It was one of those days when Dad came home late. He rarely had time for Mum and my siblings. Mum hardly complained about anything. But that night, she stayed up till 2a.m, waiting for Dad to come home. I remember that night vividly.
Immediately Dad entered the house, Mom went to hug him and gently said, “Yemi, where have you been? The children have refused to sleep. What’s going on?”
As he opened his mouth to reply, the stench of alcohol made Mom stagger.
“You’ve been drinking. And I know you’ve been sleeping around too. I found condoms in your car last night.” Still, she didn’t shout. “I’ve been silent for too long, there’s a limit to what I can take.”
“Watch your tongue, you filthy woman! You bore me three useless children, three girls! What good would that do me? A boy is what I need, and I sure would get it.”
A rage began to grow in me, I was too angry to think.
Mom did not flinch, she didn’t cry but the force she used in raising her hand to slap him was unbelievable.
Dad went out of control and beat her to a pulp. She tugged, kicked and yelled. He then ripped her clothes and began to rape her. Amidst tears and unheard screams, Mom was abused. She laid there, helpless. So was I. This went on for over 30 minutes and I couldn’t bear watching anymore. Baby and Titi were asleep. It was time.
I silently crawled into Dad’s room and ran my fingers around his shiny black gun. I knew it would be useful. My legs were aching, but I had to endure. I pushed myself back to the living room, forced myself to stand, aimed the gun at his head, tightly shut my eyes and pulled the trigger.
“You animal!” It was a pleasure watching him die.
I fell back and threw the gun at him. Mom looked at me with alarmed eyes, “What have you done?” No one would find out who killed him. After all, how strong can a cripple be?
Love Gone Sour:
It was my wedding day, the day I always imagined. The day I had fantasized about since I met Olise. As Dad walked me down the aisle, I reminisced on how I met him and how he proposed to me in the presence of my entire family. We were together for almost five years and that day was to mark the beginning of our endless journey.
In my flowing white dress, I walked up to him. He looked so handsome. As he raised my veil off my face, tears pooled in his eyes.
“Do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
It felt so good saying that. I could not wait to get out of there and run off with Olise to our finely planned honeymoon.
“Do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?”
Tears streamed down his face. Tears of joy, I thought. The priest repeated himself, no reply still.
“Olise, isi gini?” What’s wrong?
“I can’t do this Amber, m ike ilu di na nwunye i” I…I cannot marry you.
My mouth fell open. Our guests began to murmur.
“I don’t love you in that kind of way, I can’t love you the way I should. I’m not made to.”
“Nke a bu egwuregwu?” Is this a joke?
He pointed to a pew at the back of the church.
“I love that man, I’m sorry.”
With that, he dashed out of the church, out of our wedding and out of my life with his lover right behind him.
Apparently, he was in love with his driver. I still cannot comprehend why this is happening to me. How do I explain to the entire world that my husband-to-be is an homosexual? HOW? I’m losing my sanity, this is too much for me to handle.
I’m Amber, the woman whose heart was shattered to very many pieces on the day that was to be her happiest.
Sexual abuse, betrayal, hurt and heartbreak are few of the many experiences women go through in this present century. These days, the people who hurt us are the ones we least expect, the ones we are not afraid to love unconditionally, the persons we are always ready to give to immeasurably. Women love, hoping to be loved in return but most times, get broken in the process.
I speak for the ones who are hurt, the ones who are weak and have given up, the bitter ones, the ones who have decided to be stronger, to hold on, the ones who cannot speak but deserve to be spoken for.
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Student & Writer.