little village girl.

Little village girl.
She plays with the boys and goes for Sunday service with her grandmother, wearing her oversized frock, shiny black shoes and white socks with the pink flowers sewn to the sides..
She doesn't know who she is; she's never wondered. She's never cared.
She's too young to know that there are questions she must ask.
On weekdays, school is a nuisance so she and her friends skip classes to go play by the rubbish heaps
She loves her world, it's all she knows.
At lunch, she goes to buy rice and stew with the coin her grandmother gave her. "Don't give me meat," she says.
She'd rather have more rice.
Weekends are fun. See, on weekends she gets to cook with her grandmother,
she loves palmnut soup.
On weekends she gets to go to the farm with her grandmother
She loves her grandmother.
The farm is far, far, far away, hours from home, but they make the trek.
Nature is wonderful, she catches grasshoppers and helps to sow seeds in the land they tilled the week before.
Now it's lunch time, she roasts some yam on an open fire and goes to drink water from a stream
It's a beautiful life.
Or is it?
A storm breaks out, it's time to head home.
Grandmother and granddaughter, each with a stack of firewood on her head,
One in front of the other, leading the way home,
Far, far, far away.
The wind is getting stronger, it's serious now.
The rain pelts down, drenching grandmother and the little girl.
A large tree falls down, it was a close call.
It's not so beautiful any more.

Fast Forward

They get home safely,
only to discover that the rain invited itself in.
Everything is ruined, soaking wet. The entire house is flooded.
Oh no.
As neighbours gather to lend helping hands,
Grandmother takes her little girl by the hand and walks her to their neighbour's house.
She says, "you're sleeping here till this is all sorted out."
Little girl nods.
That first night she sleeps on the floor with one other girl and three boys, the neighbour's children.
It is certainly not the Ritz, but it's dry. And warm.
It's been a long day and she's tired; she's nodding off.
But he won't let her, that boy. The oldest son,
He won't let her sleep.
He pulls her close and pulls up her dress.
She's confused, why is he doing this to her?
She tries to get up, he pulls her back down.
She's 5 years old, she's scared. Terrified.
Are the others dead? No one seems to be waking up.
Why aren't they waking up?
He pushes her panties down, she tries to stop him.
He pushes them down anyway,
And then....
And then he ruins her.
With his finger, he ruins her.
Hurts her.
She's not a little girl any more.
Something has died.
He killed it.
Murderer.

Heartbreak.

Things started to spiral out of control long before 2006, but until then I had been able to find some level ground. From that year though, nothing seemed to work out.

My parents got divorced. My mother disowned me. I started university.

My mother disowned me. Wow.

But that’s not what this post is about. I’ll tell you that story another time…..maybe.

I started university.

Freedom? Yes please.  My whole life, my parents had kept me indoors; no parties, no public vacation classes, no going to a friend’s house just to hang out. “Read”, they said. “We’re protecting you.” The only act of rebellion I managed was breaking my virginity. My dad tried to put him in jail. Another story I might tell you…or not.

Heartbreak.

That’s what this post is about, heartbreak. Of anyone else, my parents have broken my heart the most, but again, this post is not about them. It’s about a boy. Man, I loved that boy and I don’t even know why. He wasn’t particularly funny or exceptionally brilliant but I loved him anyway.

You can act all tough like you don’t care about love but you’re not fooling anyone. When that person tells you they don’t feel the same way anymore, by god, you will be hurt. You will cry, you will fume, you will over-think things.

It broke me. It broke me. It broke me. I can’t stress that enough.

 It broke me.

To this day, it surprises me just how low I got, I was all the way down. I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t stand people being around me. I’d go to the kitchen to get some juice and end up spending hours on the kitchen floor, crying. I avoided the TV and the radio; what if a love song came on?

Why was it so difficult to deal with it? I mean, my own mother had left me, you would think that that little detail would make this other thing less significant, but no.

 For one I wasn’t expecting it, at all. It was such a slap in the face that I felt dazed. It was difficult to believe. Two, I loved him, I had put my trust in him, fully and without hesitation. Three, there was someone new in the picture.

I had been replaced even before I had been dumped! The things that bit of news did to my self esteem, wow, just wow!! Wasn’t I good enough? Wasn’t I pretty enough? Smart enough? Funny enough? Sexy enough? It didn’t help that the girl he left me for was a family friend. Somebody say K.O.

Knocked the fuck out.

I questioned myself so much that it got to that point where I started blaming myself. If I had done things this way or that, maybe he’d still be with me. If I had been better….

I lost so much weight I had to buy new clothes. Every time I saw him with her I died a million times inside. If it’s possible to lose an appetite that you haven’t had in over 3 months, I lost it. I cried so much that I made my friends cry too.

I forgot how to smile.

What do you do when the one person who cuts you the deepest is the only person who can make you smile?

I looked forward to days he’d come and see me. I prayed for them even.  Was I pathetic? Yes, very.

He had broken my heart but I still managed to love him with every broken, jagged piece.

Fast forward.

He came back.

 It was too late, I didn’t want him.

It’s a funny thing, life.