A Childhood to Forget




My name is Ugomma.

I was named after the beautiful eagle. But that’s the irony of my life; there was nothing that was really beautiful or eagle-like about my existence. In truth, my life is a sham, and a bundle of acrimony.  I have this pent-up anger at everyone and everything.

Why?

It started when I was a child; childhood is a very special part of everyone’s life, a lot could go wrong or right with an individual during this period. My childhood was bad. Very bad. And that is why I hate everyone. It really isn’t my fault, but the combined efforts of the people who birthed me. They were the ones who made me turn rogue; they taught me all I knew in the world of being evil and cold-hearted.

Let me cut to the chase.

One July afternoon, while my mom had travelled to the village for a burial ceremony of a distant relative, my father came to me while I was busy sleeping and dreaming of where I was acting a class drama. I always was a heavy sleeper, and so did not notice his groping hands; neither did I notice his hot, stale breath; nor the cold, slimy kisses. I didn’t even notice his heavy, sweaty body atop mine.

Until it was too late, until I felt the pain.

It was the worst pain imaginable, I felt as if my soul was being ripped into two. In reality, it was actually the pinkish fold between my legs that was bleeding. I tried screaming, but his colossal hands enclosed both my mouth and my nose. I couldn’t breathe, I was dying. Since I couldn’t make any noise, I called for my mother in my heart, and with my terror-filled eyes, I pleaded with my father, the very same person who should protect me, to end the pain and release me, but he was bent on destroying every shred of innocence in me.

And he really did destroy my innocence.

Just when I thought I would give up the ghost, he convulsed, and his eyes turned glassy. Then he turned limp, and with a silent thud on me. About thirty seconds later, he rose, and using his damp shirt, cleaned the slimy liquid off his body. As he looked at me, at the proof of his atrocious act, he started weeping. He cried for a really long time, all the time muttering “I’m so sorry my baby. Daddy never meant to hurt you.” The only good thing he did for me on that fateful afternoon was to bathe me and wash off the blood. The pain however, still remained.

Till today.

You might wonder what happened after he raped me. Well, although he made me promise not to tell anyone, I did tell my mother. Not intentionally though; he had threatened to punish me severely should I let anyone get a whiff of what had transpired. My mother had found out one night when the bleeding couldn’t stop. After her stern questioning, I managed to whisper that it was Dad.

Guess what happened.

The light went out of her eyes; she gave an almost inaudible sigh of sorrow, and ordered me to do the impossible. She also told me not to tell anyone. According to her, my father had a problem, he preferred little girls.

“How Mom?” I asked, bemused that she would support him to inflict pain on me.

“My dear, it’s very complicated. Someday, when you are older, you’ll understand. At that time too, you’ll understand that you need to protect your family at all costs. I never understood her reason for never confronting him. But what really made me to hate them was that he continued molesting me, and she continued turning a blind eye. So much for doing anything to protect your family.

Wasn’t your daughter part of your family?

Then when I turned thirteen, he stopped coming to me. By then, the damage had been completed; I became incapable of enjoying sex. And this was the reason I’m about to kill myself. Yes, it was the reason. It’s been six years I got married, and for those six years, I’d had sex with my husband only three times, none of which resulted in any child. Maybe if I had given birth, even if it was just a single child, I would not consider this act.

Maybe.

But ever since my husband came home a week ago, and announced that he was getting a divorce, my life had totally ended. Chuka, my husband had been my tether to the world. Now he too was gone. And the worst part was that he had been cheating on me; the new girl was even pregnant for him.

Just perfect!

Now that my life is over, I would like to give one last gift to the world–this note I’m posting on Facebook. I implore all parents to look after their kids, for the kind of childhood people had can make or mar them; to the mothers, your girls are looking up to you, do not disappoint them; to the fathers, be the protector you were meant to be to your children, especially your daughters.

No girl deserves to experience what I experienced.

Goodbye everyone.



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