The Marriage Counselor
"His marriage is failing. The counselor says she needs to understand the problem from both sides. Her therapy methods are unconventional. Her success rate is perfect."
Mama Halima is the best marriage counselor in Dar es Salaam.
Her success rate is legendary—couples on the verge of divorce, transformed into loving partners. Religious leaders send her their most troubled congregants. She's saved hundreds of marriages.
My wife sends me to her.
"Something is wrong with you," Salma said. "You don't touch me anymore. You don't want me. Mama Halima will fix it."
Mama Halima's office is comfortable.
Cushions, soft lighting, the smell of lavender. She's fifty-eight, heavy in her professional dress—two-fifty of therapeutic authority. Her eyes are kind but penetrating.
"Your wife says you've lost desire," she says. "That you avoid intimacy."
"I love my wife."
"Love isn't the issue. The body is." She leans forward. "Tell me when it started."
I tell her. The stress. The work. The slow fading of something that used to burn.
"This is common," she says. "And fixable. But the treatment requires trust."
"What kind of treatment?"
"The kind that addresses the root cause. Not the symptoms."
The treatment begins with questions.
Detailed questions. About my body, my desires, my fantasies. Things I've never told anyone, not even Salma. Mama Halima listens without judgment.
"You're attracted to older women," she observes. "Heavier women. Women with authority."
"I—I never said—"
"You didn't have to. Your responses told me." She writes in her notebook. "This isn't a flaw. It's a preference. But it conflicts with your wife's body type, doesn't it?"
Salma is thin. Young. Everything society says I should want.
Everything that leaves me cold.
"The conflict causes dysfunction," Mama Halima explains. "Your body wants one thing; your life provides another. The result is shutdown."
"What's the solution?"
"Exposure therapy." She sets down her notebook. "You need to experience your true preferences. Safely. Without guilt. Then you can return to your wife with a clear understanding of your desires."
"Experience them how?"
She begins unbuttoning her dress.
"With me."
This is madness.
She's my therapist. She's sixty years old. She's offering to sleep with me as treatment.
"I've saved hundreds of marriages this way," she says, revealing herself—heavy and soft, exactly what I've always wanted. "The husband explores his true desires. He understands them. He stops feeling ashamed. Then he can perform with his wife."
"By sleeping with you?"
"By confronting what you really want." She moves toward me. "I'm not your wife. I'm not even a real option. I'm therapy. A safe space to be honest."
The therapy is thorough.
She takes me to a back room—a bed, soft lights, everything arranged for treatment. There, she lets me explore what I've been denying for years.
Her body is everything Salma isn't. Heavy breasts. Soft belly. The body of a woman who's lived, not a girl who's just beginning.
"This is what you want," she murmurs as I enter her. "This is what you've been missing. Not your wife's failure—yours. The failure to accept your own desires."
"And after?"
"After, you go home. You understand yourself. You find ways to bring this energy to your marriage." She moves beneath me. "Or you come back for more sessions."
I come back.
Weekly. For months. Each session the same—therapy first, treatment after. She breaks down my shame, builds up my understanding, and gives my body what it needs.
"Your wife says you're improving," she reports one day. "More attentive. More passionate."
"The therapy is working."
"It always does." She smiles. "But continued treatment is recommended. To prevent relapse."
"How long?"
"As long as necessary." She pulls me toward the treatment room. "Shall we continue?"
My marriage survives.
Salma is happy. I'm functioning again. Whatever happened in those sessions stays between me and my therapist.
"You should send others," I tell her one night. "Friends with similar problems."
"Send them. I'll help." She traces patterns on my chest. "This is my calling. Saving marriages. One husband at a time."
"And the treatment?"
"Is always the same." She straddles me. "Thorough. Professional. Effective."
Mshauri.
Counselor.
Healing marriages.
One session at a time.