On Divorce and Allied Themes
- Ngoc Lan Tran:
Other night on boat, what kind of fuck you give me?
- Paul Safranek:
What?
- Ngoc Lan Tran:
What kind of fuck you give me?
- Paul Safranek:
What kind? I don't...
- Ngoc Lan Tran:
American people, eight kind of fuck. Love fuck, hate fuck, sex-only fuck,
break-up fuck, make-up fuck, drunk fuck, buddy fuck, pity fuck.
Over the past few days, my
WhatsApp inbox has been inundated with a speech that veteran journalist,
broadcaster, and diplomat Frank Mutubila is said to have delivered at a recent
wedding. Reading through it, one could not miss that this was a speech from the
heart—written with such jarring frankness (excuse the pun) that it felt as if
he were talking to his younger self. It was laden with themes of regret, the
silent battles married men endure, and the debilitating pain of a forlorn
existence—one that can only be looked back on but not altered.
There are enough themes in
Mutubila’s write-up to fill several voluminous books: divorce, regret, love,
parenting, alienation, and more. On further reading, it becomes somewhat
difficult to pinpoint his central argument. Was it a cautionary tale—“do not make
the same mistakes I made”? Or was it an unfiltered venting session, a raw act
of vulnerable honesty from a figure who, at first glance, seems accomplished
and refined? Was it a journey through the ghosts that haunt him, making him
stare ruefully at his glass of wine—agonizing over what could have been and
what has been, now locked in an inexorable dance toward supremacy as he watches
his own life ebb away while witnessing others embark on theirs? Was it a
wandering soliloquy into the lessons he wishes he had known before taking the
plunge into marriage?
After all, who truly knows what
is in a man’s heart except the man himself? The triumphant gusto with which the
post was shared by women—particularly to those of us who have endured the
societal ignominy of divorce or even considered it—was unmistakable. The
subtext was clear: Be content with your wife. Learn from Frank Mutubila, now
living in regret after divorcing his first wife, remarrying for beauty, and
then divorcing his second, reportedly now finds himself picking up the broken
pieces of his life’s decisions—without so much as a relationship with his
fifty-year-old son. Be content with what you have—it’s not all rosy on
the outside, I imagined them saying, using his experience as their
foundation.
The Complex Nature of Divorce
Deciding to divorce is both an
act of bravery and selfishness—justifiable only in the mind of the one who
initiates it, especially when children are involved. For that reason, I do not
take lightly or look down upon anyone who chooses this path. Whatever they are
experiencing must be so profound that they make their decision knowing they
risk becoming a societal misfit. One cannot take that lightly. In other words,
I have no right to judge anyone for choosing divorce, no matter how well I
think I know them or what alternatives I believe should have been considered.
What infuriates me, however, is
the binary, blame-assignment reasoning that often dominates discussions about
divorce. Take, for example, a meeting I recently witnessed between a cousin of
mine and his wife. After four unsuccessful years of trying for a child, my
cousin sought solace outside his marriage. His extramarital partner became
pregnant, and he subsequently informed his wife that he wanted a divorce.
Devastated, she reached out to her relatives, and soon, a meeting was
convened—one I reluctantly attended.
The Meeting: A Performance of
Expectations
Picture this: my cousin’s wife,
head slightly bowed, clad in a chitenge, occasionally spluttering in mournful
piety, flanked on one side by her aunt and on the other by her uncle. My
cousin, wearing a faded grey jacket and sunglasses, slightly drunk or nursing a
hangover, was flanked by our uncle—with the unfortunate me seated beside him.
Completing the gathering was the pastor who had married them. The pastor opened
with a fervent prayer, invoking God to save the marriage because—well—God
hates divorce. His words were delivered with such passion that one might
have thought it was enough to change my cousin’s mind. It didn’t work.
Then came the opening statements.
“Son, tell us why you want to divorce your wife. What wrong has she done?” my
cousin was asked. He shifted uncomfortably, took off his sunglasses, then put
them back on. He fidgeted with his fingers as if they did not belong to him.
The meeting held its breath. He proceeded to list his wife’s sins: lack of
respect, rudeness to his relatives, violent conduct. “One day she tugged at my
manhood just because I came home late,” he murmured, punctuating his sentence
with finality.
A sharp cry erupted from his
wife’s aunt, as if she had been pricked by something sharp. “My daughter,” she
wailed. “We taught you better than this! This man is your lord—even the Bible
says so. You ought to respect him, to trust him, to allow him to be a man! Look
what you have brought upon yourself.” She then threw herself to the ground,
groveling and bleating like a goat, pleading, “Batata, please forgive us and
forgive our daughter,” dabbing imaginary tears from her otherwise dry eyes. The
room fell into an awkward silence.
It was now the wife’s turn to
speak. “I love my husband, but he has gone ahead and impregnated someone else.
I am willing to forgive him and allow the child to live in this house,” she
whispered, her voice heavy with sorrow. She knew, as we all did, that her
husband had left her years ago. As if on cue, my cousin’s uncle leapt up with
no less dramatic effect, chastising his nephew before ordering him to stay
faithful to the wife of his youth.
There was a tense back-and-forth
between the two sides before the pastor concluded the meeting with yet another
prayer—thanking God for saving the marriage. As I drove home, I couldn’t
help but imagine the thick silence now engulfing the couple we had just left.
Could they even have an honest conversation about their true feelings, after
being corralled into a decision by a gathering that looked at their relationship
in black and white and then papered over the cracks with prayer? Prayer filled
with tired phrases like marriage is sacred and God hates divorce?
The Need for Honest
Conversations
Many married couples find
themselves pushed into a space that hardly allows for honest, judgment-free
discussions. Societal expectations form a thick, suffocating shroud, forcing
many to either silently swallow their pain or live double—even triple—lives in
search of peace. For instance, if someone woke up one morning and admitted they
had fallen out of love with their spouse, they would immediately be confronted
with What did she do? This binary way of thinking severely limits the
quality of conversations surrounding marriage.
Ambassador Mutubila writes with
such clarity today because hindsight has sharpened his perspective. With time,
the grey, muffled areas of his past have come into sharp focus. Minor,
inconsequential events no longer carry the weight they once did.
The truth is, human relationships
are complicated. What we value today may not matter tomorrow. What we see
clearly now may have been obscured by confusion in the past. Our aspirations
today may take an unexpected turn tomorrow. Does that make us less human? Does
it make us horrible people? Insipid, unfeeling logs destined for the fire? No.
These contradictions are precisely what make us human.
The moment we are denied a safe
space to voice our fears and uncertainties, resentment festers. Eventually, it
erupts—often with devastating consequences.
The Essence of Humanity
There is beauty in what
Ambassador Mutubila wrote—pain and sadness, too. There is regret, a rueful
shaking of the head. There is humanity. And humanity is not binary. It is not
black and white. Life unfolds differently for different people, at different
times and seasons.
Seek happiness and embrace it. If
you can articulate your own brand of happiness to those willing to listen, do
so. Do not dwell on regrets—they waste time. Instead, learn from them. Prepare
for your next foray into the sun.
Above all else, live—do
not merely exist.
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