How Home-Based Violence Can Look Like - A Must Read Story

I still remember the mornings as if it was yesterday, how I woke up with hate. How the joyful songs of birds and the chants of our neighbours’ roosters didn’t mean any good to me.

‘Argh! Another day to fall on the mud.’

As it is written, ‘pride comes before a fall’:- for me, a long walk came before a fall. For us.

When me and my 2 young sisters walked over 3 miles to attend our parents’ paddy farms. Every day was different, everyday brought in a new argument that massaged the conflicts we internally birthed. Internally grew roots, deeper, to the dark abyss.

First day was, ‘your mother came after my mother.’

Second day was, ‘Dad loves my mom more than yours.’

Third day was, ‘Dad loves me more than you.’

Fourth day was, ‘Mom hates you.’

Fifth day was, ‘silence.’

Fifth day persisted. Fifth day became fifty as we grew over fifteen.

Fifteen years later, my other mother calls and I don’t know how to pick that call. My hands are shaking to the rhythm of my phone’s vibration, except they are louder enough to spill on myself with tea.

Oh! My PTSD is awakened.

I can hear her fiercely shouting;- ‘Break that cup and you will know who I am, you dog.’

Oh! I knew who she was. She was not a beater. She was a biter. You’d wish you were ambushed by a thousand giant desert hairy scorpions, but not her crooked teeth.

That teeth misalignment is what I have as scars on my back, my hands and my thighs. How did she get to my thighs? That, you are not ready to hear.

But now how? How did she end up dialing my number? I wish the digits were over 10, at least 20, maybe she would come to her senses on the 18th!

How? Why?

I kept asking myself these two questions for more than 5 years.

One morning as I was preparing to get to work. My Dad called and as I accepted the call he said; ‘I want you home, how can you get here fast?’

I said it would take me 3 days, he said we did not have that much time.

He gave me the hospital address, my other mom was sick, she couldn’t say a word.

I had to be there because my dad would lose his job with the government people. He has been in the hospital for 3 months.

He knew I listened and obeyed him. He knew if he asked me to do anything, I’d do it.

Then it was me and my other mother at the hospital. Only me and her.

I fed her, bathed her, washed the cloths she peed and pooed on. I held her during the physio and cardio. I waited until she slept so I could sleep. I helped her sleep.

The other night as I waited so she could sleep, that was the night everything changed.

While every doctor and nurse was gone, every patient in the ward had slept, she was eyes wide open. Not the new normal I was used to, from her.

I started panicking when I waved to her face and she didn’t follow through. The patient monitor started to beep as she gasped heavily.

I lost control. I ran to the corridor and screamed; ‘Nuuurse, Doctoor.’

Without any help.

I ran back and held her back, one hand below her neck, telling her that she should not give up.

She took 3 more gasps and her head fell on my palm.

I abruptly stopped crying and looked hard at her face. She was different.

I asked God “Why am I seeing this? Why did you allow me to witness the death of a person who humiliated me in my entire life, while her sons and daughters are not here, the people she loved?”

I thought of my daughter that night, my other daughter too, the daughter of my husband.

I feared life.

I came to understand that everyone has one shot at life. In that life we are all interconnected in an ecosystem of dependency. What you think you don't need today is most likely what you will require tomorrow to survive. Living in love and harmony is better than violence which comes with a price to pay.

With, Paul Nhiga

Fiction Writer & GFI Communication Consultant

WHAT LESSONS DO YOU DRAW FROM THE STORY?

Can you relate with the events from the story? What are the responsibilities of the community to ensure there is no domestic violence of this kind?

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