A Walk On Thorns

CHAPTER 0NE

The hardest part about growing up is letting go of what you are accustomed to, your everyday life and opening doors to the unknown. I was only fifteen when I got my first job.

It was time to start something new and trust the magic of new beginnings. One is never afraid of the unknown, one is only afraid of the known coming to an end. I was terrified of what was next, life without my family and a new chapter.

I had just finished my Primary Leaving Examinations but due to the fact that I was from the humblest of families, I had no hope of joining secondary school. My mother then suggested that I get a job in the big town while my father tried so hard to marry me off. I loved school and the thought of dropping out hurt. I had a dream; I wanted to be a lawyer. I had met one lawyer in my life but every time Mr. Byaruhanga opened his mouth, everyone went silent.

He seemed to have it all figured out and I wanted to be like him.

A few weeks into my primary seven school break, different men came to my father with marriage proposals. He was excited at the thought of making “extra” money. Each time, he asked for one cow and two goats for dowry.

According to everyone else, this was a-lot and whenever he mentioned the bride price, the suitors did not return. In his opinion, I was educated, young and a virgin hence very expensive. Most girls my age were either pregnant or had a child. I hated the idea of marriage and was very happy when the suitors did not return. It bought me more time.

Before he could marry me off, Maria, a woman that lived in the neighborhood came home to ask my father if she could take me to the big town. Her sister had just given birth to her fifth child and she urgently needed a baby sitter. Having seven siblings meant helping my mother with them from time to time. This qualified me as a suitable candidate for the job.

This was a dream come true for my mother. She had always been against the marriage idea. My father saw me as another mouth to feed; any arrangement was good enough for him. While my parents loved the idea, I was glad it was not another marriage proposal. I did not know what to expect but at least it was not marriage. That evening, while my mother called her friends home, shared her version of the good news, my father did the same with his drinking friends and I was terrified to leave. I had never left home and could not imagine life without my darling mother, siblings and angry father.

My send off to Mbarara started with a very long uncomfortable conversation with my parents. They spent hours preaching to me about how I was now a big girl and had responsibilities. My father did his best to remind me that we were poor and therefore, they were all looking up to me. In his words, “Chase your dreams but never forget the road that leads you home.” My mother on the other hand asked me to take good care of myself and stay away from men. My baby sisters sent me for gifts while my aunty advised me to find myself a good, rich husband from the big town.

My first pay was ten thousand Uganda shillings a month.

My father had given me the specific instruction to send seven thousand shillings home every month. I did not care about this instruction because I had never handled money more than eight hundred shillings. The thought of having my own three thousand shillings to myself excited me. I was nervous about leaving home but still looked forward to having and enjoying these benefits. My sisters considered me lucky and wished to be me, my mother was proud to have a working daughter and my father was just happy he would not be taking care of me anymore. Furthermore, he was about to start making extra cash so life was good.

This was my first time away from home; I was very nervous and anxious. Everyone had high hopes and expectations for and of me, I was however afraid of the unknown. I packed most of my best clothes, which were three skirts, and the two new blouses my mother had just bought for my send off. I had never ever sat in a car; this was my first car trip, an adventure I was excited to experience. It was time for me to venture out and as I walked away, I looked back at what I was leaving. It was a painful process; sadness is saying goodbye.

Mbarara was such a big town, much bigger than my hometown. Never had I ever seen so many shops in one place let alone cars. It took us almost a week to see a car in my village and here, I saw them everywhere. It was so beautiful. Maria briefly instructed me on how to conduct myself as we got to the Natambas who were now my new bosses. I suddenly missed my home and the fear of being away from the people I loved and cherished crawled in.

As soon as we entered the big gate, dogs started barking.

Mrs. Natamba came out of the house to find out what was wrong. She was a light-skinned woman, very beautiful and radiant. She had long beautiful hair with a straight palm.

In my hands, was a polythene bag containing my clothes and belongings, as we walked towards her, I was suddenly filled with fear. She hugged her sister and as they laughed and greeted each other, I fell on my knees and greeted her too. She asked me to stand up and then looked at me from head to toe.

For a minute, she could not stop staring at my bare feet.

I had never owned a pair of shoes in my life. Shoes were for the rich, a luxury my parent had never afforded. The only pair of shoes back at home was my father’s which he only wore to weddings and special functions. I was not intimidated by her look but wondered why she gave me the cold stare. She invited us into the living room, which was so beautiful; it had a very clean floor and the spotlessly clean cream-colored chairs. I had never been to a house as big and beautiful as that. I then saw a box with people dancing inside; I kept silent, as I did not want to embarrass myself.

I later learned that it was “called” a television. I however could not help but wonder how people entered that small box and what kind of people unquestionably lived in such a small box. The thought terrified me. Mrs. Natamba offered us juice and I noticed that my drinking container was plastic and old while Maria’s was glass and polished.

She carefully asked me about every single detail of my life and to be honest, this woman had begun to terrify me. As Maria said her goodbyes, I began to tremble. I feared being alone with Mrs. Natamba who clearly already intimidated me.

I sat on the floor and waited patiently for her to return.

Mrs. Natamba later gave me a tour of the house. She instructed me not to get close to her husband and to clean their bedroom only when he was away. She was very critical about cleanliness and stressed the point thoroughly.

I was terrified because some of the things I was seeing, I had never encountered them in my entire life. The tour of the house ended with my bedroom, it was close to the garage and on the other side of the house.

I had never had a room of my own and a bed at that. The only bed that we owned at home belonged to my parents; the rest of us slept on the floor and shared everything. I was over the moon at the thought of having my own room.

I smiled as I carefully put away my clothes in the corner.

She took her time to brief me about my dos and don’ts and told me what to do and at what time. At this point, I realized that Maria had not given us a clear description of the job. I learnt that I was supposed to carry out all the house chores at the Natamba’s yet Maria had told us my job was specifically to watch the baby.

The Natambas had five beautiful children and from the pictures in the living room, I could tell they were a happy family. Their first child was eighteen years old and their last was a few weeks old. They reminded me of my sweet little siblings whom I missed so much. Her children were adorable and very smart too; they spoke good English and had too many questions just like their mother. By evening, I had met three of them and learned that the other two were in secondary school, which meant boarding school.

Rona was the baby and the other two were Ryan and Rena who were five and seven respectively. The first children were Rita and Raymond; Rita was sixteen and Raymond eighteen years old. Her endless cold stares were bothersome; she looked very disgusted by me.

Either way, I was happy to have a job and fascinated by everything I was seeing. It was a new experience altogether.

Never had I ever seen or used a toilet seat. When it was time to ease myself, I politely asked Mrs. Natamba and she directed me to the toilet. You cannot imagine my confusion when I did not find the traditional pit latrine I was accustomed to using. Somehow, she must have sensed my problem as she came and taught me how to sit and use the toilet. I was amazed at how weird it was and I wondered where the water that was flashed out went. However, what puzzled me the most was the fact that I had to use paper to wipe myself. Where I came from, we used leaves and now I was using paper!

