ABUSED.Chapter 23.

Thinking about my actions back then, there isn’t a speck of doubt that I was the most stupid and weakest woman in the world. What exactly did everyone think of me? Normal women leave, they don’t just stick around and get beaten some more. There must have been something seriously wrong with me. I couldn’t blame my idiocy on abandonment issues because I am from a loving family, a very stable family. I wasn’t backed into a corner with no other option to take.  I only think what clouded my mind was existential fear which limited my options coupled with the guilt I carried around that I was the cause of his attempted murder; that and my belief that I disappointed everyone else in my life. Going back to him was the only palatable option I thought I had.  At the same time, we have all made choices that we now think of and wish we had taken a different path.

The dark clouds started gathering on a Friday night in November, two months after we got engaged. I was still jobless, so I had the time to go to the apartment before he got back from work. I prepared yam and fried egg. He came back and I could detect right away that he was in a terrible mood even though I didn’t know the cause but he was able to keep it under wraps, so I wasn’t worried at all.

I was trying to bring the food from the kitchen to the sitting room when I tripped and the food went flying all across the floor. I had a confidence in him that he had changed, so the blow that came was totally unexpected.

“You clumsy idiot!” he got up in a haste and screamed with a quivering voice full of barely restrained anger. “Are you just passing that place? Oju e fo ni?”

I just stayed there on the floor with a bloody mouth and a tooth on the floor. A silent sob escaped my mouth and a tear slid down my cheek. “I’m very sorry. Joo ma binu.”

“Is that why you’re now sitting there on the floor? I hit your mouth, not your legs. Get up and clean this shit!” he said, making a visible effort to calm himself down. He looked around and gave me a disgusted look before going back to sit on the couch. I got to work immediately; the floor wasn’t dirty but I still silently thanked God that I had made extra.

“No,” came the command again. “You’re to eat the food that fell on the floor and serve me a fresh one. You kuku don’t have a job, you don’t know how difficult it is to get money.”

I complied and got into the kitchen, rinsed my bloody mouth and served him another plate of food. That night, I ate the yam sitting on the floor. I felt embarrassed, weak and worthless. He finished his plate of food before me and gave me loud smacks on the back for eating too slowly. When I was done washing the plates and mopping the floor, he ordered me into the bedroom and had his way with me again. This time, I knew it was rape because I was unwilling. He did it to intentionally bring me pain, he violated me and it was excruciating and humiliating. I went to bed crying that day.

The next day, he didn’t even apologise. I can’t even believe I expected him to, he was simply exercising control over me and letting me he could dominate me in any way he wanted. I was scared to walk out of the door again; the ridicule and shame would be too much to bear with because despite having a breakthrough the first time, I still went ahead to put myself in this position.

As usual, I called Damola. I needed his advice even though I feared that he would force me to leave Kayode or talk to his mother. Contrary to my expectations, he was very supportive and understanding. We came up with a plan eventually, I would need to get a job and become financially independent but first, I needed to look for a domestic violence rescue centre and get help there. At first, I doubted if there was any place like that in Lagos but eventually, I agreed that I would go anywhere he chose. The most important thing was to succeed in the long run.

The plan almost worked out well but it eventually failed. I was on the right track and in December 2015, I landed myself a job with a popular news website. I prayed feverently for it to work out and put in my best for the interview. When asked about why I left my last job, I went blank.

“Errrm…” I shifted uncomfortably. “I was sick for a very long time and before I resumed work, I was already replaced. My boss tried very hard to squeeze me in somewhere but the resources just weren’t enough to keep me there. I eventually had to leave.”

Apparently, the answer was acceptable enough because on December 11^th, I got an email to resume work the next Monday. Happy didn’t describe how I felt. Everything was eventually falling into place. I was still with Kayode but the rape was the last straw, I knew would never change. It broke my heart but I admitted to myself that I would never have a happy ending with him. I admit that there was still this tiny part of me that believed everything would work out; it was that part of me that let me keep his ring and see him once in a while. I kept his ring on my finger and at times, I found myself twist it around my finger like a form of bondage.

Of course I stupidly told him a got a job at Ikeja, he never came to look for me but I just knew it was just a matter of time. Maybe the guilt of being instrumental to my last job loss kept him away, I would never know but he stayed away without even telling him to. I made new friends at work: one of them was Olayemi, a married woman who insisted that we all call her by her first name. She was a very nice woman. I met Dolapo and Ronke too; both graduates of OAU who were nice, lively and very accommodating.

Christmas came and Kayode asked that we spent the Christmas to New Year break together. As predicted, I agreed; not that I had a say in the matter anyways. I packed a few stuffs that would last me for a week and moved to the house on December 22^nd, scared for my life but at the same time bracing my mind up for anything that could happen and knowing that nothing could be worse than losing a baby the way I did.

