Our Wife

Our Wife

When she become yours, she was ours,
No longer the property of another,
She responds to no other name but yours,
Her culture, her identity, no longer that of her father,
Our wife she became,
And just like a property we shall claim.

Her children are ours,
Custom cannot have it otherwise,
The seed germinates from two flowers,
Yet its creation belongs to one and not both,
Tradition speaks, the drums of Africa beat,
Shall she accept its feat?

Here lies my inspiration- I just watched a documentary about interracial marriage. The setting: A young Nigerian immigrant struggling to make it abroad finds his bride in a Jewish Caucasian lady. Fast forward five years to the climax: His parents voice their concern about an inter-cultural marriage. They say their grand-children will have no identity. Nigeria will not accept them and neither will the other. Point taken. The young gentleman is torn and distraught. He has found love somewhere he did not wish to find. His mother believes that marriage is between two families and should the two tie the knot, she is not just his wife but ‘our wife’. I hear.
I hear but I dissent. Our forefathers laid the customs, our parents followed. It is our turn to follow but we are stubborn. And for a good reason I argue. Off course our identity is important and we must respect who we are and where we came from. But must love be the victim of tradition? Perhaps I’m just closer to my heart than my fore-fathers where. The reality though is that my generation is exposed to the world in a way that my fore-fathers were not. And although my children may not have a sense of belonging they will not be alone because there will be a million other children with whom they will share that same feeling. Maybe I’m young, those with the grays are knowledgeable and I am not. You be the judge.