Eighteenth day of April, 2009. I could tell it was about 9 minutes past 5, looking at my new wrist watch that unfortunate evening. Quite unfortunate, but it’s been carefully engraved in every facet of my brain till this day, and I'm not certain any therapy or medication can erase it. I stood there at the corner of the small cubicle I was fortunate to make a bedroom from; an uncompleted storage room whose walls were rough and had no cement screed rendering or plastering. The electric switch sockets had only the sockets templates with no electrical wiring or facility, a window the size of a small box, with a door just as big enough to prevent two persons my size entering at the same time. It was the most terrible place in the building, somewhere just by the exit of the corridor that led to the backyard. It was the last part of the building and could be easily accessed by anyone, especially if there was a break-in. Right there, just before the sack bag containing my ragged clothes, in that brief moment of lifetime excitement and joy, I stood smiling and caressing the only gift I got for my birthday—a pink coloured electronic wrist watch with digital display, and of course, which came from a friend—a neighbor, someone I liked and whose family was the closest thing to a family I had. I’d quickly hid it somewhere inside the sack bag containing my clothes when I heard footsteps approaching the door of my unlocked room. I could clearly see him now as he gained towards me. I was frightened. I could guess he probably showed up to scold me for not doing a chore to his satisfaction. Not like he had ever been. No extent of my doing a particular thing ever satisfied him. His constant maltreatment was more of a routine for me. He hated me. Even at some point I merely erred, I knew I had to prepare to be flogged, whether or not it was my fault. He shut the door, unlike his regular visits. My heart raced in panic, and I stood there wondering what I must have done to warrant a closed-door punishment. What could he possibly be looking for? What form of punishment would make him close the door? Even on days he threatened to beat me to death, he's never been bothered about closing the door, and yes, absolutely no one would come through the door to save me or check what was going on. It was just the three of us. My father was the other person, and neither cared about me. The look on his face became scarier and there was nowhere I could run to. I immediately fell on my knees begging; not begging to be pardon, but to be flogged on my palms already stretched out waiting for him to draw his belt. He gained further on me, grabbed me at once on my both arms and flung me to the naked pancake-looking mattress. I landed so hard I could feel serious pains on my head as the thickness of the already worn-out mattress couldn't support my weight against the floor. It was then I realized I was about facing something unusual, and unconsciously began screaming for help. I knew quite well there was no help coming, but I just couldn't resist stimuli at the same time as I was supposed to resist whatever this was. "If I hear another sound from you, I will kill you now and bury you in a shallow grave at the backyard, and not even your father will suspect a thing after I tell him you ran away." He spoke in vernacular. Those were his first words the whole time since he entered my room. The words reflected in my mind and all I could do was sob and cry bitter, silent cries while I laid there helplessly as he pulled down my underwear. He knelt over me on the mattress with his left hand pinning down my both hands, while my legs held together in-between his knees. I couldn't watch as he loosened his belt and pulled his trousers. I had just turned 12 three days ago. "Clean this mess up, and you'd better shut your mouth if you want to stay alive." He threatened again after he got exhausted and got off me. My body ached. I felt abused; of course, I was. My step brother had just raped me. When I could summon the strength to sit, then I understood what he meant by “clean this mess up…” There was blood spurted on the mattress around where I laid and in-between my thighs. I missed that I never had a mother, but was I the only one without a mother who went through so much hell? I learnt my father got someone pregnant and denied the pregnancy. A few months later, I was packaged in a carton, wrapped in a baby blanket and left by his doorstep with a note that said "Idara". There was nothing relating that name to the life I had. Drowned in tears and endless sob to avoid loud crying, I could feel my head drumming so heavily like there was a Caribbean festival going on in it. I was having a headache, and gradually, I drifted into a long sleep. That night I dreamt of how my father came back drunk and went right into my room, and while my step brother pressed her down, my father took turns raping a young girl who could’ve been my mother. "Idara! Idara!!" I jerked up, and it was my father looking so furious. I'd slept till almost midday, and I was already in another trouble before I could realise it. "You