The pain we feel

On Sunday of last week, I got a mail to come home. It had come in a white envelope, in that spidery penmanship of my uncle Udeze.

The mail said my mom was sick and I was needed at home. I didn't know exactly what to feel at that moment, so I slumped and cried and then I prayed. I was in JSS3, and we had just begun our second term.

While I packed some small clothes and a few books I might need at home, I had this strange feeling of déjà vu. The melancholy was heavy, even as I left All Girls Junior Secondary School and made my way back to the village.

Uncle Udeze welcomed me at the bus stop and drove me home in his Mercedes. He broke the news in the car.

"Caro, your mama is dead. She died yesterday. Please be strong."

I searched so hard for tears, but they didn't come. Just when I noticed how surprised Uncle Udeze was that I didn't cry, I shook myself off the car seat and wailed. The tears still didn't come, but I was truly devastated. Broken.

My mother was buried, and Uncle Udeze took my brother and me in as our legal guardian. He stopped me from attending All Girls. He complained it was far more expensive than the school his children attended. And although my parents had left a lot of money and properties before they died, he said he couldn't afford formal education and sent us to hawk on the streets of Onitsha.

One night, Uncle Udeze came into my room and asked me if I had done it before. I was confused and told him I didn't understand his question.

He slapped me and asked again if any boy had ever "entered my thing." When I said no, he yanked my ear and told me to lie down and spread my legs. I obeyed him.

He pulled my pants down and dug into me.

I felt unimaginable pain as I yelped for help, but his huge palms perfectly covered my mouth so no noise escaped. He thrusted and thrusted until I couldn't shout. He pushed harder until I was in blood. He continued... until I collapsed.

Part 2

Uncle Udeze kept sleeping with me. He had his way at the slightest opportunity. He threatened me never to tell anyone or he would kill me.

On a particular Friday morning, one of those mornings when Uncle Udeze's children had gone to school, his wife to her shop, and Nnanna, my brother, and I were meant to hawk, everything changed. Nnanna was running a temperature and couldn't lift a leg. I decided to sell his own items for him while he stayed back at home.

I had just finished selling the first items I took out and came home to pick the second. When I was done packing the items and simultaneously arranging them on the tray, I decided to go check on my brother to know exactly how he was faring.

He wasn't in his room, neither was he in the kitchen, so I decided to check upstairs-maybe he was with Uncle Udeze.

As I approached Uncle Udeze's room, I was caught by devastating sounds. It sounded like the voice of someone gasping for breath. The melancholic tone of the sound made me more curious. I tiptoed closer to his door and peered through the keyhole and saw the worst tragedy of my life.

Uncle Udeze was forcing himself into my brother.

My sick brother was lying helplessly on the bed, naked, crying, and gasping for breath while he penetrated him with gusto. I was in tears when I opened the door in tears when I pulled off my clothes and told Uncle Udeze to sleep with me instead and leave my brother alone.

When he got up from him and threw me on the bed, I gestured to my brother to run. As he slid into me and thrusted, I began to cry more-because my brother didn't deserve that.

Two weeks ago, I had seen Uncle Udeze with Ifechukwu, the twelve-year-old girl from the next street who was in Primary Six. I had heard the same sound from his room, and later she came out with teary, bloated eyes, holding milk candies.

I always thought he wanted only little girls- girls who wriggled in pain while he swiveled his waist in delirious pleasure. Girls who wailed and called for their mommy while his ass cheeks quivered... while he climaxed.

I never thought it would be my brother Nnanna. Barely ten years old. Still too young for the pain.

..................................................

Every morning on our street, there are always noises - people fighting, people jesting and throwing bants, and preachers lamenting. Emphasizing the coming of Christ.

Uncle Udeze belongs to the latter. He always went on morning cries with his rusty megaphone, screaming and shouting, calling people unto repentance. Judging their souls.

Every morning, whenever I heard his voice condemning sin and pleading the blood of Jesus on sinners, I always resolved never to go to church or ever answer a Christian. My brother said Christians are devils, and Uncle Udeze is their leader - with his flowing robes and embroidered boubou.

One of those mornings, I had witnessed Mama Silifat fight with a man older than she was. A man who touched her bum bum while she bent to dish food for her customers. A man who licked his mouth while she pouted. She dropped her plate immediately and landed him several resounding slaps in quick succession. They fought sore, and Mama Silifat beat him with reckless abandon - breaking several bottles on his head, all the while asking him: "YOU DEY CRAZE?"

She became my hero. Mama Silifat.

Uncle Udeze sneaked into my bedroom the next evening and grabbed me, as usual. I shook myself free from his embrace and asked him: "YOU DEY CRAZE?"

He was shocked and piqued at the same time. He made to grab me again.

I ran to the spot where I hid the bottles I had picked after I saw how Mama Silifat used them. I took one and hit him on the head.

Surprisingly, my own bottle didn't break immediately like Mama Silifat's - so I hit again. And again. Until it broke and smashed his head.

I wasn't satisfied. I felt how it feels to control power. To exhume pain. To draw blood.

I shook him several times with the sharp edge of the bottle. Stabbed him down to his loins. Stabbed him over and over on his penis.

He was in his own pool of blood - unconscious or maybe dead - when I left him.

I walked down to my brother's room with so much peace.

I told him to pack his things. We were leaving for our mother's village.

"What of Uncle Udeze?" he asked.

"Dead. Now pack."

As I waited for my brother to pack, I looked out through the window.

The moon was getting blurry, and the clouds were gathering.

A perfect sign of a new rain.