Life and General Fiction StoriesNaija Stories

I Still Wear This Body

On that fateful day, a Wednesday afternoon, I woke up to the cries and wailings of people. Totally confused, I asked the house maid that was living with us (since dad and mum traveled) what the matter was, but she refused to utter a word. Instead, she cried the more, and I got confused the more.

My uncles came around to the house, looking disturbed, they said nothing either. Then, I knew that something had really gone wrong.

Later that day, I was called and told that my parents died in a plane crash on their way back to Nigeria. I was shattered, my world came crashing before my eyes. The chambers of my heart drifted apart.

My name is Nene. I am eight years old and the only child of my parents. Since the news of my parents’ demise got to me, I have never remained completely sane again. After my parents were laid to rest, my uncle took me in.

Uncle Dike was my late mother’s brother. He took me in with the promise to take care of me but on getting there the reverse was the case. In a sick a plot twist, the wife hated me at first sight, and treated me with utmost disgust. I was made to do all the house chores in the house, including the tedious ones at my very tender age. She would not waste any time to whip me with the closest thing near her.

To make matters worse, she reminded me of my late parents by telling me how much of a witch I was and how I gave my parents to ‘ndị otu gị’ in her own ‘zombiec’ opinion.

This made me cry every night. I was dying from within. An eight year old made to pass through hell, deprived of love, care and affection.

It’s so sad that fate has really decided to deal with me. The house boy, Akpan started visiting me most nights after feeding himself with pornography and warned me never to tell anyone or he would eliminate me.The pain was too much for me to bear, so, on a fateful day I absconded.

That afternoon, I roamed streets of Lagos helplessly and hopelessly, without a particular destination. I wished I died. I wanted to leave. I felt so old.

To my surprise I heard someone call my name. I turned to see how knew this turbulent soul in the suburbs of Lagos. It was Aunty Ezimma, my late mum’s sister, she took me to her house and I explained everything that happened to her except Akpan. She took me as her own and treated me like a daughter. Then I knew that fate has decided to smile on me after treating me badly.

At night Akpan came again to do the usual, I screamed only to realise that it was a dream. Aunty Ezimma came asking what the problem was, I told her a nightmare. Then I realised that I still wore this broken body, the trauma, the misery would never leave me.

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