will be so unfortunate if I should return and find those dirty plates in the kitchen." He added. Plates I never ate from. There were those whose duties were to eat and those whose were to wash the dishes. Of course, the one square meal I had a day and the cubicle I had for a room were my compensation for all the chores and errands I ran all day. "Ubong raped me!", my mind sang repeatedly. How do I say it to make him believe me? What if Ubong kills me afterwards? How am I sure my father won't even punish me for making such an accusation. He'll believe a lie from a stranger before considering a truth from me. Of course, he kept reminding me of how I will end up a cheap prostitute like my mother, going about accusing innocent people of impregnating her and moving from one man to another. I was a constant reminder of how he loathed my mother. It will be a waste of expectations if I expected him to observe or questioned my shattered look. It would even seem abnormal if he found me looking otherwise. Unlike other kids in the neighborhood, I was awfully quiet. I rarely went out to play, and even when I managed to, I barely spoke a word. Maybe this was because I was the only 12 years old still in primary 5. Every other kid my age were in secondary school. I was one of the few in a public school, and there were terms I would stay at home all through, and terms I would only go on selected days because my father said so. Despite my age, I still lagged behind academically. Some terms I barely made it to class enough times to be permitted to take exams. Some, I will miss out on some exams because of another thing. "Have some peanuts, my grandma made them." Harrison said. I took them and muttered some "thank you!" “I asked my mum if you could come and stay with us in Uyo when the new term begins. She said she will have to discuss with your father" I stared at him for a second. What ever made him think I wanted to follow them to Uyo? Of course, his grandma was my new class teacher, and for the first time in my life, she has been the only person who took interest in me and was concerned about my welfare. She lived just across our compound in a bungalow fenced round with a black gate. She lived alone, and Harrison only visited during holidays. Harrison's mother was a medical doctor and she barely had time to care for Harrison and work. This made her put Harrison in a private boarding school in Uyo, while he spent holidays with grandma. "Do you think he will accept?" I couldn't say a word. I didn't know what to say, so I shook my head. Harrison was the only person I could actually talk to. Of course, it was him who got me the wrist watch. He was an easy-looking boy about my height and had good manners. His haircut was almost a flat lowly cut style with a little sloppy raise from the front towards the center of his head. His face was a cute round face with big lips. Even with his glasses on, I could still tell he had a dark eyeballs. Unlike other kids in the neighborhood, Harrison was barely seen outside the gates. Whenever he was around, His grandma made sure he didn't mix up with other kids nor seen playing with them. He was one of the few privileged kids. The first time I met Harrison was three years ago, the holiday after he sat for his First School Leaving Certificate examination. I was in primary 3, and we'd moved into the neighborhood just new. His grandma had returned from the market and was expecting them. She was about preparing food but she realized she had run out of match sticks to light her kerosene stove. So, she came out to the gate and saw me by our verandah and asked that I help get a box of match sticks from a nearby retail store. Just by the time I returned, Harrison and his Mum had arrived. "Have you not eaten since morning? Why are you so quiet today?" He continued. In my head, I thought I could answer all his questions and tell him about what happened to me two nights ago. "Were you inside your house the whole of yesterday?" With my head down and slowing picking the peanuts, I couldn't say a word still. "Come", he reached for my hand. "Grandma made rice and beans this morning. We still have leftovers. I'll dish for you." Just as he pulled me to follow him, some of the peanuts fell, but he insisted I don't pick them up, that he'll let me have more when we get to the house. I was so comfortable with him. I felt safe in their house. So, I will always tell him everything about me; how I was being maltreated, how I only ate once a day, how I needed to do one thing or the other before my father would agree to pay my fees my school fees. Harrison's father, who was a construction engineer had died 4 years ago in the Sosoliso plane crash from Abuja to Port Harcourt. At the time of his death, I learnt his mother was pregnant with another child who was supposed to be Harrison's brother, but she lost the pregnancy. This was also one of the reasons he now spent holidays with grandma. This made him wonder why my own father and step brother were being so cruel to me. I wanted to tell him I'm no longer a virgin. That I've been robbed of my dignity. The words couldn't just come out.
