A LIFE LESS ORDINARY PART 4 The cup of tea incident, was to be one of many incidents that would define my life. As I settled into my new life, I started developing an imagination. This helped me in my helpless moments. As most of our Samoan girls know and can testify, it is our custom to ask our parents/elders if they would like a cup of tea. So naturally, I would ask this deranged aunty and her husband this. The first time I had asked the husband, he said no, so I retreated to the kitchen. Little did I know, my aunty was following a few steps behind me. Nothing prepared me for what was to happen next. As I was standing at the sink starting to wash dishes, I felt my aunty wrap one hand around my neck, and the other grabbing my hair before banging my head on the sink, tap and all. I slide to the floor confused and bleeding, yet she continues her attack by standing on my thigh, looking down at me and spitting on me before telling me, I was to NEVER, EVER, EVER look her husband in the eye again. She continued her vicious abuse (which is now just verbal) telling me I was in love with her husband. This was the day I heard the word s..ult, who..rse and home wrecker thrown at me. Despite the severe beating and verbal abuse, I controlled my emotion and kept my mask on. I did not shed one tear, nor did I utter one word. My body was numbed to the physical pain inflicted, thanks to my imagination. I imagined myself back in Samoa, with my mother and father. I had even put a face to my father’s name. Things were ok for a few days. When the abuse first started, it usually happened a few days apart. It became more and more frequent the longer I lived there. My family who adopted me had no idea of what was happening. When they did come around, I kept my mouth closed and my aunty wore a smile. Yet the abuse was getting worse. My aunty started telling me about another girl who use to stay with her, and she treated her exactly the same way. One day her anger was so explosive, she ripped off my clothing and stripped me naked, and sat me by the side of the road in front of their house. She wrote a message on a cardboard, with the words I AM A S..ULT AND DESERVE TO BE PUNISHED. I was 12years old. The abuse became a daily occurrence. Her house at the time, was four stories with the bottom floor being a concrete garage. Most nights, if I am in her good books, I was allowed to sleep in the spare room with the family dog. There was no bed so the dog and I slept on the floor. However, I spent almost every night in the garage, with my fist as my pillow and a sarong to act as a blanket. There are too many individual incidents which are still very raw in my mind, but I think YOU the reader has an idea of the enormity of what’s happened so far. The final incident, was where she literally put her two hands in my mouth and tried to rip my mouth apart. My crime, I had failed to purchase her the packet of cigarette she sent me to the shops for. At this point, I had given up and begged her for mercy. NO!! I DID NOT CRY. Instead I begged her to kill me already. Just finish me off so she can stop being disappointed in me. Instead she kicked me and left me on the garage floor, I came to it was dark. Everyone had turned in for the night. Another cold night in the garage. Two days later it was Christmas. Her son’s girlfriends and her daughter all bought me clothes. I thanked them all and put them in my little cane basket which contained what little clothing I had in the garage. The next morning on boxing day, I had woken up late as I went to bed late Christmas night (I was busy trying to clean up after everyone left) and the first thing I saw was the barrel which was out in the yard, bursting in flames. The cause? All my clothes from the day before (presents) and what little I had before then, were shredded and tossed in the barrel with kerosene. You guessed it, another beating was coming. I’m a fair person, so I bruised badly when I was beaten. Her mistake this time? She forgot the church pastor called for all the Sunday school kids to meet at his house that evening. She reluctantly let me go. It was here the pastors own adopted daughter started befriending me. We never had the chance before as my aunty was always quick to whisk me away after church and she would always be hovering during Sunday school WOW.....Will she escape the prison hell that surrounds her or will her new found friend save the day? Stay tuned for the next part #Jahr
Posted on: Tue, 22 Jul 2014 03:40:44 +0000
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