DOMESTIC VIOLENCE #Leaving

“Why wouldn’t she leave?” is the most popular reaction you get from people when they’ve just heard another story of wife battery. This is actually a better reaction to that of stories of women who left marriages, “she should have stayed and worked things out, build her home”.

Leaving an abusive home is not as easy as some would think. A lot of factors contribute to a woman’s hesitance or inability to leave her abuser.

One of the reasons women are unable to leave abusive homes is upbringing- the way girls are raised in our societies. Many parents raise us in such a way that it is imprinted in us that the successes of our homes are our only mission in life. A failed marriage therefore means failure for the woman.  So instead of leaving, she keeps giving up pieces of herself, losing herself, changing and tweaking, anything to stop the abuse from repeating. But the abuse repeats again and again, making her to make more changes...she gives up her friends, her family, her voice, until she is a ghost of herself who says things like, I can't live without him...if I don't provoke him, he won't beat me. OR if he doesn't love me, he won't beat me.

Another reason is religion, especially the Christian religion. The "phrase till death do us part" said as vows are exchanged has claimed many lives prematurely. Divorce is frowned upon heavily by majority of Christian leaders and some of them encourage the victim to pray harder, cook better and sex more often to keep her husband happy and save her made in heaven marriage. The "hear from God" craze among Africans as regards picking a spouse doesn't help. How can a woman leave a man she has advertised as "God's will" for her? Would she tell the members of her world she isn't sure anymore it was God who spoke to her? Trivial as it sounds, this is a strong reason many stay on.

Fear of injury and death is another reason victims of Domestic Violence stay with their abusers. These abusers threaten to hurt and kill their victims if they think of leaving. They say things like. "I love you and I will kill you then kill myself if you think of leaving me". Sometimes, they say these things between punches or slaps on their victims. A lot of times, perpetrators of Domestic Violence have made good their threats by hunting for and harming their spouses who had somehow made it out of the door. This fact further serves as a deterrent for those thinking of leaving their abusers.

Coincidentally, someone who just left her abuser walked in just as I was compiling the above written reasons; I have just returned from “speaking out” for her. Like her, most women do not leave their abusers early enough. Their major reason (not the only) being finances. They do not want to leave without the children and they do not want to be faced with the reality of taking care of the financial needs of both the children and themselves. Mostly, they are scared they would be unable to earn enough to give the children the life they are accustomed to or keep them in their current schools. This is no small matter considering the fact that women work twice as much as men but earn twice as less (at least approximately so).

Methinks that women do not leave for one major reason; they have been gradually reduced to become less than who they were created to be. The subtle but frequent and seemingly harmless critique he gives to her even before marrying her, the alienating her from family and friends, the passive aggressive way of telling her that nothing she does is ever good enough, and the reminders, however false, that she is nothing without him. These add up to make it difficult, nearly impossible for her to make a life saving decision to leave her abuser. It takes a whole person to take a step as big as leaving a spouse. Her inability to take this gigantic step is because she isn't a whole person anymore, it is NOT because she is stupid.

FADING HOPE

Our hope is getting dimmer as the sun sets.
We had springs in our steps and loud brags about the power of our votes.
Now we whisper to one another, the possibility that we may never hope again.

We were optimistic as we chanted "change"...The Nigeria of our dream so real we could touch it.
So we marched with our thumbs, powered by our cards. And we voted to bring our dreams to live.

There were promises, some we weren't too gullible to believe. Like a Dollar to a Naira in a year...we weren't fooled. Yet we hoped for change and for change we voted.

Our hope is getting dimmer with every sunset, but with every sunrise we await the News still. Hoping to find therein, something to rekindle our hope.

Selky, the POOR girl

Selky! selky!!

The poor girl heard her mother call out loudly.

She ran as fast as her legs could carry, wondering as she ran if she had done something wrong.

There by the stool she found her mother grinning, “Selky my daughter, Aunt Ralia will take you away from the hardship of the village to the sky lights of the city.”

All she had to do, her mother told her, was to be grateful.

Selky! Selky!!

The poor girl heard her aunt call out loudly.

She ran as fast as her legs could carry, wondering as she ran what she did do wrong this time.

There on the sofa she found her aunt fuming, “you stupid child, I rescued you from a life of hardship and plan to put you in a school but you are good for nothing.”

Selky wasn’t sad, now she is grateful and hopeful.

the POOR girl

You see her gathering burning coal from the neighbour’s fire. 

You know she is about to make her own fire.

She has to cook water for her brothers to bathe and have some meal.

While the fire burns, she is bent over, sweeping her father’s compound;

Ever so careful not to wake her brothers from their restful state.

You will be moved to pity her for she is only an 8 year old child.

