The first night, Agya, my stepfather, sneaked into my room and touched my thighs, caressing them while warning me to keep quiet. He walked in with the excuse that he was coming to check the light bulb that was blinking. I held the stool he stood on while he fixed it. After that, he sat on that same stool and crawled his way to me. He placed his hand on my lips and warned me not to scream, otherwise, “You will not like what I will do to you. Your mother will not even believe you.”

Fortunately for me, my mother believed me. She took my words for it. The next morning, we were on our way to see his uncle. My mother said he was the only one who could settle it amicably, so that there would be peace. I asked her, if we wanted peace, why didn’t we go to the police station? She answered, “You are just a child. You do not know what you are saying.” But I knew what I was saying. And I knew what she meant. That she didn’t want me to be the one to break her second home. That she couldn’t lose her home a second time because of one small matter like this.

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We stayed out of the house after that because his uncle said he was trying to understand the matter. They called elders, families. Most of them said, “Ah, Agya cannot do that thing when his own wife is in the next room.” That was how it ended.

But for me, it didn’t end. I became anxious whenever I heard a knock on my door, whenever boys from school got close to me. I self sabotage so much that I can’t even look back at my past and be happy. Sleeping became my comfort zone. I could sleep from morning to afternoon, drink water, and go back. They even feared I was pregnant. It would have been my worst nightmare, but I was not.

I am currently twenty-two, and I still stay with them. I completed senior high many years ago, with grades that could have taken me to tertiary. But of course, I am his favourite plaything, so he won’t let me out of his sight for fear that “the boys that have come are bad; I am protecting you.” That is what he says when I ask when I am going to school.

I work with him too, and that is the another chapter full of pain right now. Actually, I completed SHS six years ago, and I have been working with him since then. But he has never given me a salary. He says that the food I eat, the clothes on my back, and the roof over my head is enough for me to be thankful. For that, I depend on him for everything. Talk of sanitary towels, pants, brassieres, and new clothes. He oversees them, so I don’t wear skimpy clothes, tight bras, or anything that will bring wandering eyes to me.

I wish that was all. I would have thanked God for the strength I have to endure all that. But there is more, and that is the one I am currently asking God, or whichever man up there, to grant me grace for it.

He still does what he did years ago, just in a different way. My mother doesn’t see anything wrong with it. “Oh, he is just playing with you,” that is all she will say to me. Other times too, when I complain, she says, “You take life too seriously.”

He tickles me. He tries to hold my waist when I am washing, cooking, especially when no one is around. When I fight him, sometimes I do, he shows me that he is the man who heads the house. Sometimes his punishment for me not allowing him to tickle me extends to the household, and we all suffer it. Then I feel bad, so I give in because of that. I do not have a witness. Even if they suspect it, they all think, “Agya cannot do that.” So, since Agya cannot do that, I am counting the days when I can leave his nest.

I got a boyfriend recently too. He supports me. He knows little about what is happening because what if he leaves me? What if he is not mature enough to understand that this is my reality? That I have lived it for some time and I am dealing with it? All I have to do now is count the days until the Red Sea parts a way for me. It is coming.

Because my stepdad is on a building project, he says, “It is for your mother and the family.” But I know what he means: enough rooms and places where he can hold my waist and bottom anytime he likes. Right now, his attention is there, so I am waiting too. He is vexed and frustrated with me well, because, according to him, I am not enquiring about how “our” dream house is going. I asked him, “Our?” He nodded and stayed quiet. He is visibly angry with me. Everyone knows it.

I Left Him Because He Didn’t Help In The Kitchen

According to him, when we move there, a new chapter will even start for me. He is promising me tertiary education, a good job because of his network, and a happy wife too. It sounds beautiful. I mean, I have enjoyed this period for a long time, so why not stay and continue school? Or wait until some sickness hits him and then he joins the ancestors?

Maybe I am speaking from trauma. Maybe everything sickening that is happening is meant to be right. But I have been served and I need to choose from the banquet.

Tell me, what do I do?

—Aba

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