I WISH I KNEW
Sometimes, I don’t know what to do when I see mama in such terrible conditions. Each time I hear her cry on her mat, my soul is bruised as well. I don’t know what to do. I really wish I knew but really, I don’t.
Every week, I watched papa beat her, he treated her like a rabid goat. There was that day, that early morning when mama was pregnant with Debby. She woke up to wash my dirty clothes and his as well. She also wanted to cook yam porridge for us that morning because papa had to leave home for the rail station very early. He said he had an 8am shift. I could hear mama’s footsteps everywhere, then she screamed and I heard the pot fall from the stove, or maybe someone had picked it up and flung it. I was so weak, my body was engulfed in a fever. I managed to walk to our verandah at the backyard. Papa was using the stool to hit mama. He hit her back with it, then he flung it aside and used his fists on her face. I didn’t know if I was really standing, watching things happen or if I was just having one of my feverish hallucinations.
I heard too many sounds, hands banging at the gates of our large compound, mama screaming, papa shouting and punching mama while she was sprawled on the floor, struggling and fighting to save her face, her life, and my Debby. I thought I heard her scream my name but I couldn’t feel my legs anymore as I stood there, by the verandah, and watched. I watched how Debby flowed out of mama through blood, I watched how mama clutched her belly but papa’s fists were stronger and faster. I watched how Debby was never born.
The next week, mama and I left home. We ran away. I wish I could’ve done something. I wish I could go to a happier place with Debby.
Sometimes, I don’t know what to do when I still see mama in such terrible conditions. Each time I hear her cry on grandma’s bed, my soul is bruised as well. I don’t know what to do. I really wish I knew but really, I don’t.
By Mirabelle Morah
This is one story which broke my heart and made me cry.
I enjoy making everyone in my stories suffer, but for this girl, I sincerely cried when I was writing this. This is one story which broke my heart and broke the water from my tear glands. I cannot begin to imagine what real life people in her shoes go through. I was so worried about her, and I still am.
Please if you find another like her, encourage her, love her, hold her and tell her that she will be okay and she has got to be strong.
Violence affects a growing child’s psyche.