BOOK EXTRACT | When a woman is unjustly blamed for lack of children in marriage

For the first four months of their marriage, the newly weds lived with Bheki’s family at 11 Kgope Street in KwaThema, Ekurhuleni.

At the beginning of 1981, they moved into their own house in a newly developed part of Vosloorus, whose residents were mostly civil servants such as teachers, nurses and police.

It was later known as Marimba Gardens. They were madly in love and happy for the first two years of their marriage.

They worked on starting a family as soon as possible, but time passed by without Miriam getting pregnant.

Some members of Bheki’s family started passing snide remarks at Miriam, whom they blamed for failure to conceive.

However, whenever the couple consulted doctors and fertility specialists, nothing serious was diagnosed. 

Although Miriam was found to have fewer eggs on average than most women in her age group, the doctors concluded that she would be able to conceive and give birth.

Although he was a decade older than her and did not have children before he got married to Miriam, Bheki himself did not visit fertility specialists to check if he could father a child.

He saw no reason to do so because, he argued, almost every time a couple could not bear children it was because there was something wrong with the woman.

He was adamant that there was nothing wrong with his sperm, either in terms of quantity or their quality.

In fact, he felt insulted that Miriam would even deign to suggest there could be something wrong with him for her failure to conceive.

That matter caused growing tension between Bheki and Miriam, and between Miriam and her in-laws.

Both her mother and her mother-in-law suggested that, in addition to consulting medical doctors, the couple should also consult with traditional healers, some of whom were said to have powers to concoct strong medicinal herbs which would induce a woman to fall pregnant.

Miriam dragged her feet as she and Bheki moved from one traditional healer to another for consultations, but when they returned home, she often objected to drinking some of the dirty-looking and foul-smelling concoctions that were given to her to drink.

Miriam was also sent from one pastor to another for prayers so that she could give Bheki a child and the Mdlulis a grandchild.

However, neither the traditional healers’ concoctions nor the pastors’ prayers helped.

Miriam insisted that she and Bheki had to make love at times when she was indicated to be ovulating and, therefore, most fertile, but over time Bheki resented the lack of spontaneity in their marriage.

Three years into their marriage, Bheki hardly touched Miriam in bed.

Instead, he started a relationship with an eighteen-year-old girl at KwaThema High School, where he continued to teach, towards the end of her matric year.

Two years later, in 1985, he informed Miriam that he wanted a divorce from her so that he could marry his new paramour.

“Babes, I was absolutely devastated,” Miriam told Peter, with sadness written on her face.

“I was mad with rage. I could not believe that this man, who had taken my virginity, wanted a divorce from me a mere five years into our marriage – and to marry a 20-year-old girl. The more I thought of it in later years, the more I realised that he was merely trading me in for a younger version of me.”

Peter drew her closer to him and tried to comfort her.

“Thanks, babes, but I have long got over that. At the time, I was both devastated and gobsmacked. I even tried to take my life; thankfully, my mother arrived at our home just in time to take me to hospital. The divorce went through a year later, and I was left to attend a series of counselling sessions to get over that terrible period in my life.”

“I am so sorry, babes. I don’t know what else to say,” Peter said.

“Don’t worry, babes. You have asked me, and I thought you deserved the truth. Apart from your mother and my family, nobody else knows the kind of detail that I have shared with you. You will understand, therefore, why I could never trust men again, hence I was never able to sustain a relationship after that. I swore that I would never get married again.”

“Is that why you have remained single, babes?”

“Yes, babes, it is. I have had some non-serious relationships from time to time, but mostly I have had some friends-with-benefits to satiate my needs as a woman.”

“I understand. You must have hidden these men very well. I have never seen any one of them whenever I visited your home, even as a child.”

“That’s because I never allow them to come to my home. Usually I would visit them, or we will rendezvous at a neutral venue. Except for you, no man can ever claim to have slept on my bed.”

Peter smiled.

“Hmm, I am honoured,” he said.

“I guess that is the benefit of being your best friend’s son. Tell me, though, babes, is it still your intention not to get married?”

“Yes, it is – unless you want to ask me to marry you, of course,” Miriam said, laughing.

“Wow, your mother would kill me.”

There was a moment’s pause, as they both laughed out loud.

Peter calculated in his mind how old Miriam was.

Based on the information shared with him, he concluded that she was fifty-three years old, just under a decade younger than his mother.

There was an eighteen-year age difference between him and her but, given the nature of their relationship, that did not bother him.

As far as he was concerned, she was no more than his dear tutor in sexual matters.

“You do know I am joking, right?” said Miriam.

“Seriously, though, I would want nothing more than for you to get married to a beautiful woman worthy of your love. As you know, when that happens, I will be busy alongside your mother, preparing for your wedding.”

“I have been thinking about it a lot lately – getting married, I mean. It’s just that I have not yet found the right woman to settle down with.”

• This extract is from the book On The Precipice, a novel by Kaizer Mabhilidi Nyatsumba.