It was the last week of holiday for Harrison. Their school always made them resume a week before public schools did. Harrison's mother had visited that Friday evening so she can take him back to Uyo on Saturday and have him return to dormitory on Sunday, as was expected of boarding students. I was surprised later that evening when she came by our house to ask my father if I could go with them to Uyo so I’ll be enrolled in a new and better school. As expected, he turned down and said I'm doing fine with the schools around here. Of course, I was. In my three years at the school, I have repeated a class twice. The new Governor had made education free at primary and secondary school level. I knew I was in for another series of trouble. Of course, he had already suggested it was me who put Harrison's mum up to it. I knew I couldn’t let this chance for a freedom slip through. There was no one else in the neighborhood I could turn to for help; Harrison's grandma was the only person in the neighborhood my father had not quarreled with. I knew I needed to do something, but I just didn't know what to. To avoid suspicions, I quietly returned to my room expecting the worst. After Harrison's mum had left, he called me for questioning. As usual, there was more of flogging than questioning. What was the essence of interrogating if you're not interested in the truth? Later that night, after my father had gone for his routine drinking escapades, my step brother came into my room again. I jerked up immediately I noticed him. He'd shut the door behind and I was entirely defenseless. I turned to the other end of the mattress expecting he'll come after me rounding the mattress so I can get to the door. Instead, he stepped on the mattress and came directly up against me. All I could do was plead and scream. A scream I knew will bring no help. The only possible help I could get would've been from Harrison's family, but they had their compound fenced with a gate keeping them out from anything else that went on outside their little haven. Worst of all, they had their generator on, since PHCN, the popular power company who had taken over NEPA, had not brought light in days. At once, a powerful strike landed on my face that forced me down on the bed. I yelled out another scream. He covered my mouth with his hands and threatened to kill me if I didn't shut my mouth.
I summoned the strength to do my morning chores the next day, and returned to my room to continue drowning in self pity. It was about 2pm when Harrison and his Mum had set to return to Uyo. I could hear their sliding gate open from my room. Neither my step brother nor father was home at the moment, so I ran out to beg Harrison's mother to take me with her. "I can't take you with us, Idara. That will be a kidnap, except your father approves." She replied. Harrison was by the gate and came over to plead with his mother, too. "You can come over and stay with grandma sometimes, or anytime you want to." She added. Just then, grandma came out, too. "Idara, come. Don't worry, you'll be fine. Maybe next time you'll join them." Grandma added. "Mummy, but she can come with us and on holiday she will come back like I always do", Harrison pleaded. I knew what not going with them will mean to me, so I wasn't ready to let go. I kept on pleading, even as grandma came over to pull me away from the side of the driver’s door where I stood. "Your father is your legal guardian, Idara. If I take you with me without his approval, that will be illegal and I can be arrested. Stay here a little while and finish your primary school education. I will come and take you with us after you've had your first school leaving certificate. Maybe, by then, your father will have a change of heart." She consoled, and afterwards, folded four notes of 50 Naira notes into my palms so I could let go the car. I felt some relief, though, and I drifted a little into grandma's arms as she drove out gently. I stood with grandma and watched Harrison as he slid back the gates. I wished I could tell them I've been raped twice by my step brother in 5 days. I waved back at Harrison as he hugged grandma and ran back to join his mother in the car. That was my only hope of an escape fading away, but I had 200 Naira, and it was a very big money to me. Just as I walked back inside with Grandma, she noticed I had blood stains at the back of my flower designed off-white cotton gown. When she asked if I noticed the stains or have had something similar before, my mind drifted to the blood stains I had after my first rape incident. I wanted to tell grandma the blood stains were there because of the rape, but I couldn't find the words. "This is the final sign that you've become a full grown woman." She said. "This is the start of your menstral cycle. It is called 'period' ", she continued. I've never known what a 'period' could be. I never had an elder sister or mother to educate me on puberty. Grandma showed me how to clean myself and gave me sanitary pads. Afterwards, she made me have the leftovers of what Harrison and his mother had, after