Some months ago I shared the story of how I met Mr N. This is the sequel. In this installment I describe how I agreed to marry him and how he was introduced to my family. Let’s dive in.
At that time my phone was never quiet. The brother who had first asked me to marry him three years earlier called and texted constantly. We were living in different countries but maintained endless communication. I hadn’t given him a clear “yes,” though my feelings had quietly shifted from brotherly affection to something deeper. I began to imagine a life with him. Maybe we could be a couple. Maybe this could work.
During that uncertain period I had a dream: in it I was supposed to marry someone else, but for some reason it didn’t work out, and I found myself reverting to agreeing to marry the brother. I took that dream as a sign from God to move forward. He had the one quality I valued most in a partner—a deep, burning passion for God—and he loved me sincerely.
One ordinary day he sent one of his romantic messages, and as usual I answered casually. He ended with “I love you.” I typed back, “I love you too.” In that instant I felt something shift: I had, in effect, accepted him.
His immediate reply was:
“Let’s pray and commit our relationship into God’s hands.”
That sealed it for me. I wanted a man who put God first. I wanted a partner whose faith mattered as much as mine.
From then on we called and texted constantly. We talked about past relationships, family, plans for the future—everything and anything. We couldn’t wait to be together in person.
When I finished school in Nigeria, I traveled back to Cameroon. The first family member I told about him was my younger brother. I stopped by the town where the brother was studying.
“Papi,” I said shyly, “someone wants to marry me.”
My brother laughed, and I grew even more bashful. My family had never known me to be in a relationship; as my other brother Desmond liked to joke, I was bound either for the convent or to marry a very upright man.
After that awkward announcement I went on to the town where my parents lived. Telling them I was in love felt daunting—our conversations usually revolved around schoolwork or projects, not feelings or marriage.
One morning after my mother finished praying, I gathered the courage to speak.
“I want to tell you about the person who wants to marry me,” I blurted, words tumbling out, voice quivering, eyes darting.
She laughed softly like my brother had, then asked questions and prayed for the relationship. Her openness reassured me.
Plans were made for him to visit and meet my family.
On the morning he arrived I dressed carefully—jeans and a hot pink blouse—and went to the bus agency in Nkwen, Bamenda, where he would arrive. While still in the taxi I saw him: jeans, a violet-red turtleneck sweater, and a hat that partly shaded his cheek. Our eyes met and we both smiled. My heart raced.
I got out of the taxi and walked to him. We hugged, then took another taxi to my pastor’s house, where he would stay. During that taxi ride he held my hand and I felt my heart melt. I wanted to stay with him forever.
My pastor and his wife were delighted to meet him; they had known about our relationship from the moment I said yes. The brother brought thoughtful gifts for my family and for me. I proudly presented my gifts to my mother.
As the Bible observes, “A man’s gift makes way for him.” Perhaps that explains why my family already felt warmly toward him before he even stepped into the room. Who wouldn’t appreciate someone thoughtful enough to bring generous gifts on a first meeting?
Our courtship that followed was brief. By the time he visited again, it was for our traditional wedding. I’ll share the details of our courtship in another post.
For now, I want to hear from you. If you are married, how did you say “yes” to your spouse? If you are single, do you freely discuss dating and relationships with your parents or elders? Let’s talk.