African Woman and Child Feature Service

Beyond pain

As the post-election violence ranged on and scores of women sexually abused, a sizeable number of these women conceived and some carried the pregnancy to term. Two years have gone by and everyday these children grow bigger and soon some will begin to conceptualize what constitutes a ‘normal’ family.

There are those who will call out for ‘baba’ (father) and these women; survivors of hideous violations will continuously remember their nightmare even though the physical pain and injuries have long healed. Yet they will have no answer for their little one.

In questions such as this, wounds will be re-opened and the ordeal will never really fade but in spite of this pain and heartache, these women soldier on. Many times, not for themselves but for their young ones. Here is a story of one such woman.

Still standing

I saw him today, he is different, scarred with the evident weight loss. And there’s a hideous rush on his face. I look at him, our eyes meet and I hold his gaze, I wait for him to drop his face in shame but his face is blank, no recognition, no remembrance, no memories. He does not recognize me, I probably look different too. Seeing him again brings back a flood of memories, memories I would want to forget but I know that I can’t.

It’s the second week of January 2008, life in Kenya has changed as violence fueled by political differences continue to escalate. It’s late in the evening and everyone is hoping that they would be safe behind closed doors, other than the regular police patrols, all is quiet outside. As if reading my thoughts, a gun goes off someplace or other but rather than instilling fear, it reassures me, there is police presence.

As if on cue, someone knocks repeatedly at the gate, it’s a man, he’s calling for my neighbor, I shout back, informing him that my neighbor is not home. He insists, he wants refuge. The police will harass him, I know this man, we can shelter him, why not? In any case, he’s no stranger. I open the gate.

But the look on his face is that of a stranger, and I immediately realize what is going to happen next. I look towards my children’s bedroom, I can bear it, but not if any of my little ones witnesses it. I lock their bedroom door from outside as this man, well known to me, takes me by force. I don’t cry, I can’t cry, I can’t risk them finding out what is happening to their mother. I struggle with every touch, I endure, am nauseated and finally it’s over. I’m in pain, am reeling with disgust but a side of me is relieved, because he is going to leave now. And let me drown alone in my sorrow, it’s a small consolation.

But he doesn’t leave, not again, I pray. I don’t trust that I can bear another minute of him. He surprises me even more, if that’s possible. He rolls to one side of the bed, and falls into a deep sleep, his regular breathing interrupting my stupor. I want to call for help, but am alone with him and my children, and I have daughters too. Am numb. I contemplate calling my neighbor, but who would believe me? After all, he is asleep in my house. And it’s no secret to my neighbors that this man and I aren’t strangers.

I dial my sister’s number, but her phone is off. He stirs, and am overwhelmed by a murderous spirit, I go for the kitchen knife, but then he leaves, barely acknowledging my presence. At this moment I realize that I have no clothes on, and I have just wet myself, again. I feel filthy, angry and very guilty. I blame myself, why did I open the door, why didn’t I shout, why didn’t I call for help when he was still asleep?

The children are now stirring and it’s dawn. I’ve been sited quietly, lost in the heavy realization that my life has changed forever. But outside I can hear the Estate coming to life, and it’s all normal for everyone, everyone but me. I take a shower, and it dawns on me that I have erased all evidence, but I really don’t care. When was there any justice for my kind? I shiver at the ordeal that I would have been put through at the police station, harsh interrogation that carries with it a heavy undertone of what the interrogator believes is my fault. That it was a deal gone sour. I’m glad I’ve spared myself the police encounter. Am now showered and ready to face my children and my life will go back to normal. But I know it won’t.

Lately I’ve been down with one illness or another. I’m continuously fatigued. So I check myself into the hospital. And then they ask about the baby. What baby? I scream. Am pregnant, with his child. I want to die. But that’s not all. They run some tests. I’m also HIV positive and I should be on TB treatment, they add. I wait expectantly for more bad news. Nothing more is said, or if it is, I neither heard nor understood. Now I know for sure that I want to die. But I have five other children. I’m a single parent.

 I’m going to have an abortion.

 Still standing continues in next edition