I got married at the tender age
of 19 and have known no peace in my marriage. Three children down the line abuse
is still very much prevalent in my marriage but like every other woman ‘ngihlalele abantwabami’.
One night whilst we were
sleeping, my husband came home at around 2 am in the morning as drunk as a
skunk. He smelt like the inside of an Ingwebu tank. He started hailing insults
from the moment he entered the gate waking up our neighbours who live just a handshake
away from our house. I woke up and opened the door for him fearing he would
wake up the whole of Gwabalanda.
Before I could fully open the
door he had shoved it aside and greeted me with insults. He told me about how
Sheila would have made a better wife to him than I ever could be, he said that
I should leave him and open up space for others who would warm his bed better
than I could. I was not in a position to respond to him in this state. I
retreated back to my bedroom where my youngest was fast asleep oblivious to the
noise her father was making.
An hour seemed to pass, his
soliloquy was never ending. Little did I know I was going to pay for my
silence.
My husband got into our bedroom,
which was supposed to be our love nest but had fast turned into a boxing ring
after the birth of our first born. In the depth of my sleep I heard shuffling
behind the wardrobe. The wardrobe was the place where he stored his tools for
beating me up. He had a knobkerrie, a djembe and an axe. I was jolted by a slap
on my face. He was looking at me with blood red eyes questioning me about why I
was not responding to him. He slapped me the second time. I could not wait to
see what else he had in store for me because history had taught me that once he
starts he would go on and the nature of assault would increase as he would move
from slap to knobkerrie and eventually to axe.
The look on his face was clear
that he wanted me dead. I was not going to wait and see. My daughter was wide
awake and balling her eyes out. I picked her up and ran as fast as my legs
could carry me to the nearest exit. Thank God he had not locked the door I
bolted out. I heard footsteps pacing behind me and I knew he was at my heels.
The star athlete of Mpopoma High school resurfaced I ran so fast I could have
easily beat Hussein Bolt’s record time. My husband fell whilst trying to catch
me and that gave me a chance to escape. I ran to the nearby bushes where maize
had been planted. Thank God it was almost harvesting season the stalks were
tall enough to hide me.
I forgot about the possible
dangers of the night; thieves, snakes, and scorpions you name it. I silenced my
daughter and waited for my husband to appear. I was dressed in a nightdress
that barely covered the essentials. I had not carried a blanket for my two year
old and we were getting cold. As I was
contemplating my next move I heard footsteps fast approaching the field where I
was hiding. My heart was thudding so fast I could have just died.
The voice of Priscilla my
neighbour boomed from the pathway. I was so relieved somebody had come to my
rescue. She took my baby and held my hand as I was crying uncontrollable both
with relief and pain.
She took me to her house where we
talked about what happened for hours. I could see my house from her place. The
door was wide opened and every light was on. I could hardly sleep as I did not
know what I would do.
Priscilla’s husband went to see
my husband early the following morning. They came back to Priscilla’s house
together. He looked so ashamed at what he had done. He apologised and as usual
he told me he did not know what had come over him. This was a different man
from the one I had seen in the night. I knew this was just the routine to
something that was now a habbit.
When he drinks he becomes violent
and a stranger, but the following day he promises to be a better person. What can I do? I have to ensure my children
get the best life possible. ‘Ngihlalele abantwabami.’
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