This place was amazing and I couldn’t wait to tell my siblings and mother about it all. I met Mr. Natamba that evening; he was as tall as my father. I could tell he was a very busy man. He did not seem to notice me when he came home that day. After greeting his wife, he disappeared for the rest of the evening. I was so glad when I finally got to bed and wished that moment would not come to an end.

My sleep that night was very comfortable and peaceful. It was the first time I was sleeping on a mattress.

The next few days involved intense housework training and by my third day I knew what to do and when to do it. I woke up every day at 5:00am and made juice for the children’s break snack. Then made sure I had packed the right amount for everyone and in their respective containers and bags. I would then make breakfast and have it on the table by 6:00am. Next, I woke the children up, showered and dressed them, gave them their breakfast among other chores. Mr. Natamba was my responsibility too. It was my duty to prepare hot water for his morning shower. Get the bathroom ready and make sure the children were in the car by the time he was ready to set off to work.

The first three hours of my day were the most tiresome. The children were always slow and unpredictable. After they were gone, I had to make sure the house was clean. I cleaned five bedrooms each day, the compound, bathrooms, sitting room and of course the dining room. The cleaning involved mopping, dusting, among others. I later had to wash the clothes from the previous day, uniforms, and continuously check on the baby. Mrs. Natamba usually left for work at around 10am, which meant I had to help her take the baby to the shop, later return to finish the rest of the cleaning and start to prepare lunch.

Mrs. Natamba usually left a long list of what to buy and prepare for lunch. I had to go to the market every day, buy everything on the list and have lunch ready in time. At 1:00pm, the children and their father returned for lunch and after they were finished, I took Mrs. Natamba’s lunch to the shop. After that was done, I would return to clean lunch utensils then start to iron and fold all the clothes I had washed earlier. Put them in their respective places and then go to pick the baby from the shop for her afternoon shower and nap. The children returned from school at 4:30pm so I had to ensure evening tea was ready and hot water for their evening bath. By this time, I was usually extremely exhausted but still had supper to make, utensils to clean, do revision with the children and much more. It was so tiresome and by the time, I got to bed at 11:00pm, I was always dead tired. Mrs. Natamba never helped with the housework and neither did her children. My worst day of the week was Sunday, the whole family was always home and they usually had visitors which meant double the work. I hated Sunday so much and one thing was for sure, I was not about to go to church anytime soon.

Mr. Natamba came off as a good man, every morning he asked me how my night was. I do not know if he cared to know but it was always nice to have someone ask. He said thank you every time I offered him food or anything and every evening he still asked how the day had been.

Sometimes he did not even look at me when he asked but at least he did ask. I was glad to hear someone ask. To Mrs. Natamba, I was just the help so she only talked to me when I did something wrong or needed something from me. She had never showed any concern for me but insisted that I must love her children if I wanted to maintain my job. I kept wondering how someone could be so cold but then, I was just the help.

The children were sweet on the other hand, my favorite was Rena; she evidently loved me so much. She hugged me tightly every time she came from school and was always eager to have me help with her homework. I found myself taking time off to teach her some of my old songs whenever I could. She was just irresistible. Ryan on the other hand always had something to watch on the television and when he was not doing that, he was busy spoiling something somewhere. He reminded me so much of my little sisters.

Rita was a typical pampered princess who had nice clothes and shoes. She had no knowledge of housework but loved and related to me a lot. She was always telling me stories of high school as she sat and I did almost all the work.

Raymond whom everyone called Ray was just like his father, very polite and so handsome. He had deep black eyes and unlike his father, he always looked into my eyes when he greeted me. While everyone one simply referred to me by my Christian name “Martha”, he called me by my surname “Barungi”. I liked the way he called me Barungi; it reminded me so much of home. Ray was the clean one. He always did his best to make sure his room was clean and he washed his own clothes unlike the rest of his family. When it came to him, I only had to mop his room as he took care of every other chore. He was what I call a gentleman. He however intimidated me with his stares.

Unlike his mother’s, he was neither cold nor warm. I had seen that same stare with Mr. Natamba while I prepared his bath. I had turned around without his knowledge and caught him staring.

By my second month, I was accustomed to doing all the chores and making time here and there to play with Rena and listening to Rita’s stories. Sometimes Rita helped with the simple things because she always had something to tell me. The children were nice and I loved them. I had however never grown to understand or even like Mrs. Natamba.

She had never said anything nice to me and never once asked how I was doing. I was just a working machine according to her, and oh my God the words she said when I did something wrong. She slapped me a couple of times when I had made a mistake. I was afraid of her; she terrified the hell out of me. To her, I was some kind of enemy. She had never had anything nice to say to me and regardless of how much I tried, she always had a complaint about me. I however never stopped trying so hard to impress her and every time she yelled at me, I just missed my mother and longed to be home.

Ray loved to read. He owned a beautiful collection of novels and I really wanted to get my hands on it. I remember asking if I could borrow one, which was the first time we had a conversation that did not involve cleaning.

He politely asked if I knew how to read and I informed him that I had just finished my final exams. He later gave me one and in three days, I was finished reading it. I did most of the reading at night when they were watching a movie or something else. My first novel was ‘The River Between’ and I enjoyed every page of it. When I told him I was finished reading it, he thought I was lying to him.

He went ahead to ask me a couple of questions here and there to prove I had read the novel. I have never forgotten the amazement on his face. He started helping me with more of his books and I loved reading these books. Often, we took time to discuss the topics I found disturbing. Ray was very personal and reserved, apart from discussing books and me borrowing more, we had nothing more to talk about. Unlike his sister, he never said anything about his personal life or school. With Rita we talked about everything, she told me about her boyfriend and always had me braid her hair. She was my friend and like a sister.

With all that girl talk, I could not help but fantasize about my own love story.

Rita was in love with a boy named Jeff. She had never stopped talking about how she loved and missed him. She had met him through his sister Annie. Annie was Rita’s best friend and had introduced Rita and Jeff on one of the visitation days. Jeff immediately fell in love with Rita and so did she. Rita and Jeff often wrote to each other and whenever I went to the market to buy food, she forced me to take her along. It was on these trips to the market that she and Jeff met and he often walked us home. Jeff had just finished his senior six and was working with his father until he went to the university. Whenever Rita was with Jeff they laughed and held hands. They seemed to love each other’s company and each time they met, Jeff bought Rita and me sweets and chocolates. I walked slowly behind them and made sure they had their privacy. Every time their talks took long, Rita helped me around the kitchen to make lunch in time. Despite her manipulation and interference with my work, I enjoyed her company.

Everyone had warmed up to me except Mrs. Natamba.

One evening, as I was preparing milk, baby Rona started to cry. Mrs. Natamba immediately asked me to change the baby’s diapers as she was busy watching her favorite soap.

