FATIMAH: THE TALE OF AN AFRICAN FEMALE CHILD

I laid still on my bed. Bidding my time, quietly waiting for him to come again. I knew he would. He always did on nights like this. When he has gone out with his fellow dogs for a night out in wallows, arbitrating their senses to the power of unholy water. Then when they were done shortening their life spans, he would stagger home like an injured dog, and find his way to my room.

I could not blame him, he was only coming to claim what he thought was his. Just like my Father before him. I had wondered endlessly, why a man subject his child to such shame and agony. I wiped away the tear that managed to escape as I recalled the first time it had happened. My screams and pleas falling on deaf ears. No one had come to my aid, and the looks on their faces the next morning as they avoided my gaze had said it all.

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Well, I did what I had to do. I bid my time. Slowly, carefully. A spoon daily, not enough to get noticed. Just enough to do the deed. And finally, we were lowering him six feet deep, right where he belonged. And the look Uncle Danjuma had given me had said it all. Soon, he'd be my step father and once again, I'd be his to claim.The tears have dried now you see. I have seemingly lost my voice. On these nights, I just lay still as he has his way. Quietly plotting his downfall. You see, the poison seemed to be ineffective for Danjuma. So I had to figure out some other way.

I felt the cold metal in my hand, willing my heart to still. I have thought and thought this through and I knew it was today or never. For today, I was ready to start life in another prison.
I knew the moment he returned, his wayward footsteps betraying his dreamed stealth. I was naked as usual, like a willing mistress.
Soon my door creaked open, and his figure loomed at the door way. Although it was dark as always, I could feel the sinister smile on his face as the room filled with alcohol stench. Closing the door swiftly, he moved forward to examine his meal. Licking his lips as he deemed it delicious.

I shuddered, from revulsion, not fear. My mind was made up now. I was ready for it. Soon, he started humming that damned tune that was horror to my ears. But I kept still.

"Not so long now",I thought to myself.

I laid, bidding my time as he clumsily ridded himself of his clothing.The bed dipped and the iron protested, the moment he climbed on, parting my legs to grant him passage. Soon, the very short ceremonial foreplay was over and he was in. Hammering away, as beads of sweats dropped on me.I looked away, staring into nothingness, waiting for the right time. When he would be so overcome with throes of illicit pleasure, blinded by his ecstasy to realise anything before it was too late.

As if too good to be true, I felt the jerk in his movements as he tried to delay his c!mming. It was always a failure by the way. Now was the time to act, I thought to myself again.Swiftly, I overturned him.

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His face never took on the smile he had been reaching for at the thought of his wildest dream coming through.
Instead, it gave way to horror, his breath hitching as I lodged the knife, neatly in his chest. Flicking on the light by my bedside, I relished the look in his eyes.
'Yah Uncle. How does it feel to know that I brought you your last moments, just like I did Father?' I whispered as he took his last breaths, his eyes registering even more surprise.
'Please, do say hi to him for me when you meet in hell. Perhaps, I will join you there and we can pick up where we left off. I'm sure Allah would think Jannah, too much of a beautiful place for us'.
He never said his last words. They died in his throat as the life left his body. And an ethereal feeling of relief washed over me.The remaining parts of that night passed by in blurred motion.

His Mother, Zariya had come barging in through the door with a scream that had awakened the whole household. My own Mother had not been able to look me in the eye, tears threatening to drown her as she tied her wrapper around me.
Zariya had been viciously wailing as she hugged the body of her son, saying something about how baba's medicine had failed her. I was still in a world of my own, watching it all play out as the police van arrived, only getting out of it, as my bloodied hands got handcuffed behind my back.The peace I felt, riding away in that bus was unlike any in my lifetime.

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Now 12 years later, I'm leaving this cell I have come to call home. Of course I had had no legal representative and the one government had given me had been all too willing to let me rot in jail. I had gotten 26 years with minimal labour, considering I was only 17 then. A new lawyer had found my file and had been interested. She had requested for another hearing. Had fought tooth and nail until I had been granted pardon.

Now, she was going to help me get on my feet. Along with other girls like me.
I knew for a certain now, how I wanted to spend the rest of my life. Saving other girls going through the same things I did.
As I stepped out of the four walls that have been a better home to me all my life, I breathed the sigh of relief. This is what freedom was- at last.
And like on the night I bought my ticket in, I was stepping out resolved, with a purpose to save more Fatimahs.