Through the eyes of the abused

“Forgive me, it won’t happen again.” She pleads. Pushing her against the wall he continues. Lying on the floor, “you bastard” are the only words he can utter. She smiles till one can see her last molar, while inside she’s yearning for joy, peacefulness and the love she used to get in the beginning of the relationship. “I still love him” is the excuse she gives for not leaving him. Gone are the days when he’d buy her a bouquet of flowers and whisper sweet nothings in her ears, she realises. Gone are the days when the only reason for HIM taking off his pants was to bathe him, he noticed. “Help me!” the poor little boy screams, yet his plea for help falls on deaf ears. Walking around the street with his head held high he tries to hide his pain, longing for the smiles he sees his peers wearing all day. Face battered to the last extent; “I fell off the stairs” is her excuse. How hard she tries to hide all her wounds from everyone, while the deepest wounds, the ones in her heart are slowly but surely killing her. “You made me do this!” he accuses him. Dying for his only hope, his mother, to believe him, “Don’t say such about your elders” is the response he gets from her. “Think about the family’s reputation” her father’s words echo through her mind all day and through every episode of abuse she has to endure. “Life before I met him...” is the tale she lives to tell. When he finally dies at the hands of the man who was supposed to protect him, “If only I had believed him” Is the regret his mother lives with all her life. When found drowning in the pool of her own blood, “we heard her screams every night” is the tale the neighbours live to tell. How I wonder, what the world would’ve been...had we seen life through the eyes of the abused!

By Zizipo Mbeki