I ran to her and as I changed the diaper, the milk began to over flow. It was a Sunday and one of those holidays. Mrs. Natamba was furious as usual. She yelled at me asking if I knew how much the milk cost or where the money came from, she slapped me so hard and commanded me to go and clean the place. She continued to yell at me for hours and this time, I could not hold back my tears. I missed my mother in that moment. Ray had been in his bedroom when everything happened but he could hear everything that was going on.

Rita immediately came to me and whispered “sorry” as I served what was remaining of milk. I went behind the house, sat alone and began to cry. It was my hiding spot. Whenever I wanted a good cry or was feeling sad, I found refuge in that spot. A few seconds into my crying scene, Ray walked in on me and quietly sat next to me. I must have noticed that someone was sitting next to me because I gathered myself and stopped crying. I felt so embarrassed when I realized it was Ray.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“I have just finished cutting onions.” I immediately lied, trying to cover up for the tears.

“I heard everything mummy said.” he replied and I felt even more embarrassed.

“It was my mistake.”

“Of course it was your mistake.” he said “But it was wrong for her to slap you.” He offered me his handkerchief. After he had spoken, he stood up and walked away. He was a man of very few words. Just like that, he made his point and walked away.

CHAPTER TWO

For the next days, I avoided Ray as much as I could. I don’t know if it was because I was embarrassed or because I liked that he had worried about me. Was he worried about me or he was just having a mere conversation with me? I could not stop thinking about that moment. I never understood why such a simple act of kindness had a big effect on me.

I stopped mopping his bedroom mostly because I did not want to see him. I always had my lunch and supper alone in the kitchen. Apart from the time I cleared the table; I was never in the same room with him. I don’t know what had come over me but I suddenly did not want to be alone with Ray. I avoided him so much yet I wanted to see him.

I wanted him to ask me how I was doing and wanted to know what he was reading. What was wrong with me?

What had come over me? I wondered.

It had been almost a week since I had last had a conversation with Ray or even gone to his room. I effectively avoided him and kept myself busy enough until he finally found me washing utensils in the kitchen one evening. I was singing to myself and not thinking of anything at all when I heard his voice “Barungi my room is dirty.” he said, looking at me politely. I froze. “Am so sorry, I will clean it as soon as I am done here.” I replied standing up straight and feeling so intimidated. It was just after supper, everyone was going to their respective bedrooms. As soon as I was done with the utensils, I cleaned the kitchen and walked to Ray’s bedroom.

Fortunately, he was already asleep so I cleaned quietly and left. From that night, I began cleaning his bedroom when everyone else was either having lunch or supper. Those were the only times I was sure that he wasn’t in his room. I succeeded in avoiding him and I slowly began to care less if Ray saw me or not. He did not seem to even notice that I was avoiding him so it did not make much sense to me anymore. However, every once in a while I found a new novel in my room just under my pillow. Of course I knew where the novel came from. This gave me chills and made me feel so special. I could not help but wonder if he was thinking of me.

I didn’t understand why I cared what Ray thought of me but I found myself showering thrice a day. I started changing clothes in the middle of the day yet I only had three pairs of clothing. I tried so hard to get his attention in every way I could. I read each book he gave me faster than the usual. I always left the novel under his pillow whenever I was done reading and in turn, he left a new one undermine. I badly wanted him to notice me but on the other hand he never noticed my efforts. I had also learnt that Ray and his father did not have a perfect relationship and it hurt me a lot every time Mr. Natamba said something bad about him. I had new strange feelings for him and no matter how much I tried to pretend that I did not care, these feelings grew stronger. I did not want him to know I liked him. I thus acted as normal as I could whenever I was around him. I was the help and despite the fact that I could read and write, the thought of my position in the house made me aware of the fact that Ray would never look my way. Not even once!! This however did not stop me from fantasizing about him. I could already see my father bragging with all his drunken friends and my mother too. I still smile at the thought.

Mrs. Natamba usually complained about me to her husband during dinner. She always made it a point to mention my daily mistakes to him. Mr. Natamba often nodded in agreement or sat silently. I had never had a problem with this but every time she complained about me in Ray’s presence, I got offended and embarrassed.

The thought of Ray listening to how inadequate I was, killed me. I wanted to be perfect for him despite knowing we would never be. My mind knew there was no way Ray would ever be interested in me but my heart had never gotten this message. This one time, she made a scene when I had accidentally spilled juice. She barked at me so hard and I almost cried before everyone. I felt hot tears burn through my eyes and sudden silence at the table. I had never understood what Mrs. Natamba had against me.

Later that night, as I cleaned Ray’s bedroom, he came in and boldly stared at me. My heart beat faster with every step towards me. He stood in front of me and reached for my hand. I could feel my heart explode any second so I immediately looked away and continued with the cleaning.

“Sorry about today.” He said and sat on his bed.

“Has everyone finished eating?” I asked wondering why my voice was so shaky.

“No.”

“Why didn’t you eat?” my voice was still shaky and I couldn’t bring myself to look at him.

“Because I was thinking and worried about you, I thought you were crying by yourself again.”

The minute I heard this, I looked at him jeered and walked away. For some reason unknown to me, I was offended.

Maybe it’s because I was the house maid; he hence had no right to think of me or even worry. I however felt a rare kind of joy because the mighty Ray was thinking of me.

May be he just had a soft spot for sad people because I had noticed that every time one of his siblings was punished, he got sad.

The next day, I did everything in my power to make sure I ran into him but this time he was the one avoiding me.

When we met, he totally ignored me. Ray did not give me any attention at all. He stopped leaving novels under my pillow. This made me very sad and I lost concentration for days. Rita asked me over and over what was wrong but I just did not feel like doing anything or even laughing. I kept wondering why I had jeered and I could not help but wonder why it bothered me so much. I wanted to forget it all. The more I tried to forget, the more I missed him.

I longed for him and prayed he would at least ask me for his shoes or anything. I went around looking for reasons to talk to him but even when I told him the table was ready for lunch, he did not look at me. It was then that I realized I had a crush on Ray. I started to wonder if he had a girlfriend. I had never taken the time to think about the possibility of him having a girlfriend and the thought of him having one terrified me. At some point I realized I would go crazy if I did not stop this obsession of mine.

How was I supposed to stop it? Funny thing was I doubt Ray had ever stopped to think of me even for a second.

I remember wishing I would wake up the next day and not think of him at all. Fantasying about what I knew was nothing but only a dream was too much torture.

I managed to endure the next weeks and kept my fantasy under lock and key. Before I knew it, Ray and Rita were finally going back to school. I was relieved he was going to school but sad because sometimes, looking at his face was enough and comforting in ways I did not understand. I wanted to forget him and I highly hoped that out of sight was going to mean out of mind in this case. I settled into my old routine easily and with time I thought not of Ray.

