My mom operated a chop bar. I didn’t know a father, an uncle, or grandparents. We were five fatherless children, and my mom was using the proceeds from the chop bar to take care of us. We were all in school. We wore tattered clothes, used 5kg rice bags as school bags, and were sacked from school very often for school fees, but it didn’t deter any of us.

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I loved school. It was the only exit from the labor of the chop bar business. When I was in school, I wasn’t being called to clean dishes, serve customers, pound fufu, or even light the fire. It was also the only way out from eating fufu. We were given some pesewas that could afford rice, beans, or anything that wasn’t fufu.

On Saturdays, I hated life. We waited until the fufu was ready so we would be served. In the afternoon we ate fufu. In the evening we ate fufu. At night, when the chop bar closed and there was some fufu left, we had to eat it. Currently, I don’t eat fufu. I perceive the smell and I want to throw up. It brings back memories of when life was all about fufu.

One Saturday afternoon, my mom introduced me to a woman I’d been seeing around for a while. She said, “This is Aunt Linda. She wants to take you to the city and live with you.” I asked, “Will I be able to go to school?” Aunt Linda answered, “My daughter, you don’t have to worry. You’ll go to a good school. Your mom is my great friend, so trust that I will take care of you like your mom.”

On Sunday morning, I was in a car with Aunt Linda going to Accra with all my life’s possessions in a 5kg rice bag. We entered a house I had only seen in books. The hall looked like something I’d seen on TV. I saw a cooker for the first time in my life. I saw a fridge in the kitchen and asked myself, “Are these people alright? Why are they keeping this beautiful fridge in a kitchen?”

Where I came from, fridges belonged in the hall. It was a statement you made to your visitors that you also owned a fridge. I walked on tiles for the first time. I called it living the life I saw on TV. They put on the shower for me and I ran from it. “What’s that? Why is the water falling like that?” The villager in me was too loud; my soul had to block her ears so it didn’t go deaf.

I was fifteen years old, with perky breasts but a sagging life.

The man of the house returned from church to meet me in the house. Later, their two children also joined. They were Eric and Maafia. They were way older than I was. Maafia and I became instant buddies. She taught me how to operate things and what to do as the child of the house; where to clean, what to wash, what to cook, and what not to eat. Aunt Linda also supervised me so I didn’t fall into trouble.

I started a new school when school reopened. My school uniform was so new I felt like a newborn child. I had a bag that wasn’t a 5kg rice bag. Life was good. I remember crying one evening when I thought about my mom and siblings and what they were going through. I wished there was a way I could share my joy and food with them.

But this joy started fading a year later when Maafia went to school and I was the only girl in the house.

First, it was Eric’s shadow that woke me up at night. We struggled, but what could a stone do to stop the water from flowing? The water would eventually have its way, so Eric had his way that night. He won and left me broken and sore in every way.

Aunt Linda had to wake me up in the morning. I was in severe pain, but when she asked what was wrong with me, Eric was right there making faces at me. He wore a threat on his face so I couldn’t say anything. Later in the day, he warned me, “If you try anything silly, you’ll be on your way out of this house.”

I didn’t talk, but I learned to lock my door when I was sleeping. Weeks later, I was about to lock my door when I realized the key wasn’t there. I looked everywhere for it but couldn’t find it. That night, Eric came again. That was the second of many times to happen. I told Aunt Linda about the missing key. She asked me, “Why do you need to lock your door when all external doors are already locked?”

Another night, I was fighting him while my face was facing the mattress. He was trying so hard to take me from behind, but this person I was fighting with smelled different and felt heavier than Eric. When he said, “Shhhh,” I realized I was dealing with a mightier enemy this time. It was the father of the house.

“How come?”

I fought very hard but again, I lost. So they came in turn, like they ran a seamless timetable. Monday would be dad. Tuesday would be son. Thursday would be me and my demons having a meeting about how to end my life so all of that would also end.

I didn’t want to go back to the village to eat fufu again. I also loved the school I was attending because it was my way out of poverty. One late night, the father of the house was in and was struggling with me when the son entered. I buried my face in the pillow while they both resolved their issues.

Dad whispered, “What are you doing here?” Son whispered back, “I heard noise and I came to check.” I spoke out loud, a decibel louder than them, “Liar. Is that not what you two come here to do to me?”

They both left, but later in the day kept asking me questions: “How long has my dad been coming around? You’re cheating on me with my dad? I will tell my mom so she sacks you from this house.”

“How long have you been doing it with Eric? Oh, you’re dating my son behind me? Don’t you know it’s an abomination?”

I got pregnant when I was writing my SSCE. Aunt Linda found out first. I had no reason to lie. “It can be Eric or your husband. I don’t know.”

She screamed, “How?”

I narrated how it all began and how it was going. She was crying while I told her my story, but I was too numb to feel the pain. I’m writing this story as calmly as I can, but the chaos that happened in the house was more than what a tsunami could cause. The whole house was brought down to pieces. I didn’t know the power of that woman until that day. If I had known, I would have told her long ago.

One after the other, she packed everything her husband owned and threw them out of the house. Her husband came to see his things out and asked why. She said, “She’s pregnant. You better leave before I call the police.” It turned into denials and a fight. He called me a devil for lying on him and then said, “It could be Eric.”

Aunt Linda screamed, “You see? You’ve confirmed your evil deeds?”

The man left the house. Eric was arrested and was in a cell for three days. The house was always full of family members pleading with her to forgive, rather blaming me for destroying a home. Aunt Linda took me to the hospital and it was flushed out of me. She didn’t take me back home. She took me to her younger sister.

I went back to the village after my exams. My lifestyle had changed so much I felt sick while with my mom. I couldn’t eat fufu but had no money to buy my own food. I went back to Aunt Linda’s sister and lived there until I left for the university.

Aunt Linda took total care of me, and each time she talked to me, she apologized for what happened to me. “I take the blame because I was careless. They are men. I shouldn’t have trusted them this much.”

I don’t know how long it took, but they resolved their marriage, which I was happy about. I went to school to become who I am today. I’m in a place where I can take care of my home and give my mom some rest. Aunt Linda’s hand is still in my mom’s life. She completed my mom’s house for her and bought her a taxi so she could take care of my siblings. That woman is my angel.

She Would Introduce Me To Rich Men Who’ll Give Me Money

Today, I’m still reaping from what I went through. I’ve done therapy, I’ve surrendered all to God but I still hate the smell of men. A man close to me feels like I’m in a cage, so I drive boyfriends away and close my door to the world. All I know is my work and my family. I’m thirty-nine and still don’t know if I will ever live with a man under the same roof.
#MyChildhoodTrauma

—Sarfoa

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