I was struggling with being balanced at work and I did a few extra work and projects, just to pass a message across to my new boss that I was diligent and she seemed very satisfied with my output. Since Kayode had more experience and expertise in writing than I did, he was supportive whenever I needed his opinion on something and left me alone whenever he knew I needed some cherished time alone.

Kayode demanded sex frequently but was satisfied with a quickie most of the evenings, as a matter of fact, on night when I don’t want to, he always seemed quite relieved. He had turned into a selfish lover who didn’t care about foreplay or cuddles if it didn’t suit his own mood. The whole affair was usually finished before 5 minutes but he never forced himself on me again, he even accepted whenever I told him I was sick and couldn’t do anything with him. When New Year of 2016 came and went, he didn’t allow me to leave again and I wasn’t really disappointed. He felt like we were okay and since the cycle of abuse had stopped and he had actually started letting me have alone times, I didn’t care about moving out anymore.

It was like my uncle was already resigned to the fact that whatever happened was all on me because he stopped being bitter and actually started calling to check on me. Aunty Mariam got pregnant and I was very happy for her because it’s been a while they got married and people were starting to say the wrong things about her. Damola and I kept talking and in January, he told me that he finally found a place in Lagos where help and counselling could be provided for people in Lagos.

“Wow!” I exclaimed over the phone when I heard about it. “We’re really going to do this! I’m going to leave him and won’t feel bad about it!”

“I know right?” Damola sounded as excited as I was and I thanked God for the day I met him even though it was the worst day of my life. He came just when I had lost all my friends and despite how much disappointments I had shown him over the year, he stuck to me in a way that most family wouldn’t have and for that I knew I owed him till eternity.

The Centre for Health Law Ethics and Development{CHELD}  is a non-profit organisation which seeks to improve public health in Nigeria and adopted addressing and eliminating domestic violence in Nigeria as one of its development projects. They provide services to victims and survivors of domestic violence provide counselling, material support, shelters for victims that have nowhere to go and legal assistance in Nigeria. CHELD also provides enlightening seminars to schools, faith organisations and the civil society on recognising domestic violence and providing solutions to it.

Their office is at Iyana Ipaja and when I started attending their group therapy sessions, I was very surprised at the different kinds of people I met there; people that dressed so well that you would never have thought that they had problems but then again, I dressed well all the time too. For the first week, my plan worked out perfectly. I told Kayode we were working on covering a story that could take all day at work so I could go to the group counselling sessions after work. Ikeja to Iyana Ipaja wasn’t much distance and since the meetings were 5pm thrice a week and I left work by 4pm, it wasn’t difficult to maintain my schedule and still somehow manage to get home early.

There were different cases that started like mine but generated into so much worse situations as time went on. They were different women with different scars, different stories, different experiences and different war wounds. I was able to align with them and learn about my mistakes through their stories. Like I said, the first week went well and I was already building a confidence in me that I would finally regain everything I lost to it. I finally learnt that speaking out early would save many people including myself from irreparable damages done to them physically, mentally and psychologically.

On my third visit during the second week, he waited for me at home with a sullen expression but I knew I could no longer live my life in fear of what he would do to me. That was why when he confronted me, I was prepared for the kind of bullshit I was going to feed him.

“I came to your office to surprise you,” he stated in an accusatory tone. “I couldn’t find you or anyone else because your office was locked. Where were you?”

I came up with a plausible explanation fast enough. “I told you we had been working on covering a story, one of the people we had to talk to needed to get off work so she could talk to us, so had to meet at Ikeja City Mall. I should have called, I’m sorry.”

He bought it but I realised it would be a one-off excuse. I called Damola immediately and he jumped in his mega worry mode.

“I was afraid this would happen. I don’t know the kid of arrangements we can make that won’t make this happen but we have to think of something fast enough. You and I need to stay off the phone though. I wouldn’t be surprised if he starts checking your phone again now that you have done something suspicious.”

“How do we stay in contact then?” my heart was beating in my throat and I realised that I was walking on very thin ice.

“Come to the hospital tomorrow. I will buy you a Nokia touch light and a new Sim card that we can use to communicate for now. It’s up to you to keep it very well now because he doesn’t really trust you anymore and things can escalate quickly.”

I still wondered how Damola knew all these emergency stuffs but since we had no time to talk about him, I never really had the chance to ask him. Our conversations were always centered on my well-being and safety but I guess the partial blindness of his cousin, Temilade he abusive ex-boyfriend must have made him get to know all there was to learn about safety.

Kayode and I were both busy with our respective routines and our conversations were down to less than 30 minutes in a day. It suited me just fine- I didn’t get to reattached to him and he didn’t have much of an opportunity to as me uncomfortable questions I had no answers to. I soon learnt that the extent of the control had manifested in every aspect of my life because what happened next was an exact proof of that.