WRECKED 40 The Watcher and the Guardian

She knew she was conceived in father-daughter rape-incest. Her mother, Biola, was molested by her father throughout her childhood and was fifteen when she was born. Biola was offered an abortion by a doctor who had asked her if she had been a "bad girl," to which she responded that she had not, because she really had no understanding of what her father had been doing to her.

When she was born, her mother said she loved her like a baby doll, but did not know how to care for her. As a result, her parents, Dele and Ore, raised her as their own until she was seven years old. At that time, Biola told her that she was her mother. Since she didn't believe her, she asked Dele and Ore if this was true, and they confirmed that it was. It didn't shock the little girl because she had a feeling he had been doing the same things to Biola, but she definitely felt ashamed and worthless, and wondered how her mother could really love her. However, she remembered feeling confused, and to help herself deal with the confusion, she would call Biola mama, and Ore, she would call Big mama.

She also remembered feeling weird when they were out of the house because Biola was her sister to the public. Overall, she still saw Biola as her sister and friend, even though she knew she was her mother.

Her father started abusing her sexually when she was eleven. In one instance, Big mama even caught him and threatened to leave him if he ever did it again; so it stopped for a while, until Big mama died of gangrene. The girl knew what he was doing was bad, though she didn't know the name for it. She knew that he was bothering her and she didn't like it. He was a big man and he was violent, so she was terrified of him. She felt so dirty, defiled and ashamed.

Mama was anemic and had to be at the hospital most times. She had spent most of her primary school years in hospital waiting rooms. The nurses gave her groundnuts and biscuits to pass the time. But no amount of distractions could stop the tubes in her mother's nose and arms from frightening her. She thought her father took care of her mother because he felt sorry for her. She hoped he had at least loved her mother in the beginning when she was a 25-year-old divorcee and he was a 29-year-old aspiring photographer who was working as a driving instructor.

He usually accused her of being spoiled and ungrateful. Friends often asked her if her father was her stepfather because of the horrible way that he spoke to her. She wished it was true, that he was not her blood relation. That might have explained the hate she felt. Yet he was her biological father. They even looked alike. Both of them were slim with long legs and strong cheekbones. It amazed her even then how much an adult male and a little girl could resemble one another. She couldn't look in a mirror without seeing her father. It was such a relief when someone told her that she was beautiful or that she looked like her mother. Her mother was attractive, smart and had a great sense of humor. She had thick, curly hair and wore colorful dresses that cinched at the waist. Her mom was a natural entertainer. The girl admired her mother's confidence. She liked to think she inherited her mama's best qualities.

The girl put up with the unwelcome attention of her father for almost two years. After his initial attack, she learned to stay out of his way as much as possible, and with her mother home from the hospital it was not so easy for him to get to her. But he managed, in spite of her fears and pain. He grabbed her whenever he could, and forced himself on her.

She was too ashamed to tell anyone, for she blamed herself for tempting him and withdrew into a shell, unwilling to make friends or mix with the other children at the local school. Whenever she could, she avoided school altogether. There was a shed behind her house where she could hide. For hours, she would stay there, curled in a ball, her arms wrapped around her knees, her thoughts tumbling around her head.

When she was almost fifteen, she got her first period. The blood confused and shocked her. It was just like the first night when he'd mounted her and thrust into her. Now the blood was back again. Bad blood. A sign she was unclean.

When her father found out he mumbled drunkenly, "We have to be careful. Can't have the episode with your mama repeating itself again. Can't do that." She didn't know who to turn to or what to do. Her mother was sick again and back at the hospital.

She loved her mother. She didn't want to hurt her, but she could not continue to keep silent. "Mummy, when you were in the hospital, Daddy took me to your bedroom to try on the new clothes he bought for me and then he got on top of me. It's been happening for a while," she told her mother on the bus ride home from the hospital a few days later, breaking into tears.

Her mother hugged her and wanted to know why she had waited so long to say anything. She did not have a reply to the question. Her mother didn't say anything else on the twenty-minute trip to the house. She thought now that her mother had learned the truth, she would make her father leave, or better still, they could run away.

At home he denied that he'd raped her, asking her mother how she could believe such a thing. Then, an hour later, he confessed the truth. Mama cried. When father asked mama to forgive him, she said, "I will try, Daddy." He eventually told her he was sorry, but his apology was too late.

Later that night, mama, after she had served her father his plate of hot fufu and vegetable soup, took her to the back of the house. When she dusted the wooden bench and they sat down, mama said "If your father did what you said he did, you have to forgive him. That's what Jesus would want. That's what I did. Anymore talk about this, consider yourself an orphan. Do you understand me, my child?"

She nodded. She understood. She felt utterly betrayed.

That night the girl cowered in her bed and listened to the guttural sounds of her father and mama.

The next day, she left home. She loved her mum, but she could not live under the same roof with her father. Their two-bedroom house had become too small, with only an unpainted tardy bathroom separating them.

She slept under bridges, despite being exposed to the harsh elements; she sought comfort on its concrete harsh surface at night. Emaciated and riddled with worms after being forced to live off scraps thrown to her by passers-by for eight months, she found her way to an orphanage where the matron made her to hawk pepper and tomatoes. They ignored her after a while, and she received no love or sympathy from anyone…

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Until she walked into Anaya's life…

****

Eni remembered the fear that overwhelmed her as her 18th birthday was approaching and she'd have to leave the foster home. She had become hostile to everyone, gradually shutting them out and waiting to be thrown into the world.

Bored one day, she was flipping uninterestedly through a gossip magazine and paused when she came to the picture of a beautiful couple, wondering when her happy ending would begin. A member of staff passing by casually commented that his sister worked for the Jubril Rufai's bank as a messenger and mentioned the boss was seeking a maid for his wife. It caught Eni's interest.

A few days later, with the address in hand, she found her way to the Rufai's part of town to meet the human resource manager at Jubril's bank. Two days later, she packed her scanty belongings and moved into the mansion.

Now, Eni walked to her bed and sat down with a deep breath. She had no regrets. Anaya made her feel needed and important, something she hadn't felt since her mother betrayed her. Anaya really cared. It hadn't taken Eni any sleepless night to make the decision to get rid of Kuku for good. What it came down to finally was that the primary consideration had to be the best interest of her mistress' marriage. Kuku was making Anaya miserable and she had to go.

She'd gone downstairs after leaving Hauwa's room that night and drugged Kuku's yogurt with the barbiturates she'd taken from Anaya's room. As fate would have it, Kuku came down thirsty, and with hidden glee, Eni poured her a glass of the drugged drink and bid her goodnight.

When she returned to her room that night, she was feeling better.

Not good, Eni thought, but better.

She heard Anaya and Jubril footsteps as they walked to Anaya's room. "All is well that ends well", Eni murmured, as she looked out the window with a smile of satisfaction. She picked up a book and began to read. Like her mistress, sleeping never came easy. It was something she tried to avoid; she still woke in the night, shaking and drenched in sweat. She still dreamt of her father on her, his weight too much to bear. She was always struggling not to stop breathing, struggling to push him off.

Chapter end