually called a vagina while a 13 year old may need to know that she is in a period called puberty and some parts of her body may be more sensitive to touch than others. But a 30 year old needs to know much more than that.
As a young Christian girl, I wish I had been taught that sex is a wonderful thing created by God. I wish I had known more about the details and nature of sexuality. I wish I knew a little more about my body so that I wouldn’t feel like I was suffering from some kind of aberration.
The absence of knowledge is an invitation to fear. When fear comes, it prevents women from having positive sexual experiences. Now that I know better, I will educate my daughters so that the bad side of history doesn’t repeat itself.