Seeds planted

Perplexed by the sudden switch in moods. I mean, this brother was calm in less than a micro second ago and now this. The same question is thrown back at me. He throws my phone on the floor. The conversation about this my sister (Susan) was on women’s health.

“We need to talk.” he said. “I received a message from John (Susan’s hubby)” I stare at him in silence. “What it means is that there’s something fishy going on. What did you tell Susan? ” I tell him that I was worried about “something” and I needed some fast remedies from her since she had a background in medicine. He burst into rage telling me that Susan can’t keep a secret adding that she “obviously” told her hubby. In all this I am thinking let me WhatsApp Susan and apologise for involving her in all of my problems. He sees the phone, throws it away and begins to shout. Imagine. At this point am asking myself, what on earth is going on. I thought i trusted Jane. But Susan couldn’t have done that, I trust her. She is trustworthy. What is Cain (hubby-to-be) doing. Why is he angry?

A plethora of thoughts, questions racing through my mind. Before I could get the chance to organise these thoughts – he slaps me. In shock, I hold my cheek, trying to understand if I had been dreaming or simply imagining things. Tears roll down my eyes. At that moment it hits me – this was really happening. I was slapped for the first time since high school. I drop my head onto the pillow. I cover my eyes. Just when I had accepted that maybe it had been a mistake, he throws another blow, this time is was much stronger, and his fist landed straight onto my lower left jaw. Felt a sharp pain that dashed from underneath my ear down to my chin. Immediately and unconsciously, I place my left hand onto the aching jaw. The pain was excruciating and unbearable. My tears begin to run down, uncontrollably at tremendous speed. Another blow went onto my mouth then the next which led to the other and all I could simply do as all the blows kept raining on me was to cover my face – the last thing I wanted was to have a blue or black eye – well that could have been proof enough that I was being butchered.

I just didn’t want the whole world to see the evidence written all over my face. He stood up, grabbed a golf stick, told me to shut up and stop crying. “Do you think all this crying will make me stop. Shut up and remove all those tears. Stupid!” Showing fear and anxiety, i did exactly what he told me. He went on to open the bedroom door, and shouted a bit further. At this moment my senses shut down, trapped in my own world, I hear nothing but loud sounds… He pokes me with a golf stick. I look at him, with trepidation. He looks down at me with fire in his eyes and commands me to stop crying. I look back at him, silently praying that the Lord saves me. It felt like my life was about to end…

My body HIS business. My phone HIS business.

I treat my phone almost like a diary. I record, capture and document almost everything about my life in there. Its my space! I am one of those guys who would go through an emotional and psychological phase, just to grieve the lost phone. Apparently, my fiance – the epitome of patriarchy – goes through my phone, every now and again. He says he does that because he wants to know the people that i communicate with, what we communicate and why we communicate. How sick is that? It was on a fine evening, a few minutes after supper – getting ready for bed. On that day, I couldn’t wait. I mean I wake up everyday at 3am – just to chat with hubby to be. This is the time when I get to see his vulnerable side, how much of a low self esteemed personality he has. At this time of the morning, he shares his fears, hopes and aspirations. It is when he needs a confidence boost, something that will help him get by during the day. He needs assurance. ……. Hold it! Am I really talking about a grown man or baby with a beard, who I take care of – like on a daily basis? GOSH!

Two hours later, I leave bed and begin the day, iron his and my clothes, prepare his bath water, clean the bathroom before he baths. Arrange the clothes that he will wear, in order for that matter, tidy the bedroom and the rest of the house later. Go to bath, clean the bathroom again just to be sure that it is squeaky clean for him. I dress up, and leave him ALONE so that he gets his “space” before he starts the day. Thereafter I wait for him while eating breakfast, when he is done, we are good to go. At 7am, I begin work right through to 5pm. As exhausted as I am, I arrive home and prepare supper. And the cycle goes on and on. This is how, exhausting my day is every evening.

So imagine, after doing the dishes, all I can think of is SLEEP, SLEEP and more SLEEP. After changing into my nightie, hubby-to-be takes my phone as usual and goes through my WhatsApp conversations. This is like the second time on that day. While I was preparing dinner, he went through my chats and came across a message from my sister (by default). He glares upon seeing the message and interrogates me about this particular message. I explain to him in detail, what the chat was all about. He frowns and goes to the bedroom. Seeing absolutely nothing wrong with the message that made this man get all worked up, I continued cooking. He refused to eat his food in the lounge. Knowing how moody the brother was, I eat my food quietly, do the dishes and prepare for sleep. So back to the time after I had changed into my nightie. He takes my phone (gently) and directly goes to the chat I had with my sister. He looks at me, with his big eyes blazing with fire and says “What rubbish is this?”

“Another” type of feminist

I am an Afro feminist. I abide by the African feminist Charter. It has been like so for over four years now. For most of us feminists, you grow up with ideologies that vary from other people in the community, family members at home, colleagues or friends at school or work. You are just different. You question everything you do. You get insight first before you subscribe to things in society. For everything there is always a “Why?” Yes! That’s me. My name is Joy by the way, pleasure to e-meet you. FYI e-meet you is electronically meet you though I find virtually meet you to be more, interesting with a bit of oomph! Growing up as the “rebel” or a “dissident” (in the language that my sisters from genocide fested countries would comprehend), I never really quiet understood why i was “the problem child”. Most importantly, why I couldn’t find a name to describe the things, the opinions, the frustrations I had about the way I viewed the world. To cut the long story short, I got to understand feminism when I was doing my undergrad. Yup, it all began to make sense as I connected all the pieces and joined all the dots I had shelved in the back of my mind. I began to identify myself as a Feminist. I felt liberated and free. I spoke my mind. I was daring. Unafraid. Super confident that I had found a voice in me that had been hidden for the longest time. By the way, no one will ever, speak or say things on your behalf. If you have issues to say, say them yourself because no one has the time to ever dare think that maybe, you have something to say. Claim your space, let the voice in you roar. So, that was me- Joy. I spoke. I had a voice. I had courage. Somehow, it seems to have vanished. I have grown so fearful. I am in an abusive relationship. I am in battle with the extreme side of patriarchy. The system is fast killing my spirit. I am bruised.

Welcome Back!!

Just a few moments ago, I decided to google my name. Simply out of curiosity, I wanted to find out what google had to say about me. Whether the information was true, false or mixed up. I wanted to know. Yup, the first page was accurate, the second was a bit honest, then the third page, the forth, fifth… the level of truth kept on fading as the pages went by.

Borrowed from Google

What captured my interest was this blog. I remember vividly, it was exactly five years ago when the passion grew. I was so happy! Fast forward… Today, when I went through that blog again, something in me was tickled. I smiled to myself and logged in. I am never stopping, EVER!