My worry was to make sure that I was in Mrs. Natamba’s good books because I did not want any more of her slaps and abuses. Rona had grown big; being six months meant Mrs. Natamba was now able to leave her home since she was now capable of eating soft food. As usual Mr. Natamba brought the children for lunch and for some reason, I liked this routine better than when Ray was around. I seemed to have no destructions at all. I was still invisible to Mr. Natamba, even when he said good morning he still did not look at me.

One morning, I had just finished feeding the baby when Mr. Natamba returned home; he looked so pale and tired.

He had left home very healthy that morning so I wondered what was wrong with him. I had never seen him like that.

He asked me to bring him water and after very few sips, he went to his bedroom. By the time I came with more water, he was sleeping on the bed. I notified him that I had brought him more water but there was no response.

I tried to wake him numerous times with no luck and later noticed that he was sweating all over. Something was evidently wrong and I did not know what to do. I remember running to the shop to call his wife only to find the shop closed. I had no choice but run return home and face the situation myself. Where was Mrs. Natamba at this horrible time? My knees were shaking as I ran home. I was apprehensive about the situation. Reaching home, I found Mr. Natamba still asleep. For a moment I thought he was dead. I immediately checked his pulse using a local technique I had learned from my mother. It was then that I noticed he had a fever. I had witnessed the same fever with my father whenever he was drunk. I hence did what I had seen my mother do countless times. I got a wet piece of cloth and tried to cool his body temperature as best as I could. After a while, his temperature went down and I returned to my chores. I came in to check on his progress once in a while.

By 1pm, he was awake and he asked if I had notified his wife. I told him she was not at the shop therefore I had failed reach her. He asked if I had taken care of him to which I nodded. It was time Mr. Natamba and I had talked longer than 10 seconds. He reminded me of Ray. He asked me to go pick the kids from school and ordered me to call his wife home. By the time Mrs. Natamba reached home, everything was normal. She drove him to the doctor but never thanked me for taking care of her husband. She instead reminded me that I was not supposed to go to her bedroom while her husband was around. It was the first time I saw Mrs. Natamba cook and she had only made eggs because I did not know how to make them. I did not like Mrs. Natamba but I was glad that Mr. Natamba was fine. From that moment Mr. Natamba seemed to know what I had done for him and treated me with a lot more respect or so I thought.

Mr. Natamba tried to make conversations with me once in a while. I was aware of the fact that his wife did not approve, so I kept them short. He must have noticed but did not give up either. He tried to make me laugh and sometimes when he made a funny joke, I did laugh. I had even gathered the courage to ask him for newspapers. He was like a father figure to me and it felt good to be reminded of my dad. He however seemed to have no limits and he got too friendly for my liking within no time. He began to leave me money and asked me to buy myself new clothes and look good.

True, he was grateful for everything I had done to save him but it still felt wrong. I knew it was not right, so I carefully kept the money every time. I did not know how to handle a situation like that. I could not let Mrs. Natamba find out about it because she was most definitely going to skin me alive. I hence kept the money and tried to stay away from Mr. Natamba as much as I could.

The more I tried to stay away from him, the more he made all efforts to get close. I had noticed that it was no longer about him being grateful because I saved his life but rather because he had other motives. Every morning as I prepared his bath, he used every chance he got to touch my breasts.

He would give me compliments; tell me how good they looked and what he liked about me. On other occasions he would touch my buttocks. The worst was when he suggested I take a shower with him. I was disgusted at how a man like Mr. Natamba could stoop so low. How could a rich, educated man like Mr. Natamba associate and assault with the help when he had a beautiful wife and children that were actually practically older than me? It was then that I knew why Mrs. Natamba had specific instructions when it came to her husband. Who was I supposed to talk to? I knew my mother would be disappointed if I left my job and just returned home. The thought of losing my job was worrisome but I felt so violated. At some point I even threatened to tell Mrs. Natamba but I was unequivocally writing on water. He did not care or listen to me.

15th/10/2000 is a day that is profoundly engraved in my heart. The day started like any other, Mrs. Natamba had left for work and I was carrying on my daily chores when I heard a knock on the gate. I immediately ran and opened thinking Mrs. Natamba had forgotten something but to my surprise it was Mr. Natamba. From his facial expression, I knew beyond any doubt that something was wrong. He asked to follow him to the house and as followed him, I felt a sudden fear in my heart. I knew everything was not okay but did not know what to do. I followed him silently and as soon as we got to the house, he shamelessly started to touch my breasts. My heart exploded with fear. He made silly cheap talk about how I was beautiful and he wanted me for a second wife. His hands were running all over my body. I pushed him away but he pulled me to his chest and covered my mouth with his. I had seen this on the television. I did not know what his mouth was doing on mine but I immediately used my teeth to bite him. It was the only way I could fight him. He gave me two hot slaps. I did not see them coming. I however knew what was coming my way and that I had to fight. I continued to bite and push him away with every bit of strength in me.

After minutes of fighting him, he got so angry and because I was so little, he grabbed me by my braided hair and threw me across the room. I fell on the hard tiled floor. My scalp burned, tears ran down my face and the pain I felt was very tremendous. He walked to me and kicked my ribs and stomach over and over again with hands on my throat.

I was crying but I could hardly hear my voice. He pinned me on the floor and tore my clothes. Gasping for air, I knew I was going to die. I did not have the energy to fight anymore and before I knew it, he was over me forcefully pulling my legs apart. Pushing and plunging, a shooting pain went up my back. The minute I felt those sharp pains, I instantly knew he had succeeded.

Last thing I remember was pain and more pain. I woke up to Mrs. Natamba cleaning me up and began to cry.

I was so convinced it was a nightmare. I noticed it had been many hours later, I cried over and over and felt every part of me pain. I was no longer the virgin girl my father was proud of. I just wanted to die. Mrs. Natamba knew what had just happened. It was the first time I had seen her be compassionate. I had never felt so violated in my life like I did in that moment. I wanted to die or at least just disappear. I wondered where God had been when all this happened. What had I done to deserve this? Mr. Natamba did not return home that night. I never said anything to Mrs. Natamba; I just cried and wished it was all a bad dream. I did not sleep that night and every time I closed my eyes, I saw Mr. Natamba. I felt dirty and sick to my stomach. I was in so much pain and could not even bring myself to walk properly. I had a dislocated finger, my leg and ribs pained so badly but it was my soul and heart that were hurting the most. I could not stop replaying the whole incident in my head. The more I thought of it the more I wanted to die. I tried to commit suicide that night but Mrs. Natamba had heard me go to the kitchen. She had followed me and managed to stop me. I could not live with the pain and I desperately wanted to die. I had no one to talk to about it so I suffered in silence.

One of the saddest things in life is to feel broken. Although you have been figuratively ripped apart, you feel like nothing will ever be the same again. You cannot and will never be put together again. I felt a wound in my soul and a gaping hole that seemingly had no way of being filled. I felt so used and very dirty. I felt like I was suffocating from all the anger and it was extremely hard to breathe. How I hated Mr. Natamba for doing this to me. A part of me was also very angry at God; I wondered what I had done to anger Him so much to deserve this kind of punishment.

