“You know what could happen if you choose to let anyone know about this don’t you?”
The threat kept bouncing in my head over and over again like worn out tennis ball being pounded against the wall by a super high maniac; each strike bringing a flash of his black lips widening into an evil smile as he reached over and grabbed my butt with his scrawny dirty hands…
STRIKE. “I should have screamed. Probably should have taken out my pepper spray and emptied its contents in his ugly face right there instead of freezing and nearly wetting my pants in fright. But I didn’t have my purse on me. Why didn’t I have my purse on me?”
Flash. “Aaaaaaaarghhh! Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarghhhhhh!!!”
“You know what will happen if you breathe a word about this don’t you?”
Had I nodded? I can’t remember. I was still numb, and angry that the only thing I was aware of at that moment was his hand lingering and going lower…
STRIKE. “My jeans must have been too tight, perhaps that made him think I was seducing him. But is it a crime to be beautiful?”
Flash. “If it were his daughter in these same jeans would he…”
I couldn’t think further. The maniac in my head was now on a frenzy and as each strike brought about unexplainable guilty feelings, each thud against the wall brought an extremely painful headache. And somehow, I felt that this tennis ball and I had much more in common besides being wrecked to pieces by men we trusted, all for their pleasure.
He was my boss, and he had just raped me.
“Mommy are you ok? You are crying.”
It was Junior, my four-year-old son. He is a spitting image of his dad—another heart wound and story for another day. I grabbed him and crushed him in a tight hug.
“It’s just you and me baby, you hear me? Just you and me against the whole world!” I whispered fiercely in his hair.
“Eeuw Mommy, gross. I am going to play”
He laughed and wriggled out of my embrace. And the action reminded me of how almost every good thing in my life stayed just for an instant; but before I could lose myself into the abyss again he came skipping back, a purple and green flier in his hand.
“Look at what Aunty Nya left for you,” and he sped off.
I sighed, I wasn’t in the mood to read anything but as I flipped it over my eyes widened in shock!
“#72. Let’s chat about Rape. 5 quick things to remember: (a) What a woman wears is not to blame (b) The majority of rapes are committed by people known to the victim (c) WHAT TO DO IF YOU HAVE BEEN RAPED (d) what to do if someone you know has been raped (e) what to avoid if you have been raped. END RAPE CULTURE. END THE BLAME GAME. CONTACT ARC – WhatsApp 0775627 770 …” it read.
Breaking into a fresh bout of tears, I picked up my smashed heart and reached for the phone.
About the Author
Isaac Jengwa is a linguist, free-lance writer, editor, singer/songwriter, and is the author of the short story collection, “Imagine-Encounters with Jesus”. He is a SRH and SGBV activist and frequently writes articles and composes jingles to raise awareness on such issues. You can listen to his music on the YouTube channel: Isaac Jengwa, and on the Facebook page: Isaac Jengwa Music Ministry.
You can get in touch with Isaac Jengwa on firstname.lastname@example.org