which I did the dishes and helped with cleaning. I stayed back at grandma's place watching the TV and I slept off. By the time I woke it was already 8pm. I rushed home and met my step brother by the verandah. I immediately slid the notes of 50 Naira inside my underwear. "Since they can't take you to Uyo, you've now decided to go and live with them, right? He said immediately I got closer to him. I stood there with my head down. I couldn't say a word. I hated him, but at the same time, I feared him. "I believe you ate where you're coming from? I better not find a grain missing from that rice in the pot." I took small calculated steps and disappeared into my cubicle. It was as if immediately I went inside the devil whispered to him to come for me. Of course, it was still quite early for my father to return from his drinking. While I was trying to hide the 50 Naira notes in the sack bag containing my clothes, I noticed a hand covering my mouth and the other firmly pressed to the back of my head. It was the third time and I could no longer struggle. A little after he had left the room, I reached for the sack bag containing my clothes and escaped through the back door. It was going to be my last time living under constant abuse. Oron town was just a 45 minutes drive from Uyo and would cost 100 Naira at the public transport motor park which operated till around midnight. At the park and not wanting to spend an entire 100 Naira from my 200 Naira on just transport, I lied to a few passengers that I was illegally brought to Oron from Uyo to be a house girl for someone, that I needed help to get back to Uyo. I was certain nobody at the park could recognize me from anywhere. Oron was quite a small town. However, my lie wasn't helping. The touts at the park were not willing to help, neither were the passengers. It was a common thing having beggars at the park even at late hours, and I matched just how they looked. I was aware I knew nobody in Uyo. I have never been to Uyo. The only knowledge I had of Uyo was that it is the Akwa Ibom State capital city and where Harrison and his mother lived. I did not know if I'll have a place to sleep. All I cared for was my obsession with getting away from my step brother and my father as far as possible. I believed when I arrive Uyo, I can ask people for where Harrison and his mother lived, or I can just ask the driver to drop me off when he got to their place. I thought Uyo was a small town like Oron and you could possibly know almost every family that owned a car, especially one owned by a woman. "Gud divenin sah!" I greeted the first man I met conducting arriving vehicles to the available garages where they can park. "Abeg sah, I am finding my aunty. Her son name is Harrison and she get fine car." I added. It was about 10pm by the time we arrived Uyo park. Businesses were closing up and there were only a few main roads with street lights. The park itself had no lights except for head lights from the one or two vehicles either arriving or departing. "You say wetin?" The man responded sounding confused. I was confused as well, and scared. What have I gotten myself into? Every person I saw I wished was either Harrison or his mum. "Sah, I come from Oron. I come find my aunty. Her son is Harrison and he tall like me..." Before I could finish, the man angrily retorted, "who send winch give me this night? You no go comot for here?" He had a strong typical accent that was unique to the Akwa Ibom people. An accent I myself had but will never noticed. Maybe because I was neither able to speak good English or Pidgin. "Aniekan, be like na you carry this one come from Oron. Abeg come help me ask her wetin she dey find." He turned to the driver. I knew I was not going to get any help from them. I was scared. But then, thoughts of finally escaping being abused by my step brother or being around my father brought some relief. It was really dark and there was no moon in the sky. I walked briskly as I approached the gate. There was a building on the left side of the gate opposite the gateman's post. It was a retail provision store and Convenience. The lady at the shop was just packing up and ready to close. The florescent rechargable battery light she had was almost fading out, and I could barely see her face as I approached her. "Gud divenin mah!" I greeted again, and of course, with an accent I will never know I have. "Aunty abeg, I come Uyo to find my aunty and her son. I no know where she stay and I no know any place to go." I stood there like a remorseful child, hoping this lady will either know my aunty and take me to her, or show me to where I can spend the night. "Where you say you come from?" She asked "Oron, mah" "And who you say be your aunty?" "Her son name na Harrison and she get fine red car." "You no know her name?" I shook my head, even though we could barely see each other. "You know where this your aunty dey live?" I shook my head again. "Wetin you say be your name?" She continued, and I could feel her getting frustrated. "Idara, mah", I responded sluggishly "Idara, who carry you come Uyo?" "I enter taxi come." "You