Gods and Soldiers (8 page)

Not long after Zulai mentioned Mr. Rafique to her family, rumor reached their ears that he was a drunkard. The family didn't worry too much about the rumor, hoping that, “even if it were true, he will change his ways once he is married and saddled with the responsibility of looking after a family of his own,” as Baba Mina said.

At the time of the wedding, Zulaikha was nineteen, three years older than the age at which most girls were married. She was only two years shy of finishing middle school, and some among Baba Mina's clan pleaded that he allow her to finish, but the father said to them, “Of what use would schooling be to a woman? She is going to end up in the kitchen, after all!” With those words, the father sealed off the mouths of those who pleaded with him. Customary rituals were hastily carried out after that, paving the way for the marriage ceremony, which turned out to be one of the grandest functions the city of Kumasi had ever seen. Not that anyone expected less from the bride's wealthy father.

The marriage was on shaky ground from the very beginning. Certain things Zulaikha had not given any thought to before suddenly developed into uncomfortable situations that were rife with the potential of creating serious problems for the marriage. The first involved having to live in the same compound as Muntari, the young man who had deflowered her. Although Muntari's room was located outside the main compound, he went inside at least twice each day to fetch hot bath-water in the mornings and to pick up his supper in the evenings. And as much as Zulai attempted to ignore Muntari's presence in the compound, the two still ran into each other. Now a married woman, Zulai was quite embarrassed about this situation and lived with the constant fear of her pre-marital affair with Muntari being leaked out to her husband.

Zulai's other problem concerned something quite different. Like most buildings on Zongo Street, their house did not have a toilet, which meant that she had to be escorted for about three hundred meters to the public latrine. For Zulaikha, who grew up using a glass toilet in the privacy of her parents' house, to empty one's bowels in the presence of five strangers, all squatting in a row, was not only barbaric and shameful, but depressing. She took care of that problem partly by going to the latrine only at night when the latrine was often empty. She stuck to that schedule, no matter how desperate she was with the need to relieve herself during the day.

However, Zulai's third and last problem was more serious, one that made the first two seem trivial. And here is what created it:

Though Mr. Rafique's womanizing lifestyle prior to his marriage had reached legendary status on Zongo Street, he had somehow failed to keep his erection on the couple's first night together. What occurred was peculiar and shocking to both husband and wife, who had expected nothing short of fireworks on their maiden encounter.

What exactly went wrong that night Mr. Rafique could not understand. When his penis became limp in the middle of intercourse, his first thought was to get up and send a child for a cup of strong coffee from Mallam Sile's tea shop, hoping the hot beverage would re-charge his battery. But Zulaikha, who had heard so much about Mr. Rafique's many affairs with women, was set upon giving him a splendid first night. As he lay pondering she crawled all over him, caressing and kissing his chest and ribs. She grabbed and rubbed Mr. Rafique's penis with her fingers, something he detested when his penis was not erect. He made some gestures to thwart her moves, all the time thinking of the right moment to get up and send for that revivifying cup of coffee. But Zulaikha, who was as aroused as someone on a Malian aphrodisiac, wouldn't let go of him. She became frustrated when she realized her efforts weren't doing any good, and finally blamed it all on herself, that she was too inexperienced for him. But Mr. Rafique was busy entertaining fantasies of the women he had slept with before, hoping he would be aroused by them. This didn't work. Then in a rather annoyed voice he told Zulaikha: “Just lie down and stop moving your hands on me like a snake, you hear?” After that the couple lay awake in awkward silence for the rest of the night. They stared at the ceiling and listened to the sound of their breathing until the rooster's first crow at dawn.

Strangely enough the next morning, Mr. Rafique's penis became as erect as a lamp post on his way to the bath-house. It remained hard for the rest of the day while he was at work. In fact he had to use several creative methods in order to hide the bulge in his trousers. That relieved and reassured him that his inability was caused by anxiety, which he thought he could overcome easily. “I just have to dominate her completely,” he said to himself.

