The last time someone shared his story and his bravery has given me the courage to share mine. I hope this inspires others to break the silence around abuse by speaking up against their abusers.

I was so young that I don’t remember clearly when it started. What I remember is the time my mother asked my older brother to take me to the washroom so I could urinate. When he took off my underwear, he rubbed his fingers between my legs. I didn’t understand what he did so I didn’t pay any attention to it. No one told me it was wrong to be touched down there. So, I also didn’t tell anyone. My silence enabled my brother to try it again.

One day, my mum left him to babysit me so she would go to the market. The moment my mother left, he asked me to sit on him. He was only wearing boxer shorts. I could feel his hardness rubbing against me, and I was too young to understand what was happening. As a chatty child, when my mother returned from the market, I filled her in on everything she missed which included my brother’s strange request that I sit on him. “Mama, he made me sit on him the whole time you were gone.” I eagerly told her. She didn’t react, I would have remembered if she did.

My mother has six children, and I am the fifth born. My brother is the oldest of us all, so he took care of us in my mother’s absence. And my mother was absent a lot of times because she had to go and sell at the market to take care of us. Immediately my mother leaves the house, her second in command, my brother would take a cane and threaten me to go and sleep. When I enter the room to sleep, he would come into the room and start touching me down there. The first time he did it I cried. I bled. He shushed me and promised to buy toffees for me. But it hurt so I kept crying. He gave me a coin in an attempt to buy my silence. He asked me not to tell anyone. But I couldn’t keep quiet about it.

My younger sibling who had gone out to play at the time it happened came back and I told her about it. My little sister said, “We have to tell mama when she comes back from the market.” And I found comfort in the knowledge that my mother would deal with him. When my mother got home, I was the first person to meet her. I didn’t want my brother to stop me from reporting him so I spoke as quickly as I could “Mama when you were away, my brother touched me here (I pointed between my legs) and there was blood.” My mother looked horrified “Shut up. Don’t spread such lies about your brother.” I was really hurt that my mother didn’t believe me. And the surprising thing what was, she made it clear she didn’t believe me yet when it was time for me to bath that evening, she douched me with hot water. I didn’t hear her ask my brother about it. Nothing was said about it. Whatever I said was taken as a total lie.

My mother’s disbelief and silence provided a safe environment for my brother to continue hurting me. What made it more difficult was that I spoke to my other siblings and they didn’t believe me either. So, it was my word against his and everyone deemed me a liar. I tried to get them to believe me but all my mother did was call me a liar and douche me with hot water. I got tired of the hot water ritual so I stopped reporting him. I suffered his repeated invasion of my body in silence.

There were times I tried to escape him but like the predator he was, he was stronger and more calculating and so he always got me cornered. The only way I could deal with all of it was to bury myself in my books. I read a lot and did some writing. I grew up too fast for my young age. I lived in constant fear of when my brother would pounce on me. I would shiver at the thought of being left alone with him. While dealing with the torture my brother was subjecting me through, my younger sister, the one person who believed me in our household passed away. Her death left me feeling utterly alone in this world. “Now that you are gone, who will I talk to? How does our monster brother get to live and you don’t? Why is life so unfair to some of us?” I often said whenever I missed her.

Notice how I haven’t mentioned my father? He was more absent than my mother. First to leave the house and last to return. We barely saw him.  So, I really had no one after the death of my sister.

I got my first period when I was in Junior High School, and I became afraid that I would get pregnant. I didn’t know what actually led to pregnancy then. I thought the fact that he touched me sexually would get me pregnant. I was constantly anxious because of it. He continued with his monstrous acts till I got to SHS 2. He didn’t plan to stop, he almost got caught. On the last day it happened, he was trying to do more than use his fingers. He wanted to penetrate with his joystick. I was struggling against him when we heard a knock on the door. He froze, and I dashed into the bathroom and locked myself in there while crying. The person who came knocking on our door came knocking on the bathroom door.

It was one of my friends. A girl I grew up with in the same neighborhood. We were friends but she had no idea the demons I was fighting. Immediately she saw me, she got it. I didn’t need to say anything. She got the whole story the moment she saw me crying in the bathroom. I don’t know what gave it away but I’m glad she came when she did. It was a relief to talk to someone who believed me. She said, ‘Tell your mother again. I would be there to bear you witness.” I told her, “My mom won’t do anything to him. She would only douche me with hot water. I’m tired of that hot water.

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Not long afterward, my brother traveled. I was so happy about his absence. I thought his absence would grant me the freedom from his actions instead they left a lingering effect. You could say I was experiencing withdrawal symptoms. I hated his touch but it seemed I had grown accustomed to it. So when it stopped, I started craving to be touched as he did. I don’t understand why I felt that way, to be honest. That’s how I entered my first relationship in SHS 3.

The relationship ended because he wanted physical intimacy but I didn’t want it. I just wanted him to touch me, just the way my brother did. Everything was painful so I resorted to pleasing myself.  I couldn’t stop once I got the needed gratification. I battled with the act for three years.

I don’t know how I stopped but I remember praying about it. By some miracle, I just stopped. It’s been five years and counting since I got saved from finger—pleasing myself. Four years ago, my brother apologized. He said he was sorry and didn’t know what came over him. He asked me to forgive him and not hold it against him. Sorry was all he could say but I am the one who is left fighting to heal from the wounds he inflicted on me.

I’m currently in my third relationship. He is serious about me and I hope my demons don’t drive him away like they did my second boyfriend. My second boyfriend couldn’t stay even though I tried for him and did shuperu with him. He said “You don’t react during intercourse. You make it seem like I’m forcing myself on you. I can’t be with someone who makes me feel that way.”

When he left, I met my current boyfriend. He has been very patient with me. I adore him and I hope we end up getting married.

–Joana

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