Mornings are the most pleasant part of the day, with beautiful beginnings, beautiful view of the sunrise, beautiful drops of dew, clean smell of fresh air, bright blue sky hovering over you, and the magical way the moon gradually disappears like the Cheshire cat of Alice in Wonderland, just perfect. I was not Alice though and this was far from being a ‘wonderland’.
Brown decaying leaves replaced lush green fields. It was a distressed land, a land of sorrows, a land of death and diseases, the land where murderers walk free, and where people’s freedom and lives were forcefully taken away, the land of confinement and chains. This was my reality now, here in the Gbajimba camp for the Internally Displaced People of the land of Benue. I chuckled to myself, our government had an interesting way of writing the narrative in their favor. Here nobody saw the sun as a pleasant experience, the sun was another punishment from Ter, our God. Having been sacked out of our homes by the herdsmen raid, I particularly felt Ter hated us and was punishing us for all our hidden and visible crimes.
I am perched on the small concrete near the only source of water in the camp, washing and humming to myself. No matter how angry, disappointed, or disgruntled I was with Ter, I still enjoyed the soothing melody of songs about Ter, and singing also made my work easier and less frustrating. I am so drawn to the melody that the situations surrounding me didn’t matter at all. I wash happily and smile at the memory of where I wore them to, the previous week, and all the money I made from them, soon I would be able to rent somewhere in town to stay and leave this sick camp for good. My ‘bacha’, which I shared with some group of girls, is sited at the best location in this camp, as far as I am concerned. It was close to pipe-borne water and to the camp food source, farthest from the bushes where people did their excretory business, so I lived a life of uncomfortable bliss for now, except for the occasional rush for virtually everything; food, water, and other provisions and the booze of bad odor during rush hours. But I don’t let that bother me, my motto now is “change is constant.” and I own my own peace, not anyone, not Ter either.
It is almost midday, I am alone, everywhere is notably quiet, and people were silent in their camps, probably mourning, crying over their losses and the current state of life, and children were absent, and there were a lot of children in this camp, but the government has mobilized youth corpers to train them in knowledge and skills, hence they were busy. I loved children, the first time we were all brought here, there was a lot of wailing and weeping, it’s been a month now and I guess everybody gets the picture and has adjusted to the situation. At night, people still get vivid dreams of the horrors of doomsday. It was a depressing situation, but I was not sad about it, believe me, I have lived worse terrors, before the occurrence I was basically not living, I was adversely affected by the raid but after the whole terror, I found a good cause to live. This camp was like a kind of haven, for me, some sort of bliss and freedom. All bad feeling has been leached away.
From the corner of my eyes, I see a middle-aged man staring at me, with his eyes focused on my chest. I became amused. Men would always be men even in worst-case scenarios. I adjust my clothes to decency level and turned back. But I still felt his gaze on me, I could feel him devouring me from his intense gaze. No matter the situation, some men couldn’t control their passion. I started singing, “Terwase Dzungwe se, Dzungwe se Mhornum” Lord have mercy! God has to have mercy on this soul because he hasn’t been very merciful to me and I’ve stopped being merciful, at least for now. I hear people say “I didn’t have a choice”, but I dispute that because they did have options and took the wrong ones. Well, people just look for who to cast their blame on. I wondered where his wife was, maybe she was killed during the raid, and I felt sorry for him at that point, well we survivors all have our losses. He whistled to me, trying to get my signal, I looked in his direction, he smirked his lips, and winked his left eye, signaling his tent, with his hand trying to suppress the budge on his trousers.
Yes, Beauty has been my thing. That’s one of my resources that I was naturally endowed in that men loved to mine and use. I loved my body, Ter set me like a masterpiece artwork. My friends often said that Ter was happy when he created me. We often joked about Ter molding us and putting us in the oven. Whenever we see a dark person, in looks and complexion, we say that Ter put him in the oven and went to sleep, hence he got burnt and became very dark. For light-skinned, Ter was awake. We also joked about Ter’s different feelings and concentration when creating us. It was a funny way to view our creation. For me, I saw myself as a warrior with a bow and arrows, ready to shoot. My body was my bow and what I did with it, my different arrows. I was dark-skinned and gap-toothed; my smile was bull’s eye. Beauty was my thing and using it to my advantage was my latest thing. I was glad to accept their offer now because for once in my life it felt like the right thing to do.