On the second night, Mr. Rafique jumped into their bed with a full erection. He was all ready to redeem himself, and to prove to Zulai that he was not an
adaakwa,
a pansy. “I'll show her that I am the man of the two of us,” he thought as he pulled the bed-side string to switch off the light. He cautioned himself not to let “her have any control, the way I foolishly allowed her to last night.” But no sooner had Mr. Rafique entered his wife when he lost his stiffness again. Suddenly his manhood began to shrink like a popped balloon. Zulai used every trick she knew, but her efforts were futile. Soon, Mr. Rafique's penis became the shadow of a penis, a mere token of his manhood. The same thing happened on the next night and the one that followed.

After the third night's fiasco, Mr. Rafique drank some Alafia Bitters, and Zulaikha too acquired some herbal scents and erotic lavenders, which she hoped would boost their lust and desire for each other; but that too didn't do them any good. What was most upsetting to Mr. Rafique was the fact that, as soon as he prepared to leave home for work in the morning, his penis became erect. He tried to keep his anger and frustration to himself, not quite sure how to share a story like that with anyone. He therefore decided that the only thing that would help him was prayer. And so he prayed.

A month and a half later, the couple's situation remained the same. Mr. Rafique contemplated turning to other women—old girlfriends or the fancy, expensive prostitutes at Hotel de Kingsway, one of the finest in all of Ghana, which he frequented before his marriage—to at least clarify whether his inability occurred only with Zulaikha. But he couldn't bring himself to betray his wife, with whom he was already falling in love, despite their problems.

Eventually Mr. Rafique consoled himself that “Allah is the cause of all things,” and that “He alone knows why this is happening.” He thought he was either being punished for the promiscuous life he had led during his bachelor days, or Allah was just testing him and waiting for the right time to bless and bring happiness to his marriage, as His Prophet Muhammad promises in the
Hadiths,
or Book of Traditions.

Though Mr. Rafique and his wife were greatly saddened by the turn of events, they recoiled from making it known or seeking help—he because of his male pride and Zulaikha out of fear that more fingers would be pointed at her if news of their problem became known. And so, the couple continued to live in their erotic disenchantment for the next two months, during which a severe tension began to grow between the two. They fought and bickered regularly, often over the most trivial things. For his part, Mr. Rafique had—not without profound sadness—already given up hope that he would be able to lie with his wife. He spent most of his time away from the house, either at work during the day or in front of Rex Cinema in the evening, where he played
da-me,
a complicated version of checkers, with friends until well after midnight. Mr. Rafique's sorrows grew even worse: Zulai acquired the habit of waiting for his arrival each night so she could pick fights with him—fights in which she did nothing but assail his inability.

As time went by, Mr. Rafique assumed the un-Islamic and ungodly act of blaming the “old witches” on the street for his problems. He thought of having a talk with his wife, to tell her “face to face” that her aggressive sex manner was the main cause of his inability. But in the end he feared coming across as a wimp with such an open admission of unmanliness. So he remained silent.

Night after night Mr. Rafique lay awake on his bed, next to his wife, staring into the darkness and contemplating the doom that awaited him the moment Zulaikha opened her mouth to her folks about his inability. He knew that was bound to happen sooner or later, unless a dramatic change occurred, which he couldn't fathom.

 

After three months of bridal incarceration—the period when young brides were prohibited from leaving the house without an escort, usually a girl or a woman from the man's family—Zulaikha's
veil-lifting
ceremony took place one Thursday morning. It marked the partial lifting of the ban on her movement, as she was limited to visiting her parents, attend naming ceremonies or funerals, and most importantly, walk to the public latrine without her usual escorts of young girls. In another three months, Zulaikha would be permitted to go wherever she wished to go, as she was naturally expected to be carrying Mr. Rafique's child by then. This custom—traditional rather than religious, which demanded brides to be virgins—enforced a young bride's loyalty to her husband during the first six months of marriage.

So far, no one except Mr. Rafique and Zulaikha knew anything about his inability. She considered revealing the secret to someone in her clan, but decided against it, afraid that it might be taken as a ploy for divorce, as used by some women. But Zulai knew she must do something, not only about her husband's inability but her involuntary celibacy. She began to have fantasies of Muntari, and even thought of seducing him into her bed. The young man obviously didn't want to get caught in the middle of a marriage scandal; as if he had gotten wind of Zulaikha's designs, he departed for Agégé, joining the exodus that swept away Ghana's young men and women to the Nigerian city, in search of a better life. The couple's problems grew even bigger. They took to quarreling every night, cursing one another in front of everyone in the compound.

