Irere was not only beautiful in appearance, but she also had a body that could attract any man. During our relationship, I constantly had the desire to sleep with her, but because I had strong principles, I would tell my friend Mubaraka, "I will never eat an unripe wedding feast." I wanted to wait until my wedding day to fully embrace my manhood. This mindset was something I had inherited from my father, and Irere had also accepted it. She had told me that she would keep her virginity until we were married.
Throughout our relationship, we were very cautious. But all of that changed one night when Irere's lips were pressed against mine. Instead of feeling pleasure, I felt shame. Her hands touched me, and I enjoyed it for a moment, but deep inside, I felt something was wrong. Her heartbeat was racing in contrast to mine, which was fleeing. Her lips weren't enough to make me feel pleasure. My own lips felt as dry as wood, and she noticed it. She held my cheeks and asked, "Kalisa, what's wrong?" I couldn't describe the sound of her voice. It was stronger than a lion's roar but had no noise. I gathered my thoughts, ready to speak, but instead, I pushed her aside. I stumbled back, trying to escape, but she moved quickly and grabbed my arm. She asked again, "Kalisa, what happened?" I pulled away from her touch and replied, "I'm in great pain, please forgive me for another time."
Irere was a woman who valued love deeply—both the love I had for her and the love she had for me. She took her arms off me, came closer, and comforted me with sadness in her voice, saying, "I'm sorry for pushing you when you weren't feeling well." We both stood there, hearts heavy. I wanted to tell her the truth, but I wondered if she would believe me. I had never slept with Irere—nor with any girl. I began to wonder if this impotence was caused by the accident or if I had always had it and didn't know.
Irere gently took my hand and led me toward the bedroom.
The bedroom was the place I feared most, despite its clean and pleasant smell, because even though it had the finest bed, that was not its true purpose—it was where a home was meant to be built, and I no longer felt that I belonged there. She sat me on the bed and said, "Don't worry, you'll get better; that's what the doctors said." I nodded, but in my heart, I felt like a coward. I had so many thoughts and fears, wondering what my future would be like. Would I ever find a cure for this?
Irere lay beside me and held me, but it felt meaningless. Luckily, she fell asleep quickly, while I lay awake, battling my thoughts. In the morning, I heard birds chirping, but I didn't wake up. Irere got up, and I didn't want to spend the day with her at home, although it felt like we were still newlyweds, beginning our honeymoon. Things had changed.
Before marriage, she would call me and ask how I had slept, but that morning, she asked me while we were together. I smiled and lied, "I slept well." She got up, and I turned to see her, but I couldn't. I could hear her pacing around, wondering what she was doing. I wanted to ask her, but I felt like I wasn't the man who had the right to know everything about her.
Once she finished getting ready, she asked me to get up and have breakfast. Our housemaid, Musabyi, had prepared everything, and after a short time, she called us to inform us that breakfast was ready. A voice inside me whispered, "The workers made the food. What have you done?" Even the food felt undeserved. Another question followed: "What will you do after eating?" I realized that I had nothing to look forward to.
I asked Irere to eat first while I joined her later. She came closer and said, "Don't love the bed more than your stomach." She pulled away the sheets and looked at me. I knew she saw something in my eyes, and it made me feel guilty. She helped me get dressed, took my hand, and led me to the table.
The smell of the food filled the air, but it couldn't compare to the fragrance of my wife. Irere reminded me, "You must eat before taking the medicine—it only works if you eat." It was a phrase I used to tell her when she was sick, "The first medicine is food." In my heart, I whispered, "If only you knew what I know, I'm not sure you would still love me."
We ate together, and the food was delicious. She even fed me a few bites like a child. She took such good care of me, but instead of feeling happiness, I felt ashamed. Why had a beautiful woman like her chosen a man like me—broken and unable to fulfill her desires? I remembered the Rwandan saying: "A blessing that ignores faults has no fingers."
Before Mubaraka left for work, he came to check on me. Irere was caring for Mubaraka and asked him to come over every morning to help him eat since he was still single. Mubaraka agreed, though I knew he wouldn't follow through with it. I asked Mubaraka to take me outside, and Irere was surprised, asking why Mubaraka and I had started talking outside more often. She didn't ask in an angry tone, but in a playful way.
I replied, "I just like getting close to Mubaraka's new car—it has a nice smell." They both laughed.
As I stumbled my way outside, Mubaraka helped me walk. I left Irere calling Musabyi to clear the table. Once outside, I asked Mubaraka to help me go to work. He was shocked and asked why, and I replied, "I don't want to spend another day next to a woman I can't satisfy."
He responded, "Irere loves you. If you explain things to her, she will understand." I said, "Love has lost its meaning. If I'm impotent, her love will fade too."
He advised, "Your father wouldn't want you to go to work while you're sick." I replied, "Then take me to a center for the blind. I can't stay here where she can see me."
Mubaraka, full of curiosity, asked what I would do there. I answered, "I don't know. I just want to get away."
He agreed. We went back inside. Irere was listening to the morning news. Mubaraka told her, "I'm taking Kalisa out for a bit." She asked many questions, and I said simply, "We're going to work." She shot back, "Are you crazy? You're still weak." I smiled and said, "I miss the smell of work." I begged her to let me go.
Irere hesitated but eventually agreed. She asked Mubaraka to help me get ready. In the bedroom, Mubaraka helped me dress but tried to convince me not to go. "You never change," he said, knowing how much I loved my job.
We left the room. As we headed out, Mubaraka joked, "Are both of you coming?" Irere interrupted, "What kind of wife would I be if I let my sick husband go alone?"
She continued, "I know Kalisa loves his work, but I wasn't going to let him leave." I wanted to ask her to stay behind, but I feared she would become suspicious.
So, we both went.
At work, my colleagues were happy to see me. They congratulated me on the marriage and wished me healing. Their kindness only deepened my sorrow. I smiled, but inside I was drowning.
Inside my office, Irere spotted a small doll I kept on my desk. She asked if we could take it home. I refused and said it brought me luck at work. She was curious about its origin. I told her my sister Ayinkamiye gave it to me on my birthday.
Mubaraka teased her, "Were you thinking it was another woman?" Irere smiled. I heard it… but I wished I could see it.
Mubaraka said, "I'm heading to work. Let me know if you need anything."
I didn't want to be alone with Irere again—too many thoughts flooded in. I asked Mubaraka if I could go to his office, learn how things were running, and train myself to work again despite my blindness.
Irere said she'd come with us. But Mubaraka refused, saying, "That office is for work. If you both come, we'll just talk and nothing will get done."
I pleaded with Irere to stay in my office. She agreed, gave me a kiss on the cheek, and sat in my chair. Mubaraka, ever the jokester, added, "It's fine. You already share everything else."
He took my hand and guided me. I counted the steps between our offices—eleven. I told him so, and he laughed, saying, "You're adapting to your new life."
I sighed and said, "If I'd lost my eyes, nose, legs, and arms, I could still manage. But I've lost the one thing that makes a man a man."
Mubaraka placed his hand on my shoulder and said, "Kalisa, be patient. You will heal."
I asked, "But until when?" He didn't answer directly. Just said, "Just wait."
So I said, "Find me a traditional healer. Maybe he can help." He promised to do all he could after work.