Twice Bitten : Of Shame, Incest and an Age Old Cleansing Ritual In 656 words #HearMeToo
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Image Credit: Ashamed by Carlos Arthur unsplash |
It
was shame that escorted me to my uncles house in Orlu during my mock
exams at age fifteen. Shame dragged my family name before my eyes as
my mother mopped soiled wrappers full of my blood from her bedroom
floor after a rape and abortion gone sour. What I desperately tried
to hide.
Me,
a girl in school, it was shame that made me swear before God and man
that the reason why I was using sanitary pads from June to July, face
flushed from excess bleeding was because of my monthly period. Yes,
it was my period and anybody who dared to whisper or even think
otherwise was deluded, such a person was simply begging for it, ohh I
had lots of burning rage to give on the matter. So when my aunt in
Owerri got tired of asking me if I was pregnant or plagued by an
unknown sickness that was draining color from my face down to my
finger tips, and I would impulsively show her the evidence of my
innocence in a soaked up pad I had changed five times already that
day, she spoke to her husband in hushed tones and sent me home to my
parents. Shame oh shame followed me home. Watched me beg my mother to
beg my father who sat silently at my hospital bed starring into the
distance. ‘’mommy i’m so sorry, please tell daddy to forgive
me”.
After all that drama, after crying my eyes sore, and reliving the
rape on the abortion table over and over again. Yes a rape on the
abortion table, I had resolved that I would stab the bastard right
there and then but I figured that if I killed him, I would still be
pregnant. So I stayed. “You’re too tight...’ he said, ‘Let me
help you’. Were the last words I heard before I blacked out on that
table and now, I cant even settle down and write my exams without
people starring at my stained uniform. Two wet spots on my chest! No
that was shame two times! Two times in a space of three months, no
way. I wasn't going to have that, not again. So after my last paper, I
went to Orlu instead. To meet my uncle, the one who loves me, I
explained to him what had happened to me in the village. I told him
how the bleeding had stopped but now I was lactating and I could not
go home to my parents leaking like this. He was sympathetic, took me
in. He told me his wife was not around but I could stay in the guest
room for as long as I needed to be there.
I
was in a safe space, or so I thought. For two days I ate, and washed
my clothes regularly. For two days I finally had a semblance of
sanity, away from the eyes, for two days shame was far away. Or was
it? On the third night my my bed was creaking. I shut my eyes tight.
Maybe if I did that consistently he would disappear, I would
disappear and wake up in another place. Somewhere far far away, but
not here. Night after night my uncle came. ‘it is because I love
you so much nne, I love you to a fault he would say in between
heaving grunts and tears.
Twenty
years later I am standing in a bush not too far from my family house.
The entire umunna has gathered for the cleansing ritual. They say my
uncle ran mad and confessed that he had raped me when I was fifteen.
So here I was a married woman who has failed miserably to run away
from shame. Standing here, stark naked in front of all these old men.
For a cleansing ritual I did not consent to. My mind has sojourned
far. Far away in search of home.
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Lets Talk About it (Think, Reflect and Resolve to Act)
Lets Talk About it (Think, Reflect and Resolve to Act)
1. Shame culture does more harm than good to the girl
child? True/ False -(Discuss your answers with the group)
2. Do you think parents have a part to play in ensuring the overall health and safety of the girl child? Explain
3.
Do you know of any other cultural practices that encourage Gender
based Violence?
4. Can you suggest better ways of handling cases of rape at home?
4. Can you suggest better ways of handling cases of rape at home?
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