One evening, Mr. Rafique said good-bye to his wife and left the house for the cinema-front, to play da-me with friends. He realized on reaching the game place that he had left behind his pack of cigarettes. He immediately returned home. But when Mr. Rafique arrived Zulaikha was not in the house. Zulai, who had gone to the latrine and didn't expect her husband back until much later, had stayed talking to friends she had met on her way home. Mr. Rafique picked up the pack, but decided to wait for his wife's return—he had been suspicious of her comings and goings lately. He paced around the living room, his mind brimming with anger. He glanced at the wall clock at two-minute intervals, growing angrier each time.

Half an hour passed and Zulaikha had not returned. The longer Mr. Rafique waited, the more distrustful and suspicious he became. He stormed out of the room in a great fury and walked across the courtyard to the compound's main entrance. He stood there like a sentry, and lighted one cigarette after the other while he cursed the housefolks, including his mother, Hindu, who had not been able to leave her room for nine years, crippled by a mysterious disease. Mr. Rafique shouted obscenities at the top of his voice, calling the housefolks “hypocrites and traitors.”

“If it isn't hypocrisy what is it then, when your own people can't even keep an eye on your woman, eh? Tell me!” he yelled, looking at the children who surrounded him, as if he expected them to console him. “All of them, they are
back-biters;
I know they are waiting to see my downfall. But, she will see when she returns tonight! I'll show her the thing that prevents women from growing beards!” He was screaming and waving his fists at no one in particular.

The housefolks knew better than to say a word to Mr. Rafique. When he was angry he stopped speaking Hausa altogether and shouted at them in English—of which nobody understood even a word—and threatened to bring in his military friends to “discipline everyone.” Though Mr. Rafique had never acted on his boast, people were still scared, as the military friends, whose sight alone could send one panicking, visited him dressed in full combat gear, with guns hanging from their shoulders and dynamite dangling from their waistbands. Now, the housefolks didn't say a word when Mr. Rafique ranted and raved about his wife's absence. They merely sat and watched from their verandahs.

About an hour after Mr. Rafique returned home, Zulaikha came trotting into the compound. Mr. Rafique immediately pounced on her, seizing her dress and demanding to know where she had been.

“Let go of me, O! What is all this for,” she said, “making a fool out of yourself again, eh?”

“Who are you talking to like that, you bastard-woman! Where've you been? I say, tell me where you have been all this time!”

“Where do you think I went to other than the back-house?” she replied, and gently slapped his hands to free her dress from his grip.

“Look, don't vex me more than you have already!” he shouted, the veins sticking out of his neck. “Was it only the latrine that took you more than one hour? I say, tell me where you have been, before I take action on you!”

“What action are you capable of taking, look at him! I beg, don't scream at me like that! Am I not allowed to talk to my friends on the road when I meet . . .” He didn't let her finish.

“You liar! You pathetic liar! A horrible liar you are! Daughter of liars!” he screamed, waving his index finger in her face.

Much later that night, before the elders, Zulaikha had claimed that it was by mistake, but whether her claim was true or not, she slapped Mr. Rafique's hand as he waved it in her face. He in turn hit her in the face. But, hardly had his hand dropped before she, too, responded with a blow that was three times stronger than his. Mr. Rafique staggered and fell to the ground. The housefolks screamed in shock. What would have ensued would have been disastrous, but one of Mr. Rafique's military friends lived in the next compound; and it was he who overheard the fight and walked over and separated the two. But the couple resumed fighting as soon as they returned to their living room. That night they kept the entire household awake, throwing their furniture around and screaming at each other. They fought until two o'clock in the morning, when the chief's
wazeer,
or delegate, came and separated them. Zulaikha spent what little remained of the night with her in-law, Mr. Rafique's lame mother, while he remained in his room and ranted until the
asubá
worship.