I saw him lean on the kitchen wall—his head bowed. His white eyeball has changed to a bright pink and the veins in his head stood out as he clenched his fist, trying not to scream. Kura has been in this state since the time he lost his father and job on the same day. His whole world crumbled that night—apparently, but when he says “I’m a man” each time, I search his emotionless face for a clue. Is he really a man because he doesn't show his emotions?
 I got married to Kura two years ago, a few months after we met at the City Mall. I had started planning forever even before I heard his voice—yes, he was that hot! Good things don’t have to wait for so long before you taste its goodness!
 Kura had lost his job and father two months ago. I’ve watched him so giddy with happiness every morning wheeling his car out of the compound to his place of work—his dream job.  His father-Babu was his best friend. He’d been his constant. His guide. His friend. I used to think I had a great relationship with my Dad until I met Kura. Fhuggerabourrit,  Kura carries his father on his head, abegiii.
It had been a dark night, one of the few nights I wait for Kura to return from office after a very long day. He stormed in in the most miscalculated way—I had thought he was drunk.
“Welcome, Love. How was your day? I had asked.
All I got as a reply was silence. I thought he hadn’t heard, so I asked again.
“Love, are you okay? How was-"
“I lost it.” He gave me a brown envelope. The innocent brown envelope looked like it concealed a piece of news I’d rather not read, I collected it anyway. Sadness ran from my head to my toe in a way I couldn’t decipher, but the effect soon gathered in my eyes. It really was a letter I shouldn’t have read.
I could remember bursting into fresh tears every second after reading the content of the letter. A LETTER OF INDEFINITE SUSPENSION.
“What happened? What was your offence? What… what exactly did you do?” The questions rushed out in a breath. Tears kept streaming down my cheek, but my husband just stared… at nothing in particular. His silence choked me.
“Talk to me, this silent treatment is the last thing I… we need right now,” I said taking a seat next to his.
He opened and closed his mouth like he was gasping for breath. He had a lot to say but the words seemed hard to articulate. His phone suddenly let out a cry—I still don’t understand why his phone ringtone had to be a cry of an infant.
“Hello… yes, Kiri…. What!?... Babu… how… oh no…” I watched him stood and sat almost at the same time at the same speed.
“Was that Kiri? What happened to Babu? “
“Maruwa.” The beads of sweat on his forehead rolled down to his cheek—why sweats, what happened to tears? “My dad gave up the ghost tonight.”
The world around me stopped. The sparkling well of tears that have gathered in my eyes finally dropped. Kura just sat, stood, and stared.
“We spoke this afternoon. He was fine… he laughed… he was fine…he was…” his voice faded.
The first thing he threw was his phone, then the throw-pillow… briefcase…tie…shoe…
My eyes glittered with unshed tears. I watched him throw things all at once but I was too tired to stop him. It was too much for a night.
“…it’s fine. I’m fine” he stood up finally and headed towards the bedroom up the stairs.
Did he just say that? ‘It’s fine. I’m fine’
“No, you ain’t. Kura you are not fine!”
I watched him ascend the stairs to our bedroom, every step had reeked of sadness that night.
It’s been two months of silence, and here is my husband in the kitchen trying his best not to cry. I watched as the first tear rolled down his cheek and gathered at his chin. Is Kura really crying? He was someone I never thought could cry—he’s human, but Kura feigns his emotion behind the façade of being a man.
He looked over his shoulder. “Love?” he stopped like he was memorizing a scripted line. “I came to get…er…hmmm…”
He spoke like a child who was caught stealing a lump of meat from the pot.
“Are you crying?”  I asked. I just saw him let out a tear a few seconds ago, and the wetness in his eye says it all.
“Cry?” He let out a peal of loud laughter. “I came to get…err…” he pointed at nothing in particular before he finally looked into my eye.
 “Real men don’t cry. Tears are for small boys and women. Big boys don’t cry, have you forgotten?”  He stormed out of the kitchen.
That was always his line. ‘Real men don’t cry…’


When men spill their emotions, is it a sign of weakness?
Real men don't cry. Is that true?

It's Lunchtime! Let's discuss over a plate of Ghana Jollof rice in the comment section!

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  1. I feel the notion that men don't cry is wrong, men have emotions too and should be allow to express them. Just because a man is sensitive doesn't mean he's not a real man.
    Thanks for this dear, as always your blog posts are amazing. I look forward to the next episode.

    1. Hmm... apt!
      Thanks💜. Episode 4 loading...

  2. Men cry but not the physical one, except things are beyond control. That's the nature of most men.

    Nice one dear, more ink to your pen. I think all this episodes are in hard copy too?

  3. But is the nature natural or societal?
    Aamin, thank you💜. Not yet, but all episodes of the series shall be featured on the blog.

  4. Some men think crying makes them look weak. They always have to seem to be in controll over difficult situations. What they don't know is that crying makes one stronger. Bottling it all in is unhealthy!

  5. It is okay for anybody (no gender in particular) to express their feelings however way they can in any situation.
    It is wrong to think that men who cry when they are hurt are weak honestly especially when he is grieving.

  6. This is a beautiful piece... In reality, Men do cry!


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