Mmeso Inspires: The Horror ( After that Night)

After that night,

I thought he will stop coming,

Because I had wept bitterly,

And avoided his presence for days,

I remained indoors,

I was scared of daylight,

I was ashamed of my self too,

Wounded in body and soul,

By my own very uncle,

A poor little girl I was,

But I knew I had been broken,

Never knew why it hurt me as much as it does,

But, I knew we are not at home,

Under the watchful eyes of our doting parents,

Sweet Mother always reminding me not to allow anyone touch my ‘panties’,

Sweet Mother never knew that her little daughter has been bruised,

I was six,

But I never knew how I kept that secret,

Even from my own mother,

When she came to visit, I hugged her and wept,

But, I never told her.

I asked her, “Mom, when are we leaving?

She looked into my tired eyes and said,

“Soon, my daughter”,

I pity her, she has been through a lot,

I went about asking what soon meant,

Until he struck again.

After that night,

I thought they will notice my limping,

Those women that live in the same compound with us,

A compound where privacy was not guaranteed,

Where the women stay at home all day gossiping about their men,

And some of the ladies go to work at night,

Returning home with bruised faces and disheveled hairs,

When Maa Ade asked my Aunty to treat my toe,

I was shocked,

She had noticed,

But she was wrong,

I had not sustained a toe injury,

It wasn’t the reason for my limping,

I was bruised.

It’s a horror.

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After that night,

I began to slit my fingers,

And talk to myself,

I don’t know what is happening though,

But, I started behaving abnormally,

Aunty Mma would have noticed,

But she is a busy trader,

I would have told her,

But he threatened to kill me if I tell anyone,

I continue to live in horror,

I knew something was wrong,

When I contemplate stabbing him on the belly,

It’s a horror,

I’m caught in.

Even as I grew older,

I still slit my fingers,

And talk to my self,

Two decades and half,

I still slit my fingers,

And harbour murder in my heart,

For Uncle,

And for such fellows.

I had grown to be a strong woman,

But that part of my life remains a scar that refused to be healed,

Why do I have to cry most nights, when I remember the incident?

Why?

Why do I have to act weird at times?

Why?

It’s a story I will always tell my subconscious mind,

A secret I will always keep to myself,

It’s a horror,

I will never want to watch again.