A Downhill Tale 2
I have come to learn that in this life, there is no one that will love you more than you love yourself -for even the family we choose may fail us too-, and because of this self love, we have to -on a personal level- decide to do something about our situation. My survival of all those years ago came through a painful process. Back to the tale….
It was at 15 that the sexual assault started.
My aunt was a business woman and would go away for a week or two sometimes and I would be left alone with her lover. He was so kind to me and when ever my aunt traveled to trade in the nearby town, my life will drastically change to one of happiness and laughter. He made me feel alive for the first time in my life; little did I know he was already taken by my looks and was luring me into his arms.
I came from a long line of beautiful women; our beauty was no secret and our family were referred to as the family with beautiful women. But on-like my aunt, I was growing into a well-shaped woman. I was of light skin and was already taller than most girls my age, I had round growing breasts and curved hips. My aunt often got me ‘kabbas’ to hide my figure, saying that men will seduce me and take away my virginity. I was surprised that my virginity still mattered to her.
My aunt’s lover never failed to comment on my beauty when my aunt could not hear, and one night when my aunt was away on her business trip, he came to me in my room, as I lay on my mat on the cold floor with a wrapper for a blanket. He asked me to come to bed with him, that as my aunt was not in town, I could sleep in their bed with him. I had wanted that -to sleep in a bed- but not with him in it, and definitely not my aunt’s. Everything about her terrified me, and I doubted I could sleep for a second in her bed. So, I refused and the once docile and loving fellow, turned into a raging beast who tore my clothes of my body and forcefully took my virginity from me.
I bled profusely and couldn’t walk properly for a few days, each of which he returned to continue what he had started. It went on for so long and so many instances, that I stopped fighting him, he was way stronger than me, and made sure I didn’t screen. And I couldn’t tell my aunt, so I ran away.
So I ran away.
When she was around, he treated me with disgust and wouldn’t even seat in the same room with me. He worsened my living standards, and took away all the life he had given. The secret winks that once made me laugh now were things of the past and of nightmares. When my aunt was around, he treated me very poorly, but when she was gone, I replaced her.
It was too much for me, so I ran away from home and slept at the market shelter for two weeks but hunger, cold and sickness drove me back to the monsters’ cave. They made me sleep outside as punishment for running away and refused to give me food for a whole week, forcing me to live off of guavas and things I scavenged around the place.
My aunt and her lover later forced me to spend long hours at night serving drinks in a local beer pallor where he secretly implored his friends to grab my ass, or fiddle with my breasts even though other men at the bar rebuked them for this. He assured his friends that nothing would happen, just like he had threatened me before, that if I didn’t sleep with him, he would send me away from the house and my aunt wouldn’t care.
I guessed he secretly hoped I would be raped by some other man, and when that never happened, he started pimping me out to his friends without my aunt’s notice. The animals shamelessly ravaged my body even as i begged them and tears poured down my face; and my aunt had no clue or bothered to find out why I had suddenly started coming home much latter.
But the bar owner was a kind man and could not bear to see those monsters continue their actions, so he fired me from my position and agreed to secretly pay me half of my salary for as long I needed it, which he did unfailingly. But his action of kindness was met with bitter repercussions, my uncle and aunt jointly beat me for losing my job, pulling a lock of hair right off my scalp during the process. I had known pain, but that was on a whole new level; it broke me, I had had more than I could take.
The world had failed me, had forgotten me and had abandoned me like my dear parents. The world and everyone in it had failed to protect me from the monsters I called family, the world had failed to protect a suffering child. The world turned its back, even as I hungered for love and a semblance of comfort, something that would have made me better, happier and free from this torment.
Oh! Dulce Madre! Your child has known pain.
My aunt passed away when I was just 17 and I took to the streets rather than stay within her lover’s grasp. I felt a sense of freedom for once, but it had come at a terrible price. Though my aunt appeared heartless, I still loved her and I know in her twisted way, she loved me too.
I mourned her for a very long while before I took the brave decision to leave her apartment and everything I had ever known and skip town. I thanked all those who had been kind to me and bid them farewell. I hustled on the streets and crashed in people’s garages and back yards every night, coming after they have slept and leaving before they wake.
I did all I could to survive, but never once traded my body for money again; I did petite tasks and errands for people to earn my keep in a new town, learning the culture and this new life.
At 18, I had lived on the streets for over 9 months, and in my own way, I was finding a new me, in old degraded clothes, poor quality food and over the counter drugs. Surviving.
Surviving, growing, becoming.
Dulce Madre, I thrived.
© Lucy Dion 2020