Before the raid, I lived with my aunt and her husband. My parents and older sister died in an accident when I was seven, hence I grew up with my aunt and her husband. My aunt had no children as she had difficulties in conception, nevertheless, I was never treated like a child, I was privileged to finish primary school, then my aunty made me hawk for her, I was on the streets of Makurdi, hawking oranges and mango or cherries, depending on the season. I did that for three years after primary school it hurt to see my mates going to school and stopping to get oranges from me, I cried a lot, but never voiced out my feelings so as not to be beaten mercilessly by my aunty. Her husband was no better, I was also a victim of frustration of bad market sales, and he often came home drunk and beat me for no reason and my aunty supported him. I grew up really fast and my body changes started becoming pronounced and my uncle was also very observant about that. My aunt’s series of miscarriages was getting worse, she accused me of being a witch that ate her babies, and also of killing my family and bringing bad luck to us all. I was like an evil spirit sent to terrorize them. I cried severely. All these were happening but nobody cared about me, neighbors simply minded their business, and the church was no better, the pastors kept telling my aunt that I was the cause of her situation, my suffering was unbearable at that point, I tried to reach out to other relatives but nobody believed me, nobody wanted to adopt me as their own, I was like a leper, abandoned. Even people that my parents helped, they just never cared.
One day, my aunty had to travel to the village for an herbal solution to her miscarriages as recommended by her friend. I came back from work, to find out that my aunty was not around, gladdened by that fact, I prepared dinner and tried to stay awake waiting for my uncle, who came back late and drunk to a stupor. That he beat me and raped me, I tried to fight him but, he was stronger, he took away my innocence that night. That was the worst night of my life and indeed the longest. I cried throughout the night, I thought of what to do to him, while he lay asleep, I couldn’t bring myself to kill him or myself and could bring myself to leave either, I had nowhere to go. If I stayed, this would happen again and again and my aunty would never believe a word I say. The next morning, he warned me never to resist him ever again and to keep quiet about it. That evening, my aunty came back and he acted like nothing ever happened, and went on like the doting husband he was to her. The raping continued for a while and after a few months, I fell ill and my aunty refused to take me to the hospital, saying I was pretending, she sent me out to sell fruits and along the way I felt nauseous and fainted, people around me revived me and took me home and persuaded my aunty to find out what was wrong with me. I was taken to the clinic and after the test, I was found pregnant.
My aunt beat me from the clinic back to the house and lamented how useless and worthless I was, she kept asking who was responsible but I was too scared to mention the name. She reported me to her husband. When he came back, he acted like he was oblivious and joined her in beating me. I felt doomed, I was sent to sleep while they decided on what to do with me. I slept late that night, I prayed to Ter, asking for his mercy, ‘Maybe this was his way for my aunty to have a child by the way’, I prayed for his will to be done. I read the passage of Sarah and Hagar and promised him that I would never insult or make fun of my aunt in any way. In the morning, my aunt gave me some drugs, she said it's to help with the sickness, I took them happily, thanking God for the answered prayers, my aunt was already being nice to me, but the reaction was quick and unexpected, I nearly bled to death, and I was rushed to a queer-looking place where I was treated. In the end, I lost my baby. From thence, I hated my uncle and aunty, I wanted to run away but I couldn’t bring myself to do that. I was too craven so I stayed on. However, the beatings stopped and I just didn’t care anymore about life and Ter and anybody anymore. I was like a zombie and was open to embracing death whenever and however it came. But Death didn't come, something worse than death came....
To be continued
Written by Rosemary Ugwuogo aka Dauntless
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