In the darkness of my room, the only light that was coming in was from the flickering street light. My heart started to race, and I pulled the blanket over my head, seeking comfort under the blanket as if it could prepare me for what was to happen. Curling into a protective ball, I hid and closed my eyes shut. The sound of my uncle’s heavy footsteps grew louder with each step that he took, like a loaded rifle being reloaded. The squeak of the door announced his arrival as if preparing me to be ready for him.

“Lesedi,” his voice called out. I felt the weight of his presence on my bed as he sat down. He removed the blanket that was more like a protective shield, and his hand rested on my shoulder. A wave of disgust washed over me as I recoiled as he was wearing a predatory smile that made me feel defenceless.

Feeling trapped and frightened, I wished to take back the blanket, cover myself and hide under it again, but there was no escape. I closed my eyes, bracing myself for what was to follow, and the sound of his zipper and belt being removed sent chills down my spine as it hit the floor.

Tears streamed down my face as he undressed me, wishing to retreat back into my blankets. In silence, he lifted my night dress, leaving me exposed. I wanted nothing but to scream, but I couldn’t bear to scream, knowing that I would rather have him hurt me than let him turn to Zizipho. Instead, I whimpered quietly, enduring the pain silently.

The pain of his thrusting inside me is not as painful as when he started hurting, but the violation of his doing this to me is no less horrifying. As I felt my uncle’s groans, I remembered the advice of teacher Nolwazi to report anyone who hurts us or touches us in private areas, but who must I tell when my uncle is considered to be a respectful man?

“You are beautiful, Lesedi,” my uncle once said when he came to see my grandmother when she was ill. “How old are you now?” he asked.

“Fifteen.” I beamed proudly. I had just turned fifteen, and I was happy.

“You are becoming a woman now,” he said, looking at my pointed breasts and my wide hips that were starting to take shape.

But after my grandmother’s passing, everything changed. He forced himself on me just a month after my grandmother’s passing. Left alone with him as our sole provider, he used fear to control me, threatening my sister’s life and my future if I dared to speak out.

As he was done, he pulled back his pants and went out as if nothing had happened with no ounce of regret. The sting between my legs was a sore reminder of what had just happened moments ago. I slowly put back my night dress and held the stuffed bear that my grandmother had bought for me for my 15th birthday before she got ill, seeking comfort in it, and I let my tears stream down my face as I covered myself again with the blanket.

Most times, I thought about escaping with Zizipho, but fear and uncertainty of not knowing where to go held me back. This place is the only place we know, and my uncle’s influence in the community seemed to cloud everyone’s judgement.

The idea of seeking help from the police seemed futile; he is well known and respected by everyone, a pastor who preaches the word of God every Sunday. I feel invisible, knowing that no one will believe my truth.

My uncle had done his part so well of deceiving the world, presenting himself as a guardian while inflicting unspeakable pain upon me. Trapped in this darkness, I yearned for someone to see beyond his facade and rescue me from this nightmare.
***