They came for me in the wee hours, in the small of the night
I knew what they were planning. But nobody had hinted they would knock at our door at the crack of ungodly hours
Caught unawares, I didn’t fight back. Ok, I tried but they overpowered me. About 6 able bodied women.
My 13 year old slim frame wasn’t an issue for them. Two of them carried me, noiselessly through the animal compound, out of the back door
I could only see slivers of light in several houses, a few school children walking to school
And here I was, going for the slaughterhouse
They dumped me with 5 other girls, motioning us to be quiet. We had no options. They locked the door, leaving two heavily set women to guard us
Half an hour later the procession began its walk to the forest
Like sheep to the slaughterhouse, we marched, quietly, obediently, not even looking at each other
Deep into the forest, we stopped. Waiting
When it happened, I think we were numbed with fear
One girl after another. Directed to a lesso placed on the ground. An elderly woman, covered in traditional regalia, was stooped, murmuring incoherently
The piercing was quick. Sharp. Painful. And surreal
But it was over in a minute
I was a woman within a blink of an eye
My dowry had just doubled
And just like that my schooling was over too
My family must be proud of me, I thought as I watched a rivulet of dark blood dance its way between my legs, settling quietly on the morning ground
I dared not scream
They led me back to our compound
Hot porridge. Cassava. Black tea. They fed me like I had just delivered a bouncing baby boy. The pride of the community
Throughout the day, my family members walked in to check on me. Their little smiles concealing the pride they felt right then
Some other girls had gotten away. Disappeared into the night
I wished I was one of them
As I lay on a blanket made from a piece of animal skin, it dawned on me
My life was over. I was done. Like completely
I was shattered
All the things we had been told in camp – about losing our rights, about facing health consequences. Tough childbirth. Fistula.
I shuddered to think I had been a coward for not fighting back
Tears trickling down, I thought about the future. Or the little that was left of it
In between visits by the old women, I learned a suitable suitor had been found for me
A middle aged widower. With teen kids same age as me
And they didn’t even consider to ask for my opinions
Right.
And my little sister – 7 years old – was the next victim, I heard from the women
And there was nothing I could do. For myself or for little Chebet
A month later, they said I was ready for my next assignment to please my community
Getting married was not even part of my agenda. But then my life was not even my own
My husband came to see me
I was numb. I didn’t feel anything. Didn’t see his protracted face. Or his smile as he checked me out
They talked and talked and they gave my parents some animals on exchange
Just like that
It was over
The women whispered as I was being led away that I should make them proud
Whatever that meant
I was numb. Completely oblivious of whatever was happening
I was already dead
Walking dead