She cooks and cleans and waits on her brothers.

She is a girl child for whom there are no plans for education.

But don’t pity her. No. Don't pity her for the reasons you've so far come to know - Because she is happiest in the mornings while she cooks and cleans and tends.

Because the morning liberates her from the terror of the night; for at night she is worried about the rough big hand that goes up her skirts.

She is scared about growing up; more like terrified.

She recalls too well what happened when her sister was declared “grown up”.

She remembers loudly the screams from her sister as she was being sliced from childhood to womanhood; her genital cut and sewn to keep her “chaste, beautiful and worthy of a husband.”

This girl child is terrified most of all about marrying her father’s friend, a choice she has no voice in. 

The poor girl’s worry, you must know, is that her father's friend chews too loudly.

MEMORIES

It is rather uncanny and almost always a certainty that an event is remembered differently by witnesses. In whole, it is usually the same story retold by these different witnesses but the details, the tit-bits, are usually different. The beautiful butterfly perched nearby at the time might be the first thing I remember when asked to recant, but until I mentioned it, you had completely forgotten it was there, that you had admired it dismally.  The first thing you remember is the shock you felt at my rapid mood swing.

Do we choose what we remember? Or do our memories come from what is most important to us? The story we recant from memory may not necessarily be all we remember but the part of it we want to share, or the detail we want our listeners to focus on, usually to buttress the points we favour or that favours us. We carefully leave out parts of the details we wish didn't happen and recant the bits that sound good to us and as we’ll hope, good to our listeners. If we embellish long enough, we may start to forget the truth of what really happened.

Memories can cause damages. Serious irreversible damages especially in relationships. One may be up in bed after a nice date, re-living the hugs, conversations, the smiles and the knowing looks when memories of past fights, probably forgiven (or at least in the process of forgiving) hurtful words show up to ruin the moment. These mood ruining memories have a way of lingering long and they do not come alone. They show up with a  basket full of ‘what if’ questions…

“what if he isn't really sorry?

“what if she was acting tonight, if she was really into me she’ll never had acted the way she did a gazillion years ago.”

…and just like that, one “bad” memory of an argument that lasted 5 minutes ruins and takes over the good feeling of the memory of an aggregate 5 months of bliss.

Okay, I think it is an insult to the power of memories to simply classify them into “good memories” and “bad memories”. Memories are good, they make us; it is what we do with them that matter. We can choose to let go of unpleasant memories and treat them as a part of our learning past, or we can hold on to the hurt and remain miserable.

A Lazy Tuesday Morning.

I've been up for hours. I've been lazying in bed, I've played candy crush saga until I've ran out of lives. Twice. I've read chats on whatsapp, I've responded to chats on whatsapp. I've even reread old chats and I've made new resolutions.

I've rolled and rolled on the bed. I've had a cup of sugar filled yellow label tea. I've even been to the toilet for the big one. I've counted the ceiling, vertically and horizontally. I've thought of several things, the range of which is impossible to belief.

The most reoccuring nag in my mind all morning has been, "do something girl, write something, read a book, don't just lie here. It's almost noon and all you've done is wait for the phone to beep and wait for lives to fill on a game. Wake up Ttonia, wake up!"

Then I picked up a book to read, I've read several pages of this book before now, but I decided to start over. Two pages and the back cover into the book and I'm tired of reading, not the books fault please,this book is a fun read. This isn't just what I'll rather be doing. So I went back to tossing and turning, candy crush and whatsapp. And on cue, the nagging thoughts returned.

Again I decided to give in and do something. "But what do I do? I could finish that proposal," I thought, "or perhaps start writing the one I've completed only in my head." But no, I'm too lazy to do any mental work. How about I complete the online registration for that training, the deadline is in about a week. No, still mentally tasking.

I know what to do, I'm going to write, I'll just pick up my favourite pen and the yellow writing pad and start writing. I'll write anything that comes to my head even if it's these silly random indecisive thoughts.

So I've picked up the yellow pad and the current favourite pen and I've written these words. I'll type and share so you'll get to read my thoughts on a lazy Tuesday morning. Or should I say you've just read my thought?

Losing.

His eyes met hers and a new friendship began. They'll talk for hours unend about silly things and not so silly things. Her waking moments were filled with thoughts of him.

He sends her short texts, flowers and chocolates. The kisses, long walks and whispers of sweet nothings were the highlights of her day and the warm memories that accompanies her to sleep at night.
Then the flowers stopped coming, so did the chocolates. The texts became shorter and farther apart.

The whispers of sweet nothings became a distant memory so that all she now has are memories that seem so long ago, they could have happened in another lifetime.
Memories she is fighting to hold on to and losing.