After reading hio konfeshen ya Myamaa alichunishwa sukuma hio miaka yoonthe had to share this hekaya i had read somewhere… Never blame the victim for their actions akiamua ameamua.
When people ask me, ‘Ola what is your favorite color?’ I tell them black, it’s not because I am a sadist,
Or because my heart is dark, or because I am locked up in a cell, but it is all because that color gives me an innermost peace. How strange!, one would think. For a young beautiful girl to hate anything bright, but I have been through enough not to give a flying d–n.
I have been through enough that I enjoy letting myself get lost in the darkness, falling deep and deep into an unending void.
I would tell you a story about my life, maybe then you wouldn’t blame me for having such a psychotic mind.
The first time that I ever touched a man’s male organ was when I was six. Early right?
Yea I know, I was clueless. Clueless to why a man would have such a thing down there. I had wondered if he was going through a severe sickness for him to have such a thing on his body, a thing that had a life of it’s own, the sight to me had been horrific.
Have I told you who the male organ I saw belonged to? You would be surprised.
It was my father’s.
As an only child I had been daddy’s little girl, I had been so close to him that at that age I could have given my life for him. Most times I wonder why I still have a clear memory of how it all started. A memory that I would give all I have to let go of, but no matter how hard I tried, it all came back.
The abuse all started with little touches, and of him telling me to play with him down there. Most times I had wondered why he kept growing bigger and bigger in my little palms, or why he groaned whenever I touched him there, or what the white sticky substance he released was. I was simply clueless. I remembered how he always told me to put my mouth on the long, big and hideous thing standing in between his legs. I remembered how daddy always told me, “Ola this is our little secret, never tell your mother”, and I remembered always nodding in response.
At age nine, I remembered mummy fighting daddy and telling daddy all kinds of awful words. I think she found out about what he was doing to me, which I have no clue on where she had gotten the information from. My mother had been clearly devastated and agitated, her current heavy state of pregnancy not helping her mood one bit. She had been all over the place screaming and crying her heart out but my father had ignored her like he had been innocent of all the allegations that had been coming his way.
I sat in a hidden corner. Watching. Waiting.
I wanted to know what my mother was going to do to save me from this trapped hole called my life. I was tired of touching and sucking my father for four years now. I was tired of him sticking his huge fingers into my woman parts.
“Kola you have killed me. ah!. You have finished my life. Why Kola! Why my baby girl! Why your own blood! Why this incest! Why a child who hasn’t even hit puberty. Kola you have killed me” My mother had cried out. I felt the tears running down my eyes.
My father had given my mother no reply. He had already began to make his way up the stairs. I wished now that my mother had let him be but the painful truth was that she had ran after him and grabbed him by the arm. My father pushed her and she had tumbled down the stairs. I had let out a loud gasp running towards my mother to help her, but I was too late. My father never looked back. He never felt sorry. I wasn’t surprised when the death of my mother had been framed a case of minor accident with her slumping and falling down the stairs. My father had paid the police off. But I had still known the truth. He killed her because he hadn’t want to tarnish his famous image.
My father didn’t touch me for a month, in fact, he hired an house girl who was supposed to care for my every need. That had been another nightmare unfolding right before my eyes. Nana (The house girl) was even more brutal in sexually harassing me. I had wondered why a lady would do such a thing to her fellow sex. I had been terrified of Nana. Nana would use all kinds of objects and drive into my v----a. I had cried. I screamed but my screams had been muffled by Nana’s hands. She was the devil himself. Her eyes always held no emotions when she did this to me. It was like she had been possessed by a thousand demons. There was no one to go to, no one to speak with. My life had already been battered and tattered. There was no life left in me. Most times, I had found myself disappearing into space.
I didn’t think.
I didn’t speak.
My mind had been blank. There were no emotions left in me anymore. No thoughts, just blankness.
The years had ran by. The abuse had continued. Nana had grown worse with every passing day. There was a time she had forced my face down her v----a. The experience had been horrific. I decided that day to run. I was just fifteen. I hadn’t been so lucky to get far because with my father’s connections, he found me. I had been dragged back home, and had been severely punished. That day my father had done his worse, he had tied me up naked with my legs spread wide apart and he had forced his manhood into me. I screamed. The pain had been excruciating and unbearable. I had bit my lips until I had tasted blood.
At age 17, I had made up my mind and I had drawn up a plan to kill Nana and my father. I found out that Nana had been homosexual and that my dad had been part of an occult group. I found my father one evening pounding into Nana and grunting from pleasure. At that moment, I had decided that I wanted them alive while I inflicted pain on their every being. I had drugged them both with an overdose of antidepressants, and I tied them up in strong knots. It hadn’t been difficult. I had been saving all my strength for this very day. I brought out every set of knife that we owned and had arranged it on a table in front of them. I started with Nana, I had thorn her clothes with scissors and I had started tearing her skin in little portions. I had smelt blood, and it reminded me of every time Nana had abused me. I had taken a different knife and had continuously stabbed her.
I had moved on to my father, I took a butcher knife after tearing his clothes and sliced the object that had been the major cause of my pain. I had felt no emotion at all. I hadn’t felt guilty or sorry. I had picked up a different knife and I had stabbed him for every year, month, day, minutes and seconds that he had raped me. I was drenched in blood and I had loved it. The two people who had destroyed my life were gone.
I had picked up my father’s phone and I had dialed the police. There was no feeling in my heart, there was total blankness , all I could see was black.
This is my story, and I don’t feel sorry or guilty. Even if I am locked up in jail, all I feel now is nothing but innermost peace.