Home alone we were, when he chased me around the house as I plead and run for my life.
“Come here, you are my price money” He said waving a knife.
I understood not, but only stopped when he said my little sis would be his new wife in the game of “happy family life”.
I begged for mercy.. I was his slave ..but no, not her! I will be his …erm price money..for the rest of my life! but no, not her! “Here I am!” I cried .
Deranged he was, but what could I do? I was afraid for my sister and my dear life. “Darling” mama called her husband. He was “Daddy” to us, his stepchildren, fearful of him as ones buried in quick sand.
Always flashy…with many rings and clad in chap elegance …butter couldn’t melt in that mouth with teeth covered in gold plaited bling.
Mama dragged us from pillar to post; yeh a Mr Pillar fathered one or more of us, then on we went to Mr Post… Home alone..daddy directed the play of “happy family life”, he was hubby and erm..I, Sally played his wife.
Three years, I stood by the detached escapee, a wretch, watching the bound persona of me ..aged ten, eleven and then twelve sitting pretty on daddy hubby’s lap traversing shallow waters in mama’s make up and cloths to flirty, kissy and full blown wifey depths …chained… drowned. Inner screams, loud. Innocence, shuttered.
Loud noises, banging at the door and in flooded the police, grabbing mama…”quick, quick, get him!” my mind plead as some chased daddy hubby out the window, the mad hatter on the run.
Eyes skirted over six siblings, I was taken, left me thinking “why, I did nothing wrong. They must be mistaken.”
Mama went to prison with her hubby among a peado ring ‘cause she was his accomplice. Her children and even the police wept for it was the saddest thing.
I was price money to mama’s hubby for giving us a roof in the hood and relieving her of spinsterhood.
The nightmare of Kichamare was far from over. In the children’s home, horror scenes with daddy hubby, traumatised.
Internal voices of accusation, amplified. Denigration and shame within, fortified. Fear of parents’ return from prison, terrified. Where can I, Sally escape? Nothing left but suicide! The doctor smiled. “Sally you are so lucky. You have a great life ahead of you!”.
My heart sunk “What life? I want death! not healing in a hospital!” I felt hopeless and fearful. My counsellor sat reading, she looked up and said “You tried to take your life. Slit your wrists, but I came just in time”
A book was open, on her lap. Dora what are you reading?” I asked. “It is the Bible”, she replied. “It is the Bible” the words like a light bulb shone that day, inextinguishable! Dora said this and more “I can give you the best counselling I have to offer, but without Jesus Christ as your personal saviour your healing will never be complete and the effects of the nightmare of Kichamare will always lurk beneath the surface, arising to cause havoc as a bombastic fleet. “It is the Bible” words that resonant to this day, powerful!
I stand here twenty years on giving thanks and praise to Christ Jesus, my Wonderful Counsellor, Mighty God, Prince of Peace and Matchless Healer. By him, I found hope to arise from ashes of hatred to receive and impart God’s love unhindered.
Christ in me the hope of glory and in him I live, more and have my being. With the abused girl child, I stand and for her my voice daily resounds.
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