The Day My Spirit Died

It is funny how something we have never seen before tends to be so alive, so active and so domineering. Almost as though it were a person.

The day my spirit died was like every normal day. I woke up in the morning and joined my family for morning devotion. Papa had already left for work at the construction site, so it was my mum, my two younger sisters and I that attended devotion. We sang worship songs, took our Bible reading from the book of Job and prayed for God’s intervention on the day’s path. Funny how seriously I took the prayers that day. Funnier how God “intervened".

After the prayers, I carried my bread pan and margarine sachets and headed for the bakery. I hawk, or rather, used to hawk 'agege' bread for a living. Definitely was not the best of jobs, but combined with Papa’s work at the construction site and Mama’s work as a cleaner in a well established bank, it paid the bills.

When I got to the bakery, there was a long queue. I just knew that Mama taking morning prayers would make me late. I later got in, quite late I must add, and collected the bread. Now the bad luck begins.

As I got out of the bakery, a heavy downpour of rain began. I couldn’t find shelter fast enough and I soon became drenched, my clothes fast becoming revealing. I ran and ran, but it just seemed as though I was in an open field.

At lal0st, I saw what seemed to be like a 'keke maruwa' or tricycle. I was grateful to the driver and told him my destination. He continued to drive, and then I noticed that he was taking an unusual route from what I am used to. He kicked the accelerator and kept on driving. I shouted and pleaded for him to stop, but nobody was on the streets due to the downpour.

After what seemed like an eternity, we got to a large white building. I was tied up and gagged. Five giant, able bodied men came out and carried me into the building. They took me into a room, filled with calabashes, knives, horse whips and native charms.

Then an elderly man came, and together with the five men, took the whips and the knives and whipped and stabbed me continuously. To the point of losing my conscientiousness.

When I finally came back, I was by the roadside, naked and alone. I could tell that it was night time because the skies were already dark. People surrounded and stared at me as though I was some masquerade in the village square. None of them helped me. They must have probably felt that I was an “aje" or witch.

Even to this day, I don’t know how I did it, but I managed to find a nearby clinic. They took me in and treated my wounds, but later informed me that I was severely raped and may not be able to ever give birth.

It has been three years since the incident. I no longer live in Lagos, but rather, I stay with my grandmother in the village. My parents, ashamed that their first child would not be able to give them grand children, sent me packing after I was discharged from the hospital.

I have not seen the need to speak, laugh or cry. I am an empty shell. My spirit is no longer with me.