"And she embraced the chaos as it painTed her life with purpose"
JH.HARD
Will I ever be happy? Will I ever be fine?
I lost my hope within this time.
I tried my best to be okay,
But I never felt that anyway.
I was on my way to a new beginning,
Then this depression started getting in.
Today my tears slowed for a moment
And the words began to flow,so I want to talk to you mama about all the things that I think you should know
I miss you,
I feels the pain
Of loss and grief and misery,
Of never seeing you again.
Sometimes l feel quite angry
That you left when you promised to stay,
Sometimes I feel abandoned
Because you chose to go away.
I worry that we failed you,
I'm scared l let you down,
And although you decided to leave me
I wish you were still here now.
I wonder if I could have done more,
Even though I know that we tried,
I understand this is forever,
I feel empty, deep inside.
If only i could have told you
That I love you, one more time.
If only i hadn't lost you,
If only this weren't goodbye.
Mama I miss you, it's really hard here.
Death changes everything.
Time changes nothing. I still miss the sound of your voice, the wisdom in your advice, the stories of your life, and just being in your presence. So no, time changes nothing. I still miss you just as much today as I did the day you died.
I just miss you.
Death shouldn't have been your compensation mama.
I was midway down the stairs, when I heard a woman's laughter. I stopped, heard the minister's voice this time, but it was followed again by that same female laughter. And then I saw them; minister and another woman.
He had started ascending the stairs, with the woman on his arm. Though not as tall as the woman that was humiliated in the house months back, they could have passed for sisters.
She was broad, thick, and athletic. Her eyes were too large for her face, and her low cut hairstyle made her already full face look even fuller. They both stopped talking when they saw me, and for a moment, we all stood there looking at each other, only two rungs of stairs separating us.
As if controlled by an unseen being, I stepped aside, and they swept past as they continued their ascent of the stairs. The woman cast a curious glance my way, but the minister, my husband, did not even spare me another glance.
Either I had been truly replaced as the object of his affection or he found no more need to hide his extramarital dalliances, neither of which was a good sign for me.
My time was almost up.
By the time Ibrahim had returned that weekend, I had prepared my mind for the possibility of being sent away any minute.
I had prepared to hear that funding for my brother's scholarship had been terminated and my brother and my father would soon loose the stand they got back home.
I had prepared to face the disgrace I would meet back home after news of my unfortunate marriage filtered back.
I was ready for anything, even though I was ready for the hell I passed through here.
But that evening, when I heard the familiar knock on my door, and I opened it to see that it was, indeed, Ibrahim standing there, I decided to choose survival.
I let him in.
And so began my new normal.
Willingly submitting to Ibrahim didn't make the ordeal any easier.
I'd thought that willfully giving him what he wanted would make him a little less aggressive with me, but that was not the case.
Not at all. Instead, from the minute he walked into my bedroom every night, he was my predator…and I was his prey.
But as the days turned into weeks, I grew accustomed to it.
It became normal for me to have him saunter into my room anytime he liked.
It became normal for me to be grabbed the minute he walked in, many a time without even bothering with conversation.
It became normal for me to be kissed so forcefully, his mouth pressing so deeply into mine and sucking so rabidly, I was often left with painful sores.
I got used to being pinned down on the bed, sometimes even by my hair or throat, as he thrust away with reckless abandon.
I got used to the agonising soreness between my legs, after accommodating his roughness multiple times every night. By the time he fell asleep each time, it felt like I'd been attacked by a wild beast.
Which I guess was correct, as he was indeed a beast in the very true sense of the word.
I also learnt the hard way to keep my mouth shut.
On one of the earlier nights, as he pinned both my hands up above my head, I wondered why he still had to act like I was someone who needed to be subdued.
"You don't have to hold my hands, Ibrahim," I said to him. "I'm not struggling with you."
The response I'd get was a blinding slap, which was followed by several more in quick succession, all of them so resounding I'd Actually seen stars.
Not releasing my hands, his thrusts had been more intense and frenzied, and I realised that seeing me in pain actually excited him more.
After that day, I never said anything unless I was directly addressed.
The good part of our arrangement was that he didn't stay in my room too long into the morning, and was usually gone before 7 am, leaving me in peace until his return later in the evening.
Once he was gone, I would sleep soundly until about 10 am, go down for breakfast, and watch TV till about 5 pm when I would have an early dinner and disappear into my room.
I kept well out of the minister's way and didn't even set my eyes on him for the first couple of weeks.
Considering the turn in his behaviour and the fact that he was no longer the loving man whose homecoming I used to look forward to, it suited me just fine.
I would often hear the voices of his lady friends from my window, but I soon learned how to block out the noise out. His affairs no longer bothered me.
This was my life as a 14 years old now.
Life soon assumed some semblance of normalcy.
I slowly regained my sanity and resumed my friendship with madam Maria and the rest of the staff I'd befriended before.
If this was to be my permanent arrangement, then it was something I had to learn to live with.
But I soon realised things wouldn't be so easy when one Saturday morning, after Ibrahim had left my room, madam Maria knocked on the door with a message from the minister.
"Zeynep," she said. "Wake up. The minister said you should get ready. You're accompanying him to somewhere for a wedding."
I sat up, surprised by this instruction, especially considering his warning for me to make myself scarce.
"He said to ask you to wear that lace he bought you," she continued, before giving me a knowing look. "I trust you to look your best."
I understood her message loud and clear.
If the minister wanted me to be his showpiece doll, then I had better look the part. And look the part I did.
By the time I made my way downstairs, dressed in the rich Swiss lace attire his tailor had made for me in the early days of my arrival, bedecked in the heavy white and yellow gold jewellery set he had also gifted me, and with my face painstakingly made up in hues of gold and red, I knew that whatever role he wanted me to play, I would pass with flying colours.
But the old man didn't even give me a second look.
"Assalemị," I greeted, with a slight curtsy.
He grunted in response, before walking ahead into the waiting car.
Mr Smith the driver smiled at me as he helped me into the passenger's side, and I smiled back. I could tell that, like the other domestic workers, he felt a lot of sympathy for me.
My situation was a secret to nobody.
Not even the minister.