I remember how we used to go shopping and have lunch together, stay up late at night and chill outside and tell jokes and riddles and tales. How I loved listening to the stories he told of himself when he was a teen. He was awesome. If only God had told me that it was all too good to be true.

My father did drugs and he would sometimes disappear into thin air for a while. But then it was never that much of a problem because I would get spoiled when he came back and it would be great.

My parents were separated then and had moved on with their lives. My dad had a new woman and my mom was still single trying so hard to raise me but it never changed the relationship I had with each of them – I loved them both. I was my mom’s and dad’s little girl and everything just fit in until that night… that night that would leave me wounded and left a scar. It changed my whole life…

I remember that night I was visiting dad and my cousin Ndumiso was there too. He was living with my dad since his father had passed on and my dad had taken him into his care. The night was random, we just told jokes, ate, watched TV and then went to bed. If only God had warned me…

I was asleep when I felt Ndumi undressing me. When I tried to react he promised to hurt me and commanded me to shut up. Being young and not strong enough I just sobbed and laid there as he had his way with me. I couldn’t do anything. I was numb, hurt and broken.

I woke up the following morning and the first thing I did was wash myself. I longed for it for the rest of the night. I wanted to tell my dad the truth but I couldn’t. I ended up telling him that Ndumiso touches me in a way that makes me uncomfortable. I wanted him to listen to me. I needed him to listen and hear my pain, to hear what I was trying to tell him.

But he didn’t.

After promising to be there for me, to protect me, to love me, he didn’t do his job. So if my dad didn’t listen to me, then what was the use of telling anyone else? My own dad refused to hear me, so why talk?

So I went home and I kept quiet. I couldn’t stop bathing and the only medicine I for my pain was my dark room where I cried myself to sleep and poured my heart out to my dairy. I was so hurt and broken that I couldn’t even pray to God about it. So instead I cut myself and it felt good!

For a while it would stop my emotional pain and I would focus on my physical pain, it was my way of healing. I continued to live life wearing a mask – happy in people’s presence and depressed in my own room. It worked in a way, so I kept quiet.
But life wasn’t easy, especially when you have your group of girlfriends talking about how proud they are to be virgins and how they would like their first times to be, and the thoughts of how you can never have that; crumble into your mind and remind you of how you were robbed of your own special first.

Eventually I could no longer keep it to myself and I told my cousin Lisa. She forced me to tell my aunt, who told my mom. And if somebody had told me that they would listen, that they would be sincere, I would’ve told them before creating this oozing wound in my heart.

My mother then had me make a statement and take blood tests, and go for counselling. And for once I was happy to have someone listen to me and my feelings. Even though my scars remain, I stay strong.

***

Tell us what you think: What do you think should happen to Ndumi?