The first time God was too busy to really hear me, I had been milling about in the corridor on the Saturday of that Easter, doctoring the grumbling worms in my stomach when Uncle John reminded me my food was in some flask in the kitchen.
With the pent-up devotion of a famished kid bearing hopes of food, I had paced on to a kitchen stool when he nudged me into sitting on his 'comfortable' laps. What I did not know, too, was that on the table of his laps was hard meat that sprouted from his groin. I needed no teacher to tell me this meat just didn't belong in a plate as it wedged in-between my thighs heavy and throbbing tentatively.
I would later find out that day, spread out on Uncle John's creaky bed, that such out-hanging meat dug into the slits between thighs that parted like mine, and ate their fleshy walls away. The faint touch of his fingers had reminded me of having the under-feathers of a fowl ran through my skin. For minutes I had known pleasure basking in the euphoria of his caresses. The joy had not lasted any longer than the salary of an indebted poor man, and I would learn too I owed pain a huge debt.
"Take it easy, Girl. Don't fight it," his voice had been a near-whisper, hoarse and rough to my ears.
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I had not bought enough time from my uneasiness to calm my nerves when Uncle John's meat fought, then tore into me. His eyes were soft, almost flat, the demeanor of someone who was ready to do more than he had been doing, because he could do it. My eyes had been on his, staring in morbid curiosity. Tears had stung my eyes on the sight of his pee-hose pushing into me. The pain from my waist had been languid at first, then I felt it mill about the many nerve endings wired from my pee-hole to every flesh of me. My face had been buried into Uncle John's hairy chest as I wept in a world of just sweat and fluids that reeked mustiness, choked and dumbed by his torso.
I had never cried any harder than the moment he pinned me to the sheet, humping and thumping into me, groaning and grunting for long seconds, 'fore I'd felt his pee-hose spit into me what twinned mucus in looks. I remember dipping my finger into the slimy mess, and wondering how Uncle John could spill easily what Mother clamoured for in Mama Ejiro's eggs. Everything had become normal afterward. Every day, everywhere, I serve his lustful desires as he pleases. These days, he slips a lollipop into my lips, whispering into my ears "Don't tell anyone or you would die." Somehow even the sweetness of the thing doesn't help, so I'm left chewing on the plastic of it in agony. His fingers no longer scare me; they have even become regular visitors to the planes and valleys and mounds and founts on my body. You see I have gotten used to having to tame his 'animal' each time it rises in bloody rage. I just don't want to die. But I live also in the inertia of guilt.
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On an evening like this though, where the pain is sheltered in the burning and soreness of my vagina, and joy flying in the distant sky away from me like a lost bird leaving its fleeting shadow for the benefit of the kid staring from under, I only but wish God can hear me this one time. I think I can see Him through the two avocado trees, hanging in the cloud, his face lit by beads of stars. I want Him to kill Uncle John, to condemn him to hell where Father says evil people like him go when they die. And hey, don't worry about Mother; her business needs more of her time than I ever would deserve! Worry rather about me, who bears the name Girl, and lives in many houses on most streets of many places. Little girl has known pain. Little girl's pain grows every day. Turns out I need more than God - even in his infinite mercies - but you and you and you to save me. First, I need the voice to tell this tall tale I wish I dreamt and not lived. I sometimes hope my shine hasn't been stolen along with my innocence. I hope to one day, someday, escape the trauma of this whole drama. Until then, I go by the name Girl, and this is my story! Help me get it across to the world.
Sad. The protector becomes the predator, and there's no way one could point out a pedophile since they do not wear it on the forehead.
Families should be more careful about the people they allow around their kids, relatives or not.
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