don come Uyo before?" "No, mah." "Ah!" She exclaimed. I could tell by now I had endangered myself than I could realise, and this lady was becoming more frustrated. "Nsikak, mbok di 'se mkpo." She called out to the gateman opposite in Ibibio and narrated my story to him. "Afo oto uke ke Oron?" The gateman asked. I shook my head "You no understand Ibibio?" The lady asked. I shook my head, again. This time, with so much remorse. "Which place for Oron you come from? The gateman asked again. "Iquita. But I live for Eyotong road." I said, confidently, expecting them to know where that was. "This your aunty, she know say you dey come Uyo?" The lady interrupted. Again, I shook head. My confidence had dropped, of course. "This your place for Oron, who you dey stay with? You get any phone number?". The gateman continued at once. But I had no answer. Even if I was smart enough to memorize a phone number, it definitely won't be my father’s. Just then, the last car departing for Oron was set to leave and was approaching the gate. The gateman hurried back to open the gate. I could overhear him telling the driver about me. But the driver was less interested and didn't even bother to wait or hear from me. Of course, the gateman never came back. After he closed the gate, he went on to tell the ticket man about me, and I could feel everyone who heard my story sending their condolences already. "This thing wer you do na very dangerous something o." The lady continued. "What if person kidnap you or even rape you for this night? You know say ritualist plenty like this and people wer dey harvest person organs; what if them use you do blood money?" She continued, sounding frustrated. The thoughts of kidnap wasn't what I was scared of at the moment, nor being used for rituals. What I dreaded was the thoughts of getting raped. I thought; if I could, I will kill the next person who tries to rape me. I stood there with my head down beginning to regret why I'd ran away. Then the thought of Harrison's grandma came to mind. What will grandma do if she found out I ran away from home? Will she go to the police? Will she call Harrison's mum on her Sony Ericsson mobile phone and tell her? Will Harrison be worried if he found out? What if my father accused grandma of kidnapping me? Will he report Harrison's mother to the police? All I could think about hovered around what my actions could cost Harrison's family. "You go follow me come sleep for my house this night, then tomorrow you go go find this your aunty or go back Oron. You hear me?" The lady added. What a relief this was. Finally, I was certain I wasn't going to find Harrison's house that night, neither was I going to sleep at the park. "Yes, aunty. Thank you, mah." I responded. "Na your bag be that? Wetin dey inside?" She asked sounding suspicious. Of course, it was okay to raise suspicions. Trusting an entire stranger you met at the death of night in Nigeria could be recorded as one of the 1000 ways to die. "Na my clothes only." "You carry any money?" I wasn't sure if to tell her the truth. I may look suspicious, but I wasn't ready to be the victim. The last thing that should happen to me should be losing this 100 Naira I had left. But at the same time, I couldn't lie. I just didn't know how to lie. "Yes. 100 Naira, only," I said, managing my words. "Ok. Keep am well. You go need am to find this your aunty or to go back Oron". She reaffirmed. I wanted to tell her my entire story. I wanted to tell her going back to Oron wasn't an option. I wanted to tell her I'd rather live in the streets of Uyo than return to that cubicle in Oron. But I've never found favour with words. Even when I planned them. Some few minutes later, a car pulled up by the shop and the lady went over and spoke with the man at the driver's seat. I couldn't hear anything from their whispers, but I could bet it somewhat had something to do with me. I became more afraid. She returned shortly and said I should enter the back seat. She picked a few items inside the booth of the car. It was so dark I couldn't even see what car it was. I didn’t know what a city looked like, so I couldn't tell what Uyo looked like at night compared to other cities. There were very rare occasions where I saw Nigerian movies. At Harrison grandma's place, it was mainly VCDs from cartoon network and a few collections of Tom and Jerry. Of course, it was what every normal kid loved. My father only had a small Sharp CRT TV that had some V-shaped pole-like antenna attached to it from the top rear. On the few occasions Nepa would bring light, the only channel it could connect to was NTA and AKBC. It turned out the man who drove us home was the lady's husband. Himself, too, was a taxi driver at the park and had just returned from Oron. Their apartment was relatively too nice for 'an ordinary taxi driver' to afford. A-2 bedroom flat at Osongama housing estate. By the time we arrived home, her 2 kids were already in bed in one of the rooms, while she and the husband had the other room. I was given a raffia-made mat to sleep on in the living room. Apart from the few moments I spent