I still remember that awkward smile and his silent move towards me. Time may fail to recall all that transpired in my mind, but its worthy of mention that l was stuck watching his demeaning body movement.
I remember vividly the perf he wore that very day and the tone of his voice. His whisper “I love you” was scary. l didn’t shout at that time, but frowned my face in disgust. He cunningly ignored my disapproval, while placing his right hand on my thighs. His left hand tucked me strongly on the bed.
The journey through my thighs gave him access to the linen that served as a cover to my female gonad, l could feel it being reaped apart as he used his two legs to separate my tighs, granting him unfettered access.
The penetration was bizarre. He pushed his left arm farther, barricading my mouth while he took a ride of a life time with my body as his vehicle. His mouth agape, with pleasure written all over his face. My eyelid did the screaming, while my body succumbed in the wrestle. l lay helpless, like a soul devoid of its spirit.
The sexual assault lasted a couple of minutes, but it seemed like a lifetime to me. He hurriedly got up with his semen spilling all over my thighs. After exiting the room, he slammed the door. This was one of the countless rape acts l encountered with him.
I could not report this man, no matter how hard l tried. I felt l did something wrong to deserve this spousal rape. The guilt settled in my mind while my hands covered my shame. I could feel my sweat empathizing with my trauma, my legs were slightly closed and l felt a sore between them. All l could think of was how worthless I appeared.
In Africa, we are thought to please our husbands and do whatever they say. My tormentor was the father of my three children. In subservience to the age-long traditions, I am left to handle the marital rape with sobriety. How long will l hold on to this assault? This stigma is now a trauma that l fight every other day to stay alive as a married woman.
But then l realized l am not to feel the guilt and l refuse to wallow in the shame. My tormentor may go unpunished, but he too must bare the guilt, for he has become a beast who rapes his wife. In this marriage l have decided to own my truth and speak about my pain regardless of how l will be perceived in the society.
I am still married to him because of the love l have for my children. However, my husband saw my willingness to speak up if he continued in the illicit acts and the rapist is seemingly calm headed.
You can own your truth too