My heart was breaking and I desperately wanted this to be a bad dream. How I longed for my mother’s arms!

Rape is the worst thing that can ever happen to anyone, something I wouldn’t wish even for my worst enemy. The worst is when you have to see your offender every day, have the monster live and enjoy his life while you suffer helplessly. Mrs. Natamba locked me in the house everyday as she went to work. She feared that I would run away.

She had asked Mr. Natamba to stay away from me but regardless of her efforts, I could not help the pain and the fear I had felt every time I looked at that monster. I had asked to go home countless times but I was instead offered house arrest by Mrs. Natamba. I hated both of them and every time I saw either of them, I started to cry. Mrs. Natamba bought me family planning pills and forced me to take them. I hurt in ways I had never known and hated my life. She tried to persuade me with nice clothes and even raised my salary to 15000 Uganda shillings. My pain had no price but that was something unknown to her.

Days turned into weeks and then into months but I could not bring myself to get over that day. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the monster that had violated me. I remember going to the bathroom and scrubbing myself so hard that I bruised myself, hoping I would just wash him off of me. I cried myself to sleep every night. Sometimes I just wanted to die in my sleep. I asked and begged God to save me from the suffering, wondered why all that was happening to me on his watch! On the other hand, Mrs. Natamba had witnessed what her husband had done to me, I wondered why she had not left him for another man or better still just left him. How could a mother just watch me die with so much pain in my heart and not care? I knew she had never liked me but that was a shock. I wanted to erase that day from my mind which was evidently impossible so I continuously relived the pain and horror.

Nevertheless, Mr. Natamba never stopped raping me. This one morning almost two months after he had brutally raped me, I had resumed my work and was preparing his bath as usual. Mr. Natamba found me in the bathroom and as I was pouring the hot water in the basin, he began to touch me again. I wasn’t ready to go through that pain again so I immediately turned and poured the hot water that was in the sauce pan on him. He slapped me so hard and I hit my head on the wall. I started bleeding but he did not seem to notice or care. He immediately poured some cold water on his arm for first aid as I escaped from the bathroom. I ran to my room and started crying over again; minutes later he came in and told me that if I dared to tell Mrs. Natamba he would kill me. I wasn’t afraid of dying because I already felt dead. What frightened me was when he mentioned killing my family too if I dared to open my mouth or ran away. I thought of my poor mother and how much she had labored for me. I was not about to become the reason of her death. As he threatened me, I just looked on and cried through the talk and threats.

“Get up and prepare the children for school” he barked seconds later. Amidst the tears and pain, I got up, I walked passed him to the children’s bedroom. That evening he came home with some pills and told me I had to take one each day unless I wanted to get pregnant. He went ahead to warn me that if I ever got pregnant, he would make me eat the child. One can only imagine the fear I felt in that moment. It had been minutes before Mrs. Natamba came home, he told me to go to my bedroom and as he followed me, I knew what was going to happen. This time I did not dare object. He had ordered me to lie down and I lay there as cold as stone. However, the stone was crying. I cried through the whole rape. I could hear him enjoy himself and all I did was cry on and on. That was the beginning of my life in darkness. For the next weeks, Mr. Natamba raped me twice a day and made sure I was aware that he would kill my family, if I ever told a soul.

I was only fifteen, scared and alone through those dark times. I knew that if I dared to open my mouth, I would die and also be the reason for the murder of my entire family. I therefore decided to keep my mouth shut simply because I thought I had no other solution to this problem.

I remember wishing I had just got married like the other girls in the village. Every morning as Mr. Natamba had his bath, I knew I had to be there and ready for him. I also knew that every evening and sometimes during his lunch break I had to give him his daily dose of me. Every time he raped me, I just laid there like cold stone. At some point I had even stopped crying. I had come to believe that I had no other option. I had got fond of taking a pill each day but the worst was the pain I felt every time I saw Mr. Natamba. I had nightmares almost every night and irrespective of how many times Mr. Natamba raped me, I never got used to the pain that came with it. The pain was like a sharp knife that went through my heart every single day and despite the fact that he knew he was violating me; he always found joy in his actions. He also never stopped slapping and kicking me when I cried or dared to object even a little.

Mrs. Natamba never stopped her usual ways; she slapped and complained about me at every opportunity she got.

Not even the guilt of her husband’s actions could make her nice. I guess it was her way of punishing me for the rape by her husband. I did not understand how this was my fault because she knew I hated Mr. Natamba with all my heart. I remember her telling me how stupid and worthless I was whenever I did anything wrong. Each time we were in the kitchen, she would hit me with the frying pan on the head. I often cried and had headaches but had nothing to do about it. She often hit me with anything and everything she was holding the minute I made a mistake. This one time, she threw hot cooking oil at me. It felt like she was looking for every reason and chance to punish and scar me. I had never felt more unwanted and hated in my life.

Mr. Natamba loved his children more than anything. As soon as the children came home for holiday that is Rita and Ray, Mr. Natamba stopped raping me. He only touched my breasts and buttocks once in a while. I really hated this man with all my heart, body and soul. I remember vividly spitting in his tea every time I had to make it. I was angry to the extent that sometimes as I made his bath, I urinated in his water. I know this did not solve much but it gave me some kind of satisfaction. The thought of him showering my urine was a consolation in away. Ray and Rita had just finished their final exams and I was happy to have Rita around yet I feared Ray so much. I had a new fear for all males and this fear was intense. It was fear, pain and resentment. I ignored Ray as much as I could. I had never given him any of my time and even when I cleaned his room, I did it when he was away having lunch or dinner.

Every time I saw him, I saw his father.

Ray must have noticed the change in my behavior, I no longer visited his room to borrow novels and neither did I discuss anything with him. Occasionally he tried to start conversation but I was as cold as ice. I either replied no or yes and hated him as much as I hated his father. I was however still close to Rita and I liked listening to her stories. It was always good for me to get lost in her pointless stories. They helped me forget how much I had gone through the past months. Mrs. Natamba had made it clear to me that I was not supposed to discuss what happened with her children and I had just looked on as she had the conversation with me. I had never stopped urinating in Mr. Natamba’s bath water and always made it a point to spit in his tea as I served it. It was however not enough for me and I always wondered what I could have done to make him pay for his actions. Ray had been making an effort to talk to me for a while and despite the fact that I was so cold to him, he never stopped trying.

