Letting The Hate Alone

I felt the burning eyes as I walked past with my wig slightly askew and my smudged eyeliner while hoping they hadn’t seen the smeared lipstick. It was like they all knew my virginity was now a thing of the past. I heard the stares and I felt the words: ‘slut!’ they all seemed to scream. But I was not a slut or was I? Yes, I loved him, scratch that, I still love him. I told him I wasn’t ready, I told him abstinence till marriage is what the church preaches, I told him we could simply cuddle. I can’t even remember the process of my deflowering.  I only remember up to the point of smilingly accepting the bottle of malt he offered. I know I sound stupid but I trusted him. Only to wake up to blood dripping down my legs and unimaginable ache crippling me from the waist down and his absence. I did my walk of shame in pain and agony to my hostel, my roommate was supportive, she cleaned me up and tried to soothe my bleeding heart.

I was at home, constantly privy to the condemning words from my mom and the denigrating stares of my father.

Four weeks after my agonizing fall from grace, I knew I was pregnant, I confronted him, demanding he take responsibility. There and then, I saw the beast everyone had been warning me about but was too in love to see. He pulled my hair viciously, banging my head repeatedly on the wooden part of the bed he had hatefully defiled me on. I was as good as dead when he left me, I struggled, painfully crawling till I was finally able to stand. My hair was dishevelled but that wasn’t my concern, I simply needed the throbbing ache in my head to stop. I could barely see from the tears clouding my vision. I staggered till I got to my room. I was all alone, my roommate had traveled for the weekend. What was once love for Kunle was now all hate. While I laid on my bed in agony, I dredged up multiple ways to inflict pain on him. I was empty, devoid of feelings and absolutely loathed the foetus growing in me.

Months passed, my belly was getting bigger, I had moved out of the hostel, the shame and taunts had gotten hold of me and I could not endure them any longer. The hatred in my heart was getting wider and threatening to suck me in its wake. More times than I dared to breathe, I contemplated abortion but I didn’t have the guts to see it through. I guess cowardice was after all, my hope of salvation. I was at home, constantly privy to the condemning words from my mom and the denigrating stares of my father. I was in a world of hate from all corners and my only companion was the child growing in me who I had no choice but to now love.

On the day I was to deliver, my parents took me to the hospital and left me at the entrance. I delivered after almost 12 hours of intense labour pangs. He was stillborn, his nose was his father’s. Then I let it all out, I cried like never before, I cried for it all, the hate, the pain, the shame, the loss, the abandonment. And when I was spent, I knew there was only one way to go, empty myself of all the hate and move on, for myself and the child I had lost.

While there on the hospital bed, I considered ways to get my life back on track, do I go back to school? I had no money for such a venture. Do I take up a job? I had no qualifications. I was yet to pay the hospital bill. Every time, a nurse came to my room, I pretended to be asleep, their questions always went this way: ‘Who is coming to pick you?’, ‘Will they also be settling your bill?’ I had no answer to these questions, I didn’t even know the next step to take in this journey that is my life. I kept this up for two weeks until the nurses could take it no more and gave me an ultimatum- to evacuate the room the following day.

Early in the morning, the following day, while I was trying to sneak out of the hospital I was seen by a young handsome doctor. I had sworn off men, so his physical attributes did nothing to my senses. I was really hoping he would not recognise me but he did. He asked where I was off to and since I was not raised to tell lies, I simply burst into tears and told him all my woes. He was not judgmental, simply listened to my story from start to finish while interjecting at the right places. He was really comforting and told me to worry no more, he would help me out. I was perturbed, everyone in my life had turned their backs on me, who was this nice stranger? True to his word, he got me a job in the hospital, the job came with a room. I didn’t have to worry about where to go to and how to make money anymore. My job consisted of filing documents in their right cabinets. Sometimes, it was easy and other times, it was a lot of work. It was at this point that I knew that my father in heaven would never abandon me.

Two years later, I knew it was time to leave. I had saved up a good part of my salary, so at that point, money wasn’t a problem. I said my goodbyes, there wasn’t a lot to be said. I had not made friends in the hospital except the good doctor. I had been thinking of starting a Christian home for young, victims of rape. This was due to the large amount of rape cases I was privy to while filing files. There and then was the right time to start my project. Every victim of rape had a story to tell and I believe it had to be told. I rented a building, I invited these girls from the hospital, only 5 showed up. At that time, all I wanted to do was comfort them but when I heard their stories, I knew it was going to take more than a good ear to comfort them. They needed jobs and a home. I knew how to sew, so I bought sewing machines and started training them. Seeing as they had no place to go, I housed them. As time went by, more girls showed up. We made money from the proceeds of the clothes we sold and from those sewed for people but this was not enough.

There were now so many girls, I didn’t want to turn them out, so I asked the Lord for guidance and indeed, He guided me. Once they turned 18, I gave them a sewing machine and some money to find their place in the world. Among all the girls who came to me, there was one in particular who just could not sew and so, could not get along with the other girls. She was just so different- she was always writing. I read her work and saw that she was a good writer, so I engaged her to write the stories of the other girls in the home. Someone took a chance on me, so I was going to do same for her.

It always broke my heart every time a girl left, I would always ask them to keep in touch but I knew deep down, they never would though some did. Amelia –the writer never left. She stayed back with me selflessly documenting our stories. Year after year, season after season, I was now three scores and a decade and knew deep down that my time was up and so, I called her to my side and told her my story, from the very beginning, how I was defiled by the boy who swore he saw stars in my eyes, abandoned and left to my fate by the very people who brought me to this world. And I bid her to tell our stories to the world- we refuse to remain victims, we are survivors.

That night, I laid awake on my bed, reminiscing my life from where I was coming from to where I was now. And I thanked the gracious Lord who had not abandoned me but had made it possible to pay forward the goodness that had been done me by a total stranger which I now transfer to these strangers turned daughters of mine. That night I slept without worry, I slept blissfully into oblivion. I had fought the good fight, I had finished the race and I had won.

I was done writing for that night, I wrote everybody’s story in the first person narrative and I had just finished ma’s story. We never knew her name, we simply called her ‘ma’. And like she would say, the world might not see our story as grand just write it in a grand way.



Ginika is an introvert who has found a voice through writing. She writes to address various social vices in the society ranging from child abuse to female subjugation. Ginika speaks 5 languages, and can communicate using sign language. Her writing is not limited to the sighted as she also writes braille for the blind.