The following account was narrated to The Weight She Carries’ contributor Ivy Chibanda.
Shame, guilt and hatred is what I felt. It had been three years since he had started abusing me, but I never spoke out. I kept it inside.
Given the circumstances, I felt I had more to lose if I reported my boss. I would lose my job, and my relationship with my relatives would be strained. I had to take care of my family. So, I decided I would rather suffer…until the day I decided enough was enough.
I grew up in a rural area with three siblings – an older brother and two younger sisters. We grew up on the income of small scale farming. The small income we had was enough for food – two meals a day – but our family struggled for school fees. Although we struggled, I managed to complete high school.
My parents could not afford to send me for further schooling, so my cousin took me to the city and offered to pay for me to take a secretarial course, which I completed in 6 months. It wasn’t easy finding a job, so my cousin’s husband asked his brother if he could hire me since they had a vacancy for a receptionist. I seized the opportunity and took the job.
The first few days, everything was fine…until he started giving me loads of work towards the end of business hours. He would say it was needed urgently – before 8 a.m. the next morning. I would comply and he would stay with me.
Since my cousin was his sister-in-law, he took me as his sister-in-law as well, and in my culture, your brother’s wife is referred to as your wife also. He wasn’t married, so he referred to me as his wife. I thought it was just because of the relation between us, but one day he closed the door and asked why I would allow “my husband to suffer” when I could satisfy his needs. He came onto me and raped me.
I was distraught. I remember that day vividly.
He warned me not to say anything, and if I did, I should know that it would be the end of my career and he would make sure no one would employ me.
I was so naive, and because I needed the job to help my family, I never reported the matter. I thought it would be the first and last time, but I was wrong. It was the first of many.
Years went by. I came to know that whenever a pile of papers was thrown onto my desk around 4 p.m., it meant I was going to be abused. I couldn’t tell my cousin because I feared she would believe her husband’s brother over me, and my brother-in-law would possibly kick me out.
One day, as I sat listening to the radio, I heard victims speak out and I knew I wasn’t the only one. I decided enough was enough and went to report the matter to the police.
When I went back home, my cousin wasn’t happy about what I had done and asked me why I hadn’t consulted her first before rushing to the police. I faced a lot of victimization from the women at my workplace. They put all the blame on me for staying at the office late and for “wearing short skirts”.
Others thought I had been benefiting from him all along and said I had decided to report him to the police because he had withdrawn his financial support.
It was painful, and thinking of it now still brings tears to my eyes. My dignity was lost all in the name of earning a living.
I know I am not the only one, and there are other women out there who are afraid to speak out because of what people will say.
It’s mainly fellow women who attack us, who put all the blame on us, and sometimes, you are made to believe it was your fault.
Being sexually assaulted is never your fault. Speak out and let your abuser be brought to justice. It’s never easy but it has to be done to save the next woman.