I usually made Mr. Natamba’s bath around 6am when the children were on holiday. One morning, I remember it was really cold and there were a few drizzles outside. Mr. Natamba tried to rape me and it had been a while since he had last raped me as the children were home for the Christmas break. My first reaction was objection and as I pushed him away, he slid and fell so bad that he hurt his spine. He screamed so much that everyone woke up to see what was wrong. For the next two weeks, he did not get out of bed. He was hurt so bad and as I made his medicine and spat in it, I could not help but smile in satisfaction. I was happy he was in pain but this wasn’t enough for me. I wanted him to see much more pain, as much as I felt every single day. Each morning as I cleaned the master bedroom, I had the satisfaction of looking at him and having the pleasure of knowing he could not even raise a finger to touch me. I however apologized mostly because I knew he would kill me once he was back on his feet. Mrs. Natamba had to bathe her husband and be there for him. It was nice to see the two of them struggle and better still to know Mr. Natamba was too ashamed to say I had pushed him. He claimed he had slipped and fell on his own. Apart from the fact that once in a while Mrs. Natamba yelled at me claiming I had not cleaned the bathroom spotlessly and scolded me. She had somehow found a way to blame me for the fall and hence according to her, the bathroom had not been cleaned spotlessly. All was well with me because I was confident the monster was in the cage for a few days.

Life was good, I had nothing to worry about, the monster was in the cage and I enjoyed not making his bath anymore. I seeing Mrs. Natamba stressed. I knew it was wrong of me but the entire situation secretly made me happy. I however liked it so much only that the housework had increased but if you ask me, it was all worth it. Ray and Rita had taken up more responsibility and they helped their mother with Mr. Natamba. I hated that the children were suffering due to my actions but was happy deep inside. There were times when I wondered why I was still living with the Natamba’s, most of the times I did not have an answer to this question and wished to go home, away from all the hurt and rape.

Mr. Natamba had however manipulated and threatened me so well that I thought my family would be in danger if I dared to leave. I however never stopped hurting and I cried every time I thought of the pain I had been forced to endure.

With time Mr. Natamba got better and everything returned to normal. He however never stopped touching my breasts every now and then. The push I gave him was not enough to stop him. It was coming to Christmas time and the excitement at the Natambas was too much. I had never experienced anything like this, all the children got new clothes for Christmas and they bought me something new too. I had never owned anything that beautiful before.

The Natambas were planning to baptize baby Rona and that was a big deal. In my village after a baptism, everyone went back home and it was the end of the story. The Natambas however had to travel to Kabale which was their ancestral home and they were planning for a whole big party. I was excited that I would be going to Kabale; I had never been there. Rita seemed so excited so this made me so hopeful too.

We travelled to Kabale on 23rd December and I loved Kabale so much, it reminded me of home. The Natamba’s were so rich to the extent that the village had its own help so I was basically in charge of the children and that was all. The cooking and cleaning was done by the help we had found in the village. I was finally free to play with Rita and Ryan and Rena. I loved being there so much.

The Kabale family was so big; Mr. Natamba’s brothers had come for Christmas with their children and wives too. It was a competition of who wore best between the wives and who lived best. The Natambas were gone most of the day and even when they were around, they did not reach the help quarters. I made friends with my fellow help and whenever the Natamba’s were having supper or a sleep, we stayed up late to roast maize and cassava. We had walks in Kabale town and I enjoyed the market so much. One of my favorite new friends was Stella. With her, we would laugh and make all sorts of jokes about Mrs. Natamba.

I had however never had the courage to tell her about my rape stories. I feared she would resent and knew her perspective of me would change. As time went by, I had less time with Rita and the rest and liked being with my fellow maids.

I had begun to think Mr. Natamba had forgotten about me since I did not see him most of the time. On Rona’s baptism, the day had started so well, we woke up at 5am to start the preparations of the party. The catering team that had been hired for the function came early enough to start the cooking as the rest of us cleaned and organized the home. I’d never attended such parties so I was so excited.

After church, the party began and they had very many guests. I was so happy to have no chores that day. I ate as much as I could and had lots of soda. I had 5 bottles of different kinds of soda but blame me not; I had never seen so many drinks in one place. The party was amazing and the guests began to leave at night.

Everything was okay until Stella told me Mr. Natamba wanted to see me. “Why?” I asked and she told me she did not know and that he was with his brothers at the back of the house. I walked there, feeling so much fear.

A part of me knew that nothing good would come out of this. However, my consolation was that he was not at least alone so could not do anything to me. I got there and immediately noticed they were all drunk.

“This is my Martha, she is sweeter than all your girls.” he shouted shamelessly.

“How old is she?” Rogers, his elder brother asked.

“Who cares how old she is, I just want to know if she is as sweet as you say.” Tom replied and I started panicking. I knew what was going to happen. I did not know what to do but run. The thought of four men freaked me out so I began to run. I had made a few steps when Tom caught up with me so I began to scream, calling for Stella.

Tom immediately covered my mouth and nose with his hand. I was suffocating and as I fought to free my nose, Mr. Natamba reached for me and slapped me so hard in the face. It had been around 2am and I knew what was about to happen to me. I was not about to accept this so I tried to run again and Mr. Natamba pushed me to the wall. I hit the wall so hard and despite the pain I was in, I still tried to scream. I could feel blood running down my neck and the pain was enormous. I kept wondering how anyone could be this insensitive. I remember Tom taking his shirt off and using it to cover my mouth. I could not believe this was happening to me. Rogers, who was still sitting, stood up and walked to me. He was about to kiss me when he suddenly stopped and asked Mr. Natamba if I brushed my teeth and they all laughed. He later started touching me roughly and Tom joined him. They started undressing me and I fought as hard as I could to free myself.

Dick, the fourth man poured his beer on my face as his brothers cheered. He licked the beer off my face and I have never forgotten his disgusting breath. They brutally tired my hands and raped me in turns. They did it forcefully and roughly. They laughed and threw jokes here and there and as they enjoyed themselves and laughed; I began to think of the many ways I would later kill myself if they ever got done with me. I was prepared to end my life. I did not want to live in this misery anymore. Mr. Natamba had raped and hit me countless times before but this was by far the worst I had been through. I knew my solution was to kill myself, I contemplated leaving but I practically had no money on me, they basically had me in their trap.

It was the worst pain I have ever experienced. I felt like and object that was meant to be used anyhow and in anyway, I felt disrespected, I felt used, and I felt like some kind of rag that anyone could pass around. I felt powerless and worthless, I felt like I did not deserve to live, I felt like I needed an answer to why this was happening to me and I felt so cheap. This was more than I could take.

After having their fun with me, they all walked away and I sat there in the cold crying. I did not know what to do; I honestly wished I would just drop dead. I wished I could disappear and as I sat there till morning I questioned everything I believed in. What kind of life was I living and why me of all people? It was very excruciating. I did not say a word and no one asked what had happened to me. Stella did not even ask why I had not come back the previous night. I don’t know if she even noticed that I did not come to bed. In that moment, I knew these were not my people.

They did not care about me, everyone was there to work and make money and I was there to be used. I was very sure they had heard me crying and calling out but no one had come to my rescue. They were just talking behind my back and none of them had the audacity to talk to me. I knew I was alone and regardless of the fact that we were all help, everyone had chosen to ignore me and fight their own battles.

