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I was barely seven when he came to my room the first time yielding a knife. My big brother, the man who was supposed to be my protector threatened to kill me with the knife if I ever told anyone that he forced himself into my little body. “The person you tell will die too,” he swore. I was a child who believed a man who hurt me would truly hurt anyone I reported him to. I didn’t want that to happen. If my silence meant he would spare my life and the lives of everyone I loved, then I must remain silent. This is what I told myself every night he came to my room.
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My mother noticed I didn’t like to get close to him. She thought I was treating him that way because he was my half-brother. I wanted to tell her the truth but I was scared he would follow through with his threats.
I was usually, quiet, calm, obedient, and respectful but when it came to my brother, I was outright rude to him. I could insult him without cause or provocation. This behaviour shocked everyone who witnessed it. They tried to advise me to change but only I knew the demons I was battling every night. Cussing him out was the closest I felt to an exorcism. Oh, I used to curse him silently too. I always prayed and hoped something terrible would happen to him.
By the mercies of the higher powers, my brother travelled when I was nine years old. I was so happy when I heard he wouldn’t be back for a long time. I sang. I danced. I leapt for joy. That whole week was a celebration for me. I could smell and taste freedom. It showed in the lightness of my steps. When I laughed, it was hearty and untamed. My mother was surprised.
“Why do you hate your brother so much? Look at how you are happy because he is gone.”
He was no longer around to hurt her but I still couldn’t bring my mouth to utter the heavy words, “He has been raping me.”
I was 13 when T.T. returned from his travels. He ogled me, smiled creepily, and said, “Now, you are grown so we will both enjoy it tonight.”
His words sent chills down. I vowed that if he tried something that night, I would end him. He wasn’t lying, I had gotten old enough to know that the whole threatening me with a knife move he made when I was a child was a lie. I was ready to show him I was no longer a defenceless child.
At nighttime, I told my parents I was having a nightmare so I didn’t want to sleep alone. Before they knew it, I had dragged a spare mattress to their room and made a bed for myself on the floor. I did that for a week, at which point they got tired and kicked me out to my own room.
My first night back in my room, my brother was there. He tried to violate me while I was asleep. When I opened my eyes he covered my mouth with one hand and started threatening to take my life if I fought him. I grabbed the knife I hid under my pillow and reached for his neck. I wanted to jam the pointy tip into his neck and make a funeral of him.
I saw fear in his eyes when he saw what I was about to do. His defences kicked in. He removed his hand from my mouth and tried to take the knife from me. That gave me the opportunity to scream. I screamed loud enough for the entire neighbourhood to hear me.
“T.T. is raping me, somebody help me!”
When we heard my parents’ bedroom door open, he jumped through my window and ran away.
I was huddled in one corner of my room, shaking like a wet chicken when my mum and dad finally got to me. I didn’t hold back. I told them everything that night. They found it hard to believe that something so monstrous was happening under their roof since I was six, and they had no clue.
I showed them the knife and T.T.’s blood on my hand when we were struggling over the knife and it cut him on his neck. I pointed at the open window, “That’s where he went when I screamed.”
Still in disbelief, my dad went to his room, hoping to find him but of course, he wasn’t there.
A few minutes later, T.T. came home claiming he was in the washroom the entire time. His face was a mask of innocence. He even had the audacity to ask, “What’s going on? Why are you all up? Did someone die?”
My dad dragged him closer and inspected his neck and saw the fresh cut. When he asked how he got hurt, T.T. lied. My dad didn’t say anything. He just went into his room and brought out a gun and pointed it at my brother’s head.
That was when he confessed everything he ever did to me since I was a child. My dad was angry. My mother was broken. As for me, I was relieved that the truth was finally out.
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I expected my parents to have him locked up. They didn’t. According to them, it would tarnish the family’s image. All they did was kick him out and threaten to shoot him if he came anywhere near me again.
Although he was out of my sight, the trauma didn’t stop. I hated him so much. I cursed him in my heart every day. I became timid. I was terrified of men for a very long time because of what he did. I couldn’t trust anyone, not even family, until I was able to open up to someone who encouraged me to seek professional help.
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Now I am doing better. I have a daughter of my own. Life is good for me but my brother is a mess. He is a drug addict. Nobody in the family wants to associate with him anymore because of the disgrace he has become.
Sometimes I wonder if my silent curses worked on him. As twisted as it may sound, I have forgiven him. Now I pray for him every day. I wish I could help him become a decent human being but I can’t let him get anywhere near me and my daughter. I want to know if I can help him from a distance. If it’s my curses that are working, how do I undo them?
—Korkor
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Source: SilentBeads | Continue to Full Story…
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