Bimbo* (44) always thought she would marry just once in her life, but after her first husband and childhood best friend passed, she found herself remarrying again, and again, and again. Thereby bringing her total marriages to four.
This is Bimbo’s story as told to Itohan
My first marriage was to a man I still consider the love of my life. We were childhood friends, and people always joked that we would one day get married. Then, when I was 21 and he was 23, we eloped. When we returned, our parents were upset because we’d denied them the opportunity to have a huge wedding, but we were happy, and that’s all that mattered.
The two years I had with him were the best of my life, but they were cut short by his death. He was so young and full of life, but God had other plans. I was distraught when I heard the news and even more disappointed by the ways people tried to console me. I was told I was lucky to still be young and without children, so I could easily remarry. Why that was something people felt comfortable saying to my face was beyond me, but it happened regardless.
After his death, I withdrew into myself. He had left everything he owned to me, and I suddenly had more money than a young woman my age should. My dad warned that it would make me a target for young men looking to take advantage, so he arranged for me to marry one of the young men he mentored. I was 25; he was 34. My dad felt the man had a good head on his shoulders. He was not wrong, but I’m a woman who values her freedom and the ability to have fun. I’m a passionate person, and it was the most passionless marriage I’d ever been in. Our sex life was horrible. He used to schedule sex for 8 p.m. twice a week, and it lasted all of 15-20 minutes on a good day. No foreplay, no passion, no pleasure. Just thrusting and ejaculating.
I remember once asking my dad if he could reduce my husband’s workload so he might have more time for me. That’s when I found out it was my husband constantly picking up extra work and handling business. My dad told me. I realised my father had done it on purpose. He’d always said I was a bit of a wild child, so this marriage was his way to calm me down. Once I realised that, I filed for a divorce. We’d been married for three years, but I knew I couldn’t spend another second in that marriage. One thing my father did get right was the prenuptial agreement. So all I lost was time, and a bit of my sanity. My money remained intact.
I met my third husband at a friend’s 30th birthday party. He was 32 and I was 29, and we hit it off almost immediately. The sexual chemistry was electric, and although I wasn’t looking for anything serious, I enjoyed his company. We travelled to several countries together, tried new cuisines and had fun. For the first time in years, I felt like I had something great going for me. I felt young again. We started dating a few months later, and when I got pregnant, we got married. It was a nice ceremony and I felt absolutely beautiful. It truly felt like one of the happiest moments of my life. My parents, friends and I thought this would be the one that stuck. We were so wrong.
My pregnancy was difficult. I was pregnant with twins, and they stressed me from the beginning to the end. I couldn’t enjoy many of the things I used to. Morning sickness, swollen feet, heartburn, body pains, etc. At one point in my second trimester, I was rushed to the hospital because I was bleeding. Thankfully, the babies and I were fine, but the whole experience took a toll on me physically and mentally. After I gave birth, I thought things would get better, but I was wrong.
The babies were born through a caesarean section and my body did not snap back as fast as I thought it would. I was stuck at home breastfeeding and cleaning up the babies I was miserable. I was battling postpartum depression, I thought about killing myself and my babies so many times, just so it could end. There was a time I found myself screaming at them as they cried. Our nanny found me on the floor, screaming at them my lungs out while the babies lay in their bassinet. In all of this pain and suffering, where was my husband? He was out. Suddenly, he became much busier than ever. I was left alone with the children and the nanny for days. I needed his help and support, but he was nowhere to be found. He wouldn’t pick up my calls or respond to messages. I was deeply hurt.
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A year and a few months after I had the twins, I was slowly getting myself back, but I still wasn’t as active or interested in sex and the partying lifestyle I enjoyed. One night, while getting the twins ready for bed, I received a video from a friend. It was of my darling husband in a club, kissing and touching a woman who looked like she was still in university. That was the first time in a long time I thought of ending my life again. I was disappointed. When he came home a week later, I confronted him with the video. He blamed me for no longer being “fun” and said he had needs that had to be met. That night, I packed a few things, took the twins, and left.
The following week, I called my lawyer and filed for a divorce. It was the hardest marriage to dissolve because of the children and how long it had lasted, but with evidence of adultery, the court allowed me to end it. Custody was granted to me, with visitation rights for him, and he paid monthly for our upkeep.
By the time the twins turned seven, I filed for custody to be transferred to their father. I’d gotten a job that required constant international travel, and I didn’t feel I was providing a stable environment for children. Plus, my ex-husband had remarried and they had another child. I believed it was better for the twins to be with them. Luckily for me, the court agreed. At 38, I felt freer than I had in a decade. I decided to start living for myself and enjoying life. I saw my children when work allowed and sometimes took them on trips. Life was good. I was happy, but a bit lonely.
At 39, I decided to get a “sugar baby”. I was rich, I could afford it, and I wanted regular sex. I had always dated older men, I wanted something different. My friend introduced me to someone she knew. He was 30, smart, and the sex was great, and I was enjoying myself. A year or so later, he said he wanted to be in an actual relationship. I agreed. A year after that, he asked me to marry him. And so, at 41, I was getting married again. It was a small courthouse ceremony with a few friends as witnesses. My parents didn’t attend, and honestly, I don’t blame them.
After we got married, he became a househusband. He worked, but I was the breadwinner. He managed the staff and took care of the home. My children liked him, and it was nice to hand over “wife” duties, I’ve never been that type anyway. I was happy and content. That is, until I came home early from one of my trips and found him in the bed with another man. I dropped my bag from my hands, and that’s when they realised I was there.
My “husband” explained that he was a bisexual and the man he was having sex with was his boyfriend of over five years. Apparently, he only got into a relationship with me for money. He and his boyfriend were planning to relocate and start a new life together, but they couldn’t afford it on their own. After listening, I wish I could say I was angry, but I wasn’t.
I understood why they did it, I was just irritated he hadn’t told me from the start. I would have gone along with it from the very beginning. All the sneaking around was unnecessary and disrespectful. He said their end goal was marriage and a new life together. I called my lawyer and asked her to help them with the process. I also donated some money towards it, called it their wedding gift. Then we began the process of ending our marriage.
I’m 44 now, and I’ve officially been married four times. I have another sugar baby, but I’m not interested in having another husband. After reflecting on the life I have lived, I think marriage isn’t for me. Being single isn’t so bad. I love my children and get to spend time with some of my friends in their 40s. Life is good, and I’m content.
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