Having realized that no one cared to know what happened to me or if I was even around, I felt like proving to them that I was not just an object meant to be exploited and passed around as they pleased. I badly needed to prove to everyone that I was more than a maid and I deserved respect. I knew that these people were my bosses and I was just the help but it never meant that they could use me as much as they wanted. I was however determined to prove to them that I was as human as they were and I had as much authority and power as they did to turn my life around. How I hated all men! My respect for my father had reduced too. I kept wondering if he was capable of doing the same to another child. I was all alone that was for sure. I had initially wanted to kill myself but now wanted to get my revenge.

I did not know how I was going to get my revenge. I was very much aware that I could not go home to my parents; first Mr. Natamba had made it clear that he would kill my family if I dared to speak up or even escape. Secondly, I knew that once I was home, my father would still try to marry me off. This truth reminded me that I was no longer a virgin which would definitely make my parents the embarrassment of the village. I was not ready to have my mother go through that kind of shame so I decided to stay and die or make something of me. I had long given up on the belief in God. I never understood how he could let me go through that much pain. If surely there was a God who loved me so much how could he watch me go through that much pain?

After that dreadful night, Mr. Natamba and his brothers went back to their families and acted like nothing had happened.

They did not even notice me and I wanted them as far away from me as they could possibly be. I had emotionally withdrawn from everyone and did not talk much anymore.

I had come to accept that I was alone and did not want to pretend that I had friends here yet no one had even noticed or cared to talk about what had happened to me. I stopped spending my time with Stella and Rita too. Maybe Rita was innocent but she was the monsters daughter and that was enough for me to hate her. Every time I saw her, I saw her father which made me very cold to her. I never smiled with any of them and did not want anyone around me.

I spent most of my free time in bed or sitting by myself behind the house. During that same time Mrs. Natamba got complaints that something was wrong with me especially from the children and when she asked what the matter was, I just asked her to grant me permission to see my family. I took the time to explain to her that I missed them so much.

She however did not care but I guess once she noticed the consistence in my behavior, she decided a few false promises would not hurt. She convinced me I would go home once the children returned to school and there was less house work. I was ready to wait. All I needed was to hug my mother and tell her all my pains and troubles. I knew this was nothing but a lie, I however chose to believe because I desperately needed something to give me hope.

Every morning I woke up and said a silent prayer “Save me Jesus, I cannot take this anymore.” Despite the many times I said this, I never once believed in my own prayer; I had come to believe that God had abandoned me. It was the only explanation for the constant suffering I was going through.

The rage and bitterness had robbed me of every belief I held.

I was a child like any other so I did not understand why this was specifically happening to me. I longed for answers but never got any. The pain I felt, only got worse. It felt like a sharp knife was going through my heart every time I thought about my life which was often. I was never the same after those rapes and the fact that I had to see the faces of the animals that had raped me frustrated and depressed me the more.

CHAPTER THREE

I had always heard that pregnant women did not get their menstrual periods and that they always got sick all the time. It however never crossed my mind because I had been taking the compulsory pills for four months now. I had been taking it faithfully because Mr. Natamba had made it clear that he would kill and make me eat the baby if I ever got pregnant. So, I was so shocked when Mrs. Natamba told me I was pregnant. I had been vomiting and feeling dizzy for weeks when Mrs. Natamba decided to take me to hospital. After a few check-ups, we were told I was pregnant.

“Pregnant?” she shouted and I have never forgotten the look on her face. It was a knowing look. She knew why I was pregnant and for once she seemed ready to confront the man responsible.

“Yes, your daughter is pregnant. May I ask how old she is?” the doctor asked politely.

“She is not my daughter, she is my house girl.”

She replied looking away. I could tell that she was hurt and disappointed. I loved that she was hurting because she had been there when Mr. Natamba first raped me and she had done nothing about it. What worried me was; I did not know who the father to the baby was. I had been raped by four different men in the past two months. I knew I was going to eat the baby like Mr. Natamba had always promised. I could not help but enjoy the agony I saw in Mrs. Natamba’s eyes. I loved every bit of it.

“Doctor this girl is thirteen years old, she cannot have the baby.” I heard Mrs. Natamba whisper to the doctor.

“Do you know who is responsible for the pregnancy?

That man should be arrested.”

“The man responsible is seventeen years old, I don’t think the police will help.”

“What do you want us to do in this case?”

“Doctor this girl is too young to give birth, can’t we abort this baby?” She boldly suggested.

“Am sorry madam but we cannot help you with that.” Mrs. Natamba looked at me with an angry look I knew so well and I silently stared at the floor.

She later commanded me to go home and as I walked home, I thought about escaping countless times. I could not believe I was pregnant, I began to cry as I walked slowly, asking God why me? I thought of my father’s reaction if he ever learnt that I was pregnant and I knew my mother would be the laughing stock of the village. I just wanted to die that moment. I walked silently and slowly. I was pregnant and I did not know which one of the bastards could have been the father. Was it Tom, Dick, Roger or Mr. Natamba? I could not imagine I was in this position. I had been my father’s pride and he had treated and looked at me like his treasure. I was sad and this sadness was different from what I had felt before.

I got home and returned to my chores. I was in tears the whole time, while the other children were at school, Ray was home. He had been on holiday and was awaiting to join university in a few months. He asked me over and over again what was wrong but I never found the guts to tell him. I badly wanted to throw the actions of his family in his face. Regardless, I ignored him and continued with my chores. He had seen me leave with his mother that morning so I did not care what he thought. A part of me knew Ray had a soft spot for me because of the many times he helped me with the chores and how he often asked me how I was doing. Our connection was beyond me borrowing his books to read, he usually told me about all the funny things he had read and sometimes he came to me smiling and said “Barungi you have to read this.” I usually found this very sweet and liked it a lot so when he asked me what was wrong I cried and walked away.

“Are you feeling sick?” he asked as I walked away.

“No” I replied without looking at him.

“Why are you crying then? Did mummy yell at you?” he continued to ask, following me around the house.

“No.”

“Did something bad happen on your way back?”

“No.”

“What is wrong then?”

“Nothing”

“Are you trying to imply that you just felt like crying.”

“No.”

“Is it something I did”

“No.”

“Did someone anger you?”

“No.”

“Will you tell me what is wrong?” he shouted and pulled my arm forcing me to turn and face him.

I stood there, looking at him, I wanted to tell him his father was a monster, and I wanted to tell him I hated him and wanted to die but I just stood there and looked at him.

I was still crying and could tell he was worried from the look in his eyes. His eyes reminded me of his father and I immediately thought of the monster he was. Thus, I stood there and just looked at him.

“Talk to me Barungi” he said again and again, pleading with me at some point.

“Leave me alone” I shouted at him and walked to the kitchen. Ray did not follow me or ask any more questions.

He just walked to his bedroom and did not come out.

When it got to lunch time, Mr. Natamba came home with the kids as usual and after they had finished eating, he ordered Ray to take the kids back to school. As soon as Ray had left with the children I knew my life was finished.

