The evening was peaceful, cool, and beautiful. One of those friendly evenings in Africa when the breeze gently flirts with the skin. I was still in Secondary School at the time, I came back from School for Christmas full of hopes and merrily gay for Christmas. That night I was summoned before the elders in my family. It was two weeks to Christmas. My Mum was the only face that was visible to me at the time I entered the big passage that serves as the family parlour. The Sun was just retiring to its nest so the passage had a little illumination.
I observed from the ray of light that the thatch roof would
allow, that my mum was robbing her face with a two-piece wrapper. My mind raced
back to when my Dad died five years again.
What is happening again, has anybody died again? no, not my little brother.
Then I remembered my little cousin-sister told me the elders
and my Uncle want to see me. What for? It must be about my father’s pieces of
land again that must be why my Mum was crying.
“Sit down, Omozeh” it was Uncle Opkopko’s masculine voice. I
sat down after which my eyes had done a little scientific accommodation I
realized I was in the middle of the six of the most respected elders in my
extended family, my father’s younger brother, Uncle Opkopko was sitting to my
right, and my Mum to my left.
“Eh” started one of the elders, clearing his throat. “You are
not a baby anymore, in those days Omozeh you would have been a mother by now.”
“No beating around the bush” declared another elder, “we’ve
wasted enough time already trying to talk to the mother.”
“That is true Agunu, yet we must speak with wisdom so she can
understand.” Continued the first elder.
“Omozeh, you can see the suffering your family is thrown into
since your father died, we, your kinsmen have tried all we could to take care of
you and your siblings and we’ve not complained but there is a new development
in which you happen to be a saviour to this house.”
He cleared his throat again.
“Omozeh”
“Sir,” I answered.
“A very lucky girl you are. A very prosperous young man has
come to ask for your hand in marriage.”
I was dead on my chair. Me? I am only fifteen. Are they
crazy? Do they want me to get married to a man right now? No!!! that must not
happen, I was determined to go to school, I want to be a chartered accountant
like madam Otsebolu, the wealthiest woman in my village. I am the best in
mathematics and Accounting in my class. I am too young for marriage, no, no…
“Omozeh” my Uncle’s voice brought me back to the room. “Did
you hear what the elder just ask you?”
“No,” I replied unconsciously as I turned to look at my
mother. She turned shyly away.
“He said if you are going to marry the man this week or
immediately after Christmas?” Uncle Opkopko repeated the question.
“NO,” was my flat response.
“You must be crazy!” my Uncle and Mum screamed concomitantly.
“Ha, ha, ah”, laughed elder Agunu. “My daughter, the question
is not whether you will marry him or not, it is how soon do you want it?”
“Our wife talk sense into your daughter, we will be back with
your future son-in-law tomorrow. We must leave now.” The first elder commented
as they all rise to leave.
I stared at them with fire in my eyes. “this is stupid,” I
screamed after them, “if my father had been alive…”
“Yes, that is it…” my Mum whispered, “he died and left us
vulnerable.”
“Was that why you join them to sell your daughter, your
immature daughter, to be sold to the highest bidder?”
“Shut up here,” Uncle Opkopko shouted at me, “if you know
what is good for you when they come tomorrow you better be polite.”
That was the beginning of a battle, the battle that made me
mature before I was in my later teens. The so-called elders in my family were
bent on me marrying the man I never liked. My Mum tried all she could to make
me see it was the best way out of our poverty since the man in question was
rich, very rich. When they said rich, they meant a rich roadside mechanic; a
man fifteen years older than myself.
There was no place to run, everyone that I know think
marrying the man was my only hope. My Mum would cry every day saying I have
disobeyed the elders and brought curses upon the family. I tried to poison
myself but I wasn’t bold enough to do it. I was like an outcast in the village,
everyone cursed, abused, mocked, and insult me wherever I go.
For the sake of my Mum and the future of my siblings, I
decided to bravely or foolishly step into hell. 29th of December 1999 was the
day I was thrown into hell they called marriage with a man called Dennis. I was
like a lamb to the slaughter, fifteen years old innocent girl who had not even
the chance to experience her teen.
My husband or my buyer, Dennis threw money around everybody in my family. The elders left with a large sum and my Uncle became a businessman with his large share. My ‘buyer’ took me to Warri town and for two years the coward wouldn’t allow me to go home or send anything home to my mother or siblings. He never kept any of his promises, my siblings and mother were not taken care of neither was I allowed to continue my education.
When
confronted him, my coward husband gave two reasons, that he has paid my family off
and also that he would not let me go to school because I will be wiser than he
is if I should. My sacrifice, therefore, was defeated since my two younger
brothers were not opportune to go to school instead my Uncle and elders enriched
themselves with the money I was bought with.
When I couldn’t give him a baby for two years, he turned the
house into a brothel. Wreck his own business and blamed me for being the witch
that has destroyed his life, and made him impotent.
The villagers likewise gossip in the village that I was a
witch that has turned their caring son away from visiting home. And that I had
eaten up his manhood and used my witchcraft to wreck his business. After
suffering like that for five years without a child or education, I was sent out
of my husband’s home into the street after being labeled a witch. I have no
place to go even my Mum and brothers call me a witch.