at grandma's place, this was going to be my most comfortable night rest. She took my bag and dropped it where I couldn't tell and showed me to the toilet if I needed to ease myself. It was one of my longest days. "Idara, Idara, get up! We're going to have our morning devotion." She said as she woke me up. "What is that smell? Did you pee on the mat?" I was confused. What was going on here? I was about 3 years old the last time I bed-wet. But here it was, visible and clear. The area around stomach to the thigh region was wet and it reflected on the raffia mat, as well with a large round spot of wetness. I couldn't answer the question. I had no answer for it. I'm sure she wasn't expecting one either. "Get up at once. Fold that mat. I'll bring you a rag to clean up the place immediately before my husband and the children gets here." She continued. I still couldn't say a word. But I hurriedly did as she instructed and came back in to join in the devotion. "Go back and change that dress! Can you not perceive it is smelling?" I hurried back to the corridor to where my clothes were. They had already begun the devotion with choruses. I could tell they were Pentecostals. "Imaobong, Utibe, meet Idara. She came back with us yesterday from the park. She's from Oron." The husband introduced me to the kids at the end of the devotion after they had said their ‘good morning!’. Imaobong was about 9 or 10, and Utibe was probably 5 or 6. "She didn't have where to sleep, so Mummy asked her to come and spend the night with us. She will go back to Oron today." The children waved at me, but the sound of going back to Oron had immediately changed my countenance. I didn't know if to wave back or smile, but I just stood still. "Ima, go and prepare your brother and get ready for church. We're attending third service today" The mother instructed. I had never thought I could see a taxi driver’s family this cultured; living in an estate with other middle-class families of top civil servants and business people, kids attended private schools like Harrison, spoke English at home, and ate corn flakes for breakfast. Taxi drivers were supposed to be third class citizens who struggled to afford even the basic necessities of daily living. "So, my husband will drop you off at the park on our way to church. You'll wash up and join us so we can put you in a vehicle going to Oron. I'll give you nylon to tie that your wet cloth, so you can take it, too, and it will not smell. You will eat with the children before you leave." She instructed, sitting beside the husband who was just quietly flipping through the Bible as if about to start another devotion. "Aunty, I no want to go back Oron." I said at once. In my mind, I'd planned to say more than that. Tell her about my father and step brother. But my mouth could not process as much as my brain did. "Why you no wan go back Oron?" She switched to Pidgin. I became silent again. I couldn't say what my reasons were. "Idara, this your aunty were you talk, you know where she dey live?" The husband intervened. I could tell he was almost becoming angry. Nobody would be happy entertaining a strange girl who was already frustrating their efforts. Especially when they couldn't tell I might be a 'witch', as many believed were common. "No", I replied, shaking my head. "You know say na because of God do make I agree when my wife tell me say you need help for that kain night time. I come dey think say u fit be anybody daughter like our own Imaobong. If you no want make we help you talk am now. You go just enter go carry you bag and I go return you go park where I carry you. You fit begin dey find your aunty from there." He said, looking more serious and threatening. "My father no like me, and... my.. my step brother.." I tried saying but all I did was stutter and began sobbing. "Why you say your father no like you and wetin do your step brother?" The lady asked. "My father go always flog me every time, and my step brother he dey come my room come beat me and sleep with me..." I said, finally, looking ashamed. They were surprised, and they stared at each other for a while. "Wetin you mean by your step brother dey always sleep with you?" The lady asked, lowering her voice as if almost whispering so her children who were showering will not hear her. "First time he come my room that afternoon, he beat me. As I no accept, he force me and say he go kill me if I no accept. Then when he finish I see my blood everywhere..." I began crying. "I no want to go back to Oron. Please sah, please aunty" I progressed from gentle sobs to full crying now. They still looked surprised, and they understood the sincerity and efficacy of what I meant. The man's phone rang, and he picked it up, looked at it and dropped it. At this point, I knew how much my story meant to both of them. They were very surprised. Maybe they've never seen a raped victim. Maybe they've never seen a raped victim my age. Or, maybe they've never seen a raped victim my age whom the abuser was a step brother. The phone rang again, and the man excused the wife to go and answer it. She then called me to