Lesotho: Divorce and abuse

Three years later and it still feels like yesterday, the pain is still raw, humiliation still fresh and the feeling of being alone is my constant companion. Sometimes, if not most times, intense feelings of suicide engulf me, but miraculously each time my daughter’s innocent trusting eyes pull me through and sense kicks in. My fear though is that one day darkness will cover me so much that nothing will pull me through.

Five years ago I met my prince charming, who I believed to be my soul mate; we clicked from the word go, well as some will say he had me at hello. I loved the attention he showered me with; we all know women love attention from their men. He was ten years my senior, accomplished on his own, very confidant but my friends always said it was more like arrogance. At first I loved that he wanted to know my every move, my whereabouts and the people I was with, in my books that translated into true love; well until later. He indulged me with all the fine things money could buy, and lucky for him he could afford to do so.

I will not lie. I saw how quick his temper was, his eyes would give a sudden blaze should any male give me attention and, again at first I associated this jealously with love. The signs were all there but I could not let myself deal with them, turning a blind eye to them was easier than tackling them first hand. The clean picture was slowly getting tiny black spots of intense jealousy, being shouted at and being pushed in the midst of normal arguments that I was cheating but I did what I did best. I defended him to friends and family.

Looking back I think what made me so adamant that he was after all a good guy, was that he would neutralise my pain by handing me expensive gifts, taking me to restaurants with exotic tastes and with golden words that brainwashed me. He made me believe that he only became that angry because he loved me, and shamefully I believed him; if I had the power to make him so livid it meant I was truly loved.

My knight in shining armour proposed to me with a ring fit for a queen, it glittered so much that saying yes was done in a heartbeat. Within three months of our fairy-tale life I was told to quit my job because his wife would not be commanded by other men at work. I have never been the stay at home type but I saw his point, after all we could live comfortably with his money so I left my job.

I guess that is when the signs I had ignored for so long turned into unmistakable cracks, barely a year and my marriage was turning into a nightmare, I became one of his many possessions that he controlled, just a convenience at his disposal.

The beatings started when I began telling him I was his wife not his trophy to be paraded for his friends and business associates dressed in expensive clothes, I was in fact his life partner. He told me he had all the money so he made all the decisions. He chose the clothes for me to wear, bought everything that he thought I needed and never gave me money to do so myself just so that I would always be financially dependent on him.

As my nightmare progressed I knew about the affairs that he had and he was not even discreet about them, he just flaunted them in my face. I feared for my life so I begged him to use protection with me, not even blinking he retorted that he owned every part of my body. The raping started at that time and to my horror he actually enjoyed doing it, I guess he loved to see his power over me. He realised that at first he bruised me physically but now he had the power to do it emotionally and psychologically. I had no one to talk to because he had since alienated me from my family and friends who had warned me all along about him. The next best thing I thought was to go to the police and I was attended by three policemen who told me point black that it was impossible for a man to rape his wife so really I should just go back because to them that made no sense at all. All the hope I had shattered, what was I to do?

A few weeks after that I found out I was pregnant; the terror I was in could not be measured. Obviously the environment I lived in was not fit for a child, how could I let my offspring be in a house where love was just a term found in books? I did not know if I was still capable of it myself because I was so tortured that I had forgotten how love felt or how to give it back, I was just a shell.

But my baby gave me hope, a new lease on life and I just had to fight back. I knew that I if I was going to have a daughter I would rather die than let her grow up knowing men as abusers, destroyers and monsters who did not respect women because in my hearts of hearts I knew good men still existed. If it were a boy I could not let him possibly continue the cycle having learnt from his father to ill treat women.

Finally I got a divorce from him but I had emotional scars that still run deep, the relationship stripped me off of my integrity but I had to fight for my daughter because she is the only precious thing the relationship produced. I want her to know that as a woman one should always depend on oneself, be equipped and capable enough to never be in any helpless situation. To know that she has all the power in the world to be whatever she wants regardless of societal oppression and expectations. Most importantly she needs to know that her brain is as good as a man’s and sometimes better. She can achieve all these in six inch stilettos just like mommy is doing now!!!