Finding strength is not easy

Date: January 1, 1970

In memory of my son Mawabo (1988-09-07 to 2006-03-12)
I liked him a lot. He had seemed like a nice man. Unlike other boys who refused to, he danced with the fuller-figured girls. I was happy when he asked me to dance with him. We were both members of the youth club and danced ballroom and Latin American dance together

Our story of meeting would have made a great tale for our children or even our grandchildren some day, if things had not gone the way they did. Our meeting and dancing partnership developed into a friendship, then a romantic relationship, and when he proposed marriage, I accepted.

That is when everything changed. From the sweet, non-discriminatory and charming young man whom I believed truly loved me, to an aggressive, arrogant and some-what diabolical monster. From the young man who had wanted nothing but happiness for me, to this man whose purpose became to bring misery and unhappiness to my life.

Little things made him angry. Like his belief that I hated his family, because I did not visit his family as frequently as my own. Since we were not working, my mother was taking care of our son. I frequently visited them, and sent food and money. My monthly visits were a problem for my husband. He did not see how they related to our son’s stay at my mothers.

It happened on a Friday. He accused me of hatred for his family, but this time he locked the door. I was preparing for bed and was wearing my nighty. As he made these accusations, he hit me with everything that was within his reach and sight – the poker from the stove, fists, kicks and even a shambok.

He kicked me in every direction. Amid the kicks and fists, I screamed and pleaded for help. I was hoping that someone would hear my cries and come to my aid. The neighbours heard my screaming and tried pounding against the locked door.

My crying and the beating against the door did not stop him. I cried until I could not cry anymore, but the beating continued. I could hear people talking and exclaiming, “Oh, maybe she’s dead!”

I felt like my life was going to end. There was blood everywhere. Every part of my body was aching from the pain and injuries. After trying and failing several times, I managed to open the door. I tried running, but had no strength. I could not walk. I fell half of my body still inside the house while the other half was outside.

My neighbours picked me up and took me to their house. They cleaned up my fractured and painful body. They wanted to phone an ambulance, but his friends deterred them, as they feared he would be arrested. It was a week before I made it to a clinic, before returning home to my husband. I sp

Finding strength is not easy

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