By Prisca Kabagenyi
I am a 26-year-old teacher and first born raised by a single mother. Well, I didn’t really grow up with my mother. I pretty much have been a nomad all my life, moving from one place/relative/friend to another.
Having grown up away from my mother, I faced a lot of challenges as a child. The memories I have of my parents were of domestic violence.
I still remember the fights that were the norm in our house because my father came home drunk after saying he didn’t have money for basic needs.
How the fights started I cannot tell, but each time Dad was home, I was bitter. I remember one time before I was in school, they had a bad fight and were breaking things in the house. My mother said she was leaving. My younger brother and I were in bed, hiding under the covers. She left the house but came back shortly after and the fight continued.
I was scared, and I knew in my mind that if they did not separate, one was going to kill the other.
When I was between the ages of 6-13, I lived with my paternal aunt who was my everything. She took care of me while my mother lived elsewhere with my little brother.
She had a big family with a number of children whom I loved and fought with as siblings do.
At 6, I had no idea it was wrong for someone of the opposite sex to touch my body in ways that are disrespectful. A certain man who was a brother to my aunt’s husband, and jokingly, according to our culture, I was called my aunt’s co-wife. He was also her husband, so he was also dubbed my husband and he never stopped calling me his wife.
I was just 6 or 7 years old. For a while it was only about jokingly referring to me as his wife: “Go serve your husband; go do this and that…” which, by the way, was all done publicly, so no one knew that while they were not watching, this man would always have his hands in my blouse.
He started this behavior as soon as my breasts started developing. I didn’t know it was wrong. I cannot tell how long this happened for, but eventually I had to go stay with my mother who had now moved to Kampala as well so I could attend my secondary school from her home.
The domestic violence continued. For me, knowing that my dad was coming home meant so many bad things – from fights and lack of necessities to constant fear. I feared entering the house while he was inside because to me, he was a monster.
At times I felt I had to watch my back in case he came after me.
I preferred to stay at school. Being away from home was where I got my joy.
I was around 14 years old when a family friend and neighbor who had a garden on the other side of town asked me to join her as she went to tend the garden. Of course, I was thrilled. I asked my dad for permission and off we went to enjoy a good day with mother’s friend and tribe mates who wanted to tour their field/land. They don’t live in our country anymore, so every time they visit they tour the area.
We returned later that day at around 7 p.m. and mother was furious, asking where I had been. I told her I had just been dropped off, and since I had sought permission, I could not understand why she was so upset.
“You will be a prostitute!” she declared.
Her words cut deep. I felt every ounce of the word.
I recalled how I was always pushed to go the extra mile while my brother wasn’t. I mean, I didn’t even grow up with her, she chose my brother. And though he was younger than me, he could go play and come back at 10 p.m. while I had to be home by 4 p.m.
All of this ran through my mind and I knew how much this woman hated me. I asked myself if she was even my mother because she had hurt me so much.
I had some meds lying around and this was my first attempt at suicide. If she was my mother and hated me so much and did not trust me, then surely I didn’t deserve to live.
But God was watching out for me because the meds, despite the amount I took, did not work. My relationship with my mother got more sour with time.
The fights with dad continued. They broke things, caused wounds and each night I would lie in bed scared. I made sure I hid all the knives in the house because, at times, the fights escalated to that possibility.
One night the fight lasted longer and I couldn’t hear my mother’s voice. I was so scared and knew for sure he had killed her. I tried to convince my brother to run out with me but to no avail. So I dashed out of the house at 2 a.m. I just ran out of the house. Where I was going did not matter. I just knew I was not staying there.
Another night during a fight, I ran out to hide in the outdoor latrine. I felt safer there than inside the house.
The fights affected me in ways I could not quite understand.
I hated men so much for the pain they put me through. I hated my mother because she did not have the courage to leave my dad, yet she was the one footing all the bills.
I was bitter and had anger issues. I became very reserved as I grew because the bubbly and adventurous little girl in me was no more. I hated to be touched, or worse still, have a man try to come near me.
In high school, I discovered I was a carrier of sickle cell and was often sick. My bones became so fragile I could not sit or stand for long because my spine was always an issue. Thankfully due to my medical insurance, I was able to start physiotherapy with an orthopedist. He was a married man with two daughters older than I was then, and he had a good reputation within the community.
One day after a session, he called me to his office to let me know of my progress. Innocently, I walked into the office. It was normal for someone to push the door shut to prevent interference during visits, so when he closed the door, I did not see anything wrong with it until he came near me and pushed his body against mine.
He began kissing me with so much force and I could smell the cigarette smoke on his breath. I was so shocked that I froze and was only able to gain my senses a minute or so later. I pushed him away from me and run out of the building into the road like a mad woman.
I was nearly run over because of the confusion I was in. My treatment was not even done yet.
When I returned to my school, I informed the administrator who called my mother, and to my shock, she did not believe me. What crime had I committed?
Even as a child, when a neighbour spread a rumour about me playing “bad games” with boys in the house and disappearing (in actuality we were playing hide and seek), my mother beat me so hard with a cane and didn’t give me an opportunity to explain. She accused me of “already starting to be with men.”
It hurt me so much because she trusted someone who wasn’t even her friend. She didn’t even bother to ask the people I was playing with what had happened.
I later went through a phase of trying to prove that I was worthy of love, and that I was beautiful. I began to wonder if what my mother had declared on my life at some point was true.
I never felt loved. I was blamed for other’s mistakes; told not to be friends with some people because they were already friends with someone else. I have made grave mistakes because I sought love in the wrong places. I have idolized people and tried to kill myself because no one understood me. But above all, God has never forsaken me. He has given me beauty for ashes. I gave my life to Christ as a teenager, it was not easy because I dealt with so much.
Things have gotten better because I have learned to run to the Cross, to dwell on only God.
I am on a journey of forgiving my mother, loving myself and realizing that I am who God says I am. I have scars, but I am learning to proclaim good things over my life to combat all the negative things she said about me.
I chose to forgive her because I know that if I don’t, it will affect me in a bad way. I’m trying to understand her reasoning and see the best in her. But it’s still a journey.
As for my dad, he ruined my relationships with men. I now know that there are good ones out there who can be caring, honest and protective of women. I know there are happy marriages and that mine will not be like my parents. I know one day I will be married to a wonderful man and together we shall serve Christ even better. I am careful before I make the commitment. Very careful. I know my marriage will work, I will be the best mother.
My past does not define me. I am better today than I was yesterday. I believe in a God who is alive. He never fails.
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