Precious was one of my favourite friends in senior high school. The whole campus may have heard of our bond because it wasn’t hard to miss. During dining, we were together. She was either in my dorm, or I was with her. We shared secrets and vowed to keep them till our dying days.
One of the secrets included how Bra Joe, a friend of their family, locked the door in their house and had his way with her one hot afternoon. Her mother was not around the house when it happened. Bra Joe denied it when he was questioned, even trying to make it seem as though my girlfriend, Precious, was the rotten child.
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Besides the fact that Precious’ mother, Ma, is used to traditional worship, I think she also wanted to know the honest truth, so she visited one of those priests who confirmed what had happened. He was summoned to the court of divination, but word got to him, so he fled.
Precious, my friend, died through childbirth complications. Unbeknownst to us, a child was made through that treacherous act. Imagine that, and imagine students pointing at you, hearing of it, and each and every one of them making their own version of the story and spreading it through the mill. Mothers and fathers alike were always pointing fingers at you too. The entire reaction to a woman being raped in our community was demeaning.
I know it took a toll on her. I’d visit her, and she’d just cry tears till there were no more. She talked about her dreams. She talked about hating her life then. She couldn’t continue school either. I heard she pushed with all her might and strength, but immediately the child cried its first cry, she gave up her ghost. They tried all they could. Her mother said her daughter had found a safe place and didn’t return to earth to her anymore.
I know her mother cursed Bra Joe, that everything he touched would be cursed. The child is 15 years old. A girl.
Bra Joe is in my house now. He is my aunty’s newfound lover.
I went home to see the family after a long time away from home and was greeted by his face. I know his face, and every other day, I will recognise him. How do I forget the man whose evil desire took my Precious away from me? It was only God that held my hands. If not, I would have heeded the urge to hit him with the broomstick that was lying there and throw the plate of food before him into his face. Some of the family elders were there, so I just comported myself.
He himself recognised me. I haven’t changed much. He stared at me as if he had seen a ghost. Bra Joe is now Pastor Joe of some ministry in the community. Funny how God’s grace is abundant to everyone, even the evildoers. How does one whose actions get to still be alive and be called to ministry? Is that even a God-called ministry or self-imposed?
My aunty, Aunty Mary, is literally my mother. She practically brought my siblings and me up. My aunty was married and left her marriage after many failures to have a child during the 12 years, and then came her husband’s big-time betrayal. She, too, went through a tough time. I’ll be the last person to see her go through such frustration again in life. How should I tell her about her newfound love’s past so as not to break her heart, or should I let the past be?
Is There A Man Out There Who Doesn’t Cheat?
Won’t that amount to betraying my late friend’s traumatic experience? What if the curse placed on the man by my friend’s mother manifests after they get married? Because the woman, my late friend’s mother, is also late. Precious’ daughter is in Junior High School Form 2. She is with her guardian somewhere in the village. Part of me is telling me the poor girl deserves to know who her father is, but does the man deserve to have that privilege of being called a father? I don’t really know what to do in this situation.
— Dorcas
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