“Bia Andrew, mek you try behave well
tomorrow o. I don tell you now.
Behave well well o. We dey expect
visitors. You hia me so?” Mama said
that Tuesday morning.
I wondered who we were expecting
and how important they were to make
mama promise to give me a gift if they
found me interesting. I thought about
it for a while and then drifted off to
sleep on the tiny mattress I shared
with mama. I was lost to the world as
the day had been a long one; I needed
sleep.
I was brought out from the land of
sleep by a sweaty palm roving around
my chest. I was still sleepy so I paid it
no attention. The next thing I felt was
a hand on my most very private part.
The hand was trying to get into my
shorts.
I woke immediately with a start.
Opening up my mouth to scream, a
hand clamped down on my mouth
with force. It was then i began to feel
the first trickle of fear. I wondered
who had come into our room. I
wondered where mama was. I
wondered if she was safe.
Mama wasn’t nice, she always made
me know particularly after a round of
beating which left my helpless eight
year old body sore for days that she
was doing me a favor by keeping me. I
wondered if she did this to assuage
any guilt she felt. Most times, as she
beat me, she would yell and curse,
calling me names and telling me how I
had ruined her life.
Mama always avoided beating me on
parts of my body that could arouse
suspicion. She usually aimed for my
bare back and the back of my legs. I
always wondered how exactly I made
mama’s life miserable. I never knew it
was because i was born. Of course,
mama never thought to ask herself if I
had asked to be born. She just blamed
me and hated me.
“No try any nonsense for dia. Lie
down, make you no waste our time”
One of the voices growled close to my
ear. I couldn’t understand. “How was I
to cooperate?” I kept asking myself. I
soon found out.
Very soon, hands were tearing at my
shorts. I reared up with all the
strength in my young body and started
fighting, pushing, shoving- anything to
make me free of the torment.
The first punch hit me squarely in the
chin and I thought my chin had
shattered. The punches kept coming. I
wondered how much of my young face
was left. I could taste blood, I knew
death was nearby.
“Leave am. E don learn now. E go
cooperate.” The other guy told his
partner as he restrained him from
giving me the next punch.
If I had thought the other guy was a
saint, i was to know better.
The man who had been beating me
stood up and allowed the other man
space to climb me. I heard the sound
of my shorts as it was ripped off my
body and before I had the opportunity
to react, I felt myself being turned
around and what I felt next was mind
blowing pain.
I knew immediately that death was
near and I couldn’t survive it but I
prayed for it to come quickly.
The man kept slamming into me from
behind. I lost count of how many times
he tore into me with the force of a
giant. It went on for ever and then
when he was satisfied, he grunted
loudly, stood up and the next man took
his turn.
I had no fight left within me. Even
though I did not fight, the guy
apparently derived pleasure from
hitting me. He gave me a few slaps and
punches as he ejaculated and
withdraw.
I did not see their faces. How could I?
Mama never paid the light bill and
candles were a luxury we couldn’t
always afford.
I struggled to sit up. I wondered if
something bad had happened to
mama. I loved her, yes I did even if
she couldn’t love me. I told myself that
maybe some people were not capable
of loving others. I often wondered if
mama tried at all to love me. Or
maybe it was because I wasn’t lovable.
I tried to sit. Oh! but the pain. “Mama!
Mama!” I called weakly even as I
slipped into unconsciousness.
I woke up but I couldn’t open my eyes
immediately. I started crying, trying to
pry my lids open little by little. I
wanted to see mama, to be sure she
was safe.
“Oh! You don wake.” “Take this 200
naira say you cooperate well with
them. You go use am buy somthin for
yaself.” Mama said flinging two filthy
notes at me.
It was then it dawned on me that
mama knew. She knew. Maybe she had
even been in the room as the men
battered me. “Mama knew! Mama
knew!” I kept whispering to myself.
Immediately I could stand, I took the
notes, picked up a half filled match
box, went to the back of our room and
burned the notes. I relished it.
I fought the second time, yes, I fought
and I got a worse beating both from
mama and the visitor. I learned that I
gained nothing by fighting.
This time when she threw money at
me, I picked it up and kept it. I wasn’t
burning any notes again. I was stupid
to do so before.
THE END