come and sit beside her. "Wetin you say be your age?" She asked, still whispering "I am 12 years old, Mah. Na 15 make me 12." "And, you go school?" "Yes. My class is primary 5." "Primary 5 at 12!" She exclaimed quietly, as if not to provoke me. "How many times your brother don sleep with you?" I was ashamed to answer, but I managed to say "3 times, mah", still sobbing. "Jesus Christ! Ubok Abasi!" She couldn’t help but exclaimed out loud. "Your body still dey smell that pee. So, be like Imaobong and Utibe don finish. Come make I go give you water make you baff. You go wear cloth follow us as we dey go church. My husband no go carry you go park again." She comforted, and I felt very relieved. Finally, the escape I always needed. As we returned from church, the lady broke the news to the children, while the husband drove, that I will stay with them for a little while till they can help me find my aunty. Looking at the children's expressionless face, I couldn't tell if they were happy to have me or not. But since they were not smiling, I guessed they were not happy, too. Where I come from, going to church was never an option any time of the year. I didn't know if we were Christians, Muslim or traditionalist. The few times I followed grandma to church in our three years of being her neighbour were only on days they marked as 'cross over night'. That was the new year's eve. My father had some respect for grandma, and he will never object whenever I was involved with her. I believed if it were grandma that asked him to let me join Harrison and his mother at Uyo, he wouldn't object so much. Maybe, even grandma didn't want me to go to Uyo because she needed me around to help her with chores and errands. Almost 2 months gone and we still couldn't find Harrison or his mother. How was I supposed to know she is a medical doctor at the university of Uyo teaching hospital? I have never asked her or Harrison where they stay or what her job was. I did not even know the name of Harrison's school. So, aunty will always take me with her to her canteen at the park. My sudden development of bed-wetting had become a habit. It even happened while I took afternoon naps, and the stench my urine produced were unbearable. I knew something was wrong with me but I just couldn't tell what it was. Aunty Emela was beginning to become irritated by my presence, as was any other person I came close to. Aunty Chiemela was Igbo by birth, but she lived and grew up in Uyo with her parents before getting married to Uncle Uforo, who was a native of Ibiono Ibom in Akwa Ibom but lived in Uyo where he did his taxi business. Even though aunty Emela could not tell me I had suddenly developed an irritating odour, I could tell by the reaction on her face occasionally. She had taken me in as a daughter and after all attempts to find Harrison's mother proved futile, she and her husband decided I resume school with the new session that had already started 3 weeks ago, so that I could enroll for the primary 6 first school leaving certificate examinations. So, they enrolled me at the Mbiabong community primary school, where there was free education, being a public school. They said they had not planned for my coming into their home, and so, they couldn't afford to give me a private school education like their children had, but promised I'll join Imaobong at her school for my secondary school. I was 3 years older than Imaobong, but she was already in JSS 1. Unfortunately, just a week into my resuming school, I realised I was 4 weeks pregnant.
"I think you should take her to a real hospital now. Moving her from churches to churches like you're doing won't help." Mama Akpabio said. A bright coloured woman who almost had a skin colour as bright as the interior of the oranges she hawked at the park. She and aunty Emela were more like business partners. She will hawk her oranges and eggs at aunty Emela's canteen, and sometimes, aunty will even help her sell them. Aunty, too, will sometimes leave the canteen at her care when she needed to go somewhere urgently, like the toilet close by. Their business both complemented each other, and neither sold what the other was selling. "Is there anything to hard for the Lord?" Aunty Emela questioned rhetorically. I could no longer continue with school, so I will follow aunty Emela to her canteen everyday. By now it was clear something was responsible for my incontinent peeing, especially with the foul odor it gave. Before I stopped school, a few kids will sometimes make fun of me. Aunty couldn't tell if puberty for me came with foul smell, so she was kind enough to get me some strong deodorant so I could wear before going to school. My first day at school, while the CRK lesson was going on, Rebecca, the girl sitting next to me screamed out that I was peeing right in the class. I wasn't even sleeping. I was nicknamed the 'pee pee girl' right on my first day at school. The teacher thought it was deliberate, even though I tried so hard to explain. I was reported to the headmistress and she made me cut a portion of the school's large football field as punishment. Aunty