I tried to convince them that it was fear and embarrassment that kept me from reporting but they wouldn’t hear of it. They said I was lying, that I was a whore and had gotten pregnant for some random man and was just trying to garner their sympathy.
I cried and I begged. But they didn’t believe me. They didn’t believe that anyone could have passed through what I claimed to have experienced and still be alive. They didn’t believe that something that terrible could have happened to anyone and that person would keep it to themselves. But most importantly, they didn’t believe that I was raped at all became I had no proof. Or maybe they didn’t want to believe.
If I had told my parents that day, i knew they wouldn’t have believed me either.
The local nurse tried to say something but my mother decided that it was time for the woman to leave. She dragged the woman out when she didn’t go and when my mother returned, I knew it was judgement day and I was going to hell.
I had always known my parents hated me, but I had no idea they hated me this much.
They beat me. They hit me. They hit me with everything they found around. That included a stood and a ceramic plate. They hit me everywhere they could. And they didn’t stop hitting me until I couldn’tsob or resist it anymore.
And somehow despite all that, I was still alive.
And once again, it was my body that felt that near death pain, my spirit didn’t.
So I laid on the floor again, waiting patiently for death to take me. But just like before, it didn’t.
My sister was mortified by what she saw when she returned from school in the evening and despite my parents’ shouts that she left me alone to die if I would, she abandoned everything she had to do that evening and it was her that carried me to my room.
She took off my clothes, cleaned my body then nursed my wounds. She ran off to the pharmacy and got me some pills I had never seen before. I didn’t know what strings she pulled at the pharmacy, but I knew my sister knew people and people liked her.Even though I knew she didn’t believe me either but she didn’t hate me like my parents did.
The drugs were amazing. They took away my pain and my discomfort and even though my sister didn’t come to my room again after that day, the packet of pills, the boxes of cereal, the tins of canned food andbottles of food she had left me nursed me back to health.
It only took three weeks. And by the end of the third week, my real story, the journey in hell started.