The drums beat loudly in her head, rising disproportionately as the tempo of the organic piston pounding her inner surf quickened. It was chaotic and unbearable, like the cacophony of a senseless noisy orchestra led by an unschooled conductor. Withal the dancing flashes of brilliant colours she used to see with her eyes closed? Were her ears now deaf to the harmonious chords that once escaped her lips as she stretched taut in blissful tension? Who is this man that now has rolled off her, spent and soaked in perspiration, pleasured, while she in pain and shame weeps? She recalled the song sung years back when she got married in 1960:
Your marriage shall be a blessing
Your children surround your table
You will see your children’s children
So says the Lord of host…
The marriage has been anything but a blessing. Yes, her children indeed surround her table. The same children that rape her at the slightest chance. Shehu, Chukwuma, Olabode, the very progeny of her wedlock, committing such heinous crimes. Had they not even fought among themselves for the right if ever there is, to rape her, their mother? Her other children have not ceased to cry out accusingly at the evils of their brothers. But that gives her no comfort whatsoever. She knows only too well that they cry out not because they care about her, but because they have not had the opportunity to defile her, like their bigger and stronger brothers.
Could there be a family curse at work? Her sisters have not fared any better…Malibel, Sudany, Zimbabwella, Cameroondia…it was the same sad story.
You will see your children’s children… The line rang like a pronouncement of doom. Could she hope for better from her children’s children? Or would it be like fathers like sons? Still lying on the bed wherein she had been defiled countless times, laden with sorrow and self pity, Nigeriana fell asleep.
[Photo credit: International Business Times]