Emela took care of me and treated me like her daughter. She will take me for examination at local drug stores around the estate and we will go from night vigil to night vigil. Even though she will get me those drugs prescribed by those store owners, she will always conclude that Jesus was the ultimate physician and was capable of healing any type of ailment. The drug store owners could not tell what could be responsible for my incessant peeing, yet, they still went ahead prescribing expensive drugs for her just to make profit. Aunty kept complaining how they couldn't afford hospital bills or conduct tests. "I know you believe taking care of other people's children will make God bless you with yours, but I have never complained to you I needed more children. If God doesn't want you to get any more pregnant then it's fine, we’ll live with it. I am happy with the two He has blessed us with." I overheard Uncle Uforo talking to Aunty Emela from their bedroom. He had returned home to have lunch. The living room was separated from the bedroom by a single wall. It was already four months, and my health had depreciated inconsiderably. I had become unrecognizably lean, and had lost appetite for food all the time. Aunty Emela now stayed at home to take care of me while Mama Akpabio took charge of the canteen with Imaobong and Utibe helping out—the school term had just closed the previous week. "No! How can you say that?" Aunty Emela said in defence. She cared for me enough to argue with her husband. "You and I saw how that girl was harmless and needed help. You even said that she could be anybody's daughter, even ours." She continued. "But is she harmless now? Can't you see how all of this has now made you paid more attention to her than your own children? You've even closed down business several times to take her to chemist shops", "Daddy UT, you know we were only doing what is right as Christians. You've always cherished helping people in need. Maybe this is God testing us." She defended again "No! This is not any God testing us. This is you feeling sorry for the several miscarriages you've had." Uncle Uforo said angrily, opened the door and stormed out. Aunty Emela had suffered 4 miscarriages—two after she had Imaobong and two after she had Utibe. After a while Aunty Emela came out from the bedroom. I could tell from her watery eye that she had spent some more time crying. But I couldn't tell if she was crying because she was sorry for me, or for herself, or for the things uncle Uforo had said to her. I acted like I never heard their conversation, but I was sorry for her and for causing her family so much pains. I wished I could return home. Now that it was holiday Harrison will probably be at his grandma's. The only thing that was big about me was my belly. I looked more like a pregnant kwashiorkor patient. Aunty Emela had not given up on me, even though it meant displeasing uncle Uforo. It was going to be Christmas in 2 weeks, but my health complications was about to make this lovely family celebrate Christmas in an unlikely way. "Usen mentioned at the park today that there is a free medical care and treatment for all nursing and expecting mothers, organised by the Governor's wife foundation as part of her Christmas package. He said it's running for the whole of this week, and you get attended to by how early you go." Uncle Uforo broke the silence as he was having dinner. They barely talk these days ever since after they had that argument. Aunty Emela wasn't eating. She had also lost appetite and barely ate twice a day. I wondered if she only sat there on the table with Uncle Uforo because custom demanded she does, or, so that she could clear the table at once when he's done. Imaobong and Utibe had gone to bed. "I could take you people there tomorrow before I go to the park." He continued. Uncle Uforo didn't hate me. He only disliked the stress and unhappiness I brought upon his family ever since I arrived. These days, he barely mentioned my name, so he'll mostly use plural forms to refer to me and Aunty Emela. I could hear their conversation from the corridor where I laid. I laid there all day, the whole week, the whole month. I was bedridden, and Aunty Emela took care of me the whole time. The next morning we set out for the maternity hospital at Barracks road, close to the Governor's office. We went very early, so I got registered as the number 13th patient. It was from a mere getting close to the examining nurse, she could tell I had fistula—a situation they called 'Vesicovaginal Fistula' (VVF), in full. I wondered how she could tell from mere perception despite all the deodorant and perfume aunty Emela used on me while dressing me up. She told Aunty Emela that the maternity hospital does not have the facility to test or further examine me, that I will need to be taken to the General Sani Abacha general hospital, which had more facilities. So, I was taken to a special care unit and asked to wait for the doctor in charge. It was Harrison's Mum, and General Sani Abacha general hospital was an alias for the University of Uyo Teaching Hospital.
