I never imagined I’d be labelled “barren” as a man. In African culture, if a couple can’t have kids, the woman often takes the blame. But I knew the truth: the issue was mine. After eight years of marriage, my wife and I still had no children. At first, we held onto hope, saying, “God’s timing is perfect.” But as time dragged on, the pressure grew heavy. My in-laws began criticising my wife, with some even advising her to leave me “before it’s too late”. The shame hit hard.
At the bar, friends teased, “You’re just sponsoring other people’s kids!” I’d force a laugh, but inside, I was crumbling. My wife grew distant, her eyes often red from crying. She even suggested separating so she could “have a chance at motherhood”. It shattered me. I loved her fiercely but saw her pain. Our marriage was slipping away. I tried prayers, doctors, fertility clinics, nothing worked. They blamed low sperm count, then “stress”. Adoption was suggested, but I ached to hear “Baba” from my own child. Continue Reading.