Mr. Natamba called me to the dining room and as I walked there I wondered if he knew I was pregnant or if was just calling me for my daily rape. I was scared. As soon as I got to the dining room, I read the anger on his face and could tell he definitely knew I was pregnant. He was going to make me eat the unborn child. He stood up and walked towards me, he was bellowing. At this moment, I did not even care about what was going to happen to me. He slapped me countless times and threw at me everything he grabbed. He threw cups, plates, chairs, anything that was in his reach. He later grabbed me by my hair and pushed me so hard and as I fell on the ground, I knew I was not going to live to tell the story. He kicked me countless times in the stomach and as I screamed and cried, I knew this was definitely the end of me. I knew I was going to die.

He kicked me many times and later punched my stomach as he shouted all sorts of insults at me. The worst part was when he strangled me; I gasped for each breath as I begged him to stop and cried for his mercy. I kept calling for my mother and slowly felt I was losing my breath and one step closer to my grave.

I vividly remember waking up to too much pain and finding myself in hospital. I was surprised that I was alive but still wished I had died. Mrs. Natamba was sitting there and as soon as she noticed I was a wake, she immediately told me to keep my mouth shut and threatened to kill my mother if I did not. She asked me to lie that I had been attacked by thieves in case any of the doctors asked, Ray then walked in with food and from the expression on his face, I could tell he was the one that had found me.

“What happened to you Barungi?” he asked as soon as his mother left the room and I immediately started to cry.

“Did daddy do this to you? I left you fine with him and when I returned I found you on the ground, in a pool of blood. What happened to you?” he asked desperately.

“Nothing” I replied. He did not say anything more. I just turned and faced the wall and continued to cry.

I spent the night in hospital alone and learnt that I had lost the baby. It’s hard to explain what I felt that night, I cried on and on. I wished he had beaten me to death. The worst bit was I felt like I deserved the beating I had just gotten.

Mr. Natamba had made it very clear that he would kill me if I ever got pregnant. I was broken and longed for just a little comfort.

Ray made sure he checked on me every two hours when I was in hospital and whenever he visited, he brought me sweets, chocolates and sometimes cakes. I could tell he was feeling guilty for what had happened to me and he usually tried so hard to make me laugh. He often read to me and I had caught him staring at me a couple of times.

I saw his father every time I looked at Ray but I somehow looked forward to seeing him. As soon as I returned home, he tried his best to help me with most of the chores but of course he did this in his parent’s absence. He never stopped bringing me sweets and cakes despite the fact that I was out of hospital. In the afternoons, he would invite me to watch television with him.

I did not understand his actions and I did not care but Ray never stopped being nice to me. Ray always made sure I ate and always asked if I was fine. He never asked again what happened to me the day he found me unconscious and had never asked what I could have done wrong to his father. He was really sensitive, a trait I admired greatly.

Ray and I grew fond of each other and had our own inside jokes. I still saw his father when Ray did certain things and it frightened me a lot. Mr. Natamba on the other hand still raped me even after the pregnancy and miscarriage. I still did not understand why he was such a monster. He ate away a piece of me every time he touched me.

Ray soon became my comforter and friend; we usually spent the whole day home alone and during these times, we talked about all kinds of things. We talked about our families and I was not afraid to tell him about my humble family.

He did not intimidate me. I was so comfortable talking to him. He had told me about all his former girlfriends from school and we even made fun of his parents. I considered him my friend. He shared almost everything with me. He had forgone his breakfast so that I could have it. Usually, when Mrs. Natamba planned for breakfast, she did not plan for me so Ray gave me his share. I liked Ray and had too much respect for him. I wanted to see him as Ray not Mr. Natamba’s son but that was something so impossible and difficult no matter how hard I tried.

I must confess I found it incredibly weird how much Ray and I could have all these things in common. We loved to read, talked for hours without tiring and even when I was angry and frustrated, he knew exactly what to say to calm me down. He was patient with me and despite the many troubles I had, he was my ray of hope when my day was blur. We talked about everything and dreamed about everything. Ray always told me that I would one day go back to school and fantasized with me about becoming a lawyer. I wanted to become like Mr. Byaruhanga, a dream I shared with him. We just grew closer and closer without realizing the possibility of potential feelings. I longed to talk to him and on weekends when everyone was at home, he wrote me notes and put them under my pillow, I had grown accustomed to these notes and I wrote back always.

These notes were purely innocent and I sneaked around to read and reply them. They were about all sorts of things; he usually asked how I was, drew a cartoon or anything silly and funny. I found most of them really hilarious. I liked Ray but it had never occurred to me that this could be more than a liking.

Ray was always there for me, even when I did not ask. I looked forward to weekdays when it would be just the two of us. Ray knew that Mrs. Natamba would not approve of our friendship so we did this secretly. I thought of him so often and even when Mr. Natamba raped me I knew I would later have a distraction from my pain. I kept all my notes and read them every night before I went to bed and I usually spent time thinking about Ray. I did not know if he thought about me too but I knew he cared and that was enough for me. I really liked him a lot and I also knew nothing could possibly ever come out of the friendship we had but it never stopped me from dreaming. We were best friends and he inspired me to be better each day. He also taught me to look beyond my pain and hope for a brighter future. This did not make my pain any less or make me forget but it was a ray of hope for me.

Many things in my life had come unexpectedly but it had never occurred to me that love would be one of them. I had watched and read love come to many unwittingly. I however never thought that would be my story. I knew I had a liking for Ray but it never crossed my mind that this could be love. Whenever I saw anything funny or sad all I thought about was, “I cannot wait to tell Ray about this.”

He knew every part of my life. He knew when I was sad, when I was happy and he was there for me through it all.

Ray and I watched television every afternoon after all the cleaning up and this one time while we were watching he asked for the remote. I told him no because I wanted to finish with what I was watching first. Ray continued to ask for the remote and I playfully sat on it.

“Barungi don’t make me lift you.” He said with his very silly but sweet smile.

“You would not dare.” I laughed at him and continued to watch the movie.

Ray then stood up and walked towards me grinning mischievously. I kept wondering what he was going to do and before I knew it he started to tickle me. I giggled and tried to hold the laughter in. I was only able to hold the laughter in for a few minutes before breaking into lots of uncontrollable and helpless giggles. As Ray’s hands moved to my upper belly and rib cage, I gasped and laughed more and more. I was breathless and unable to speak through the laughter. Ray continued to wiggle his fingers across my ribs and belly and as I giggled hysterically, tears of laughter started to run all over my face. Before I knew it I was no longer in the chair but on the floor trying to flee from the tickle torture. I begged Ray to stop but he instead held my arms with one of his hands. He later wetted his lips with his tongue and then pulled up my blouse and then started to blow on my stomach. I began to squeal and wiggle around telling him to stop. After a few minutes he stopped and looked at me. “I win.” He whispered triumphantly and I tried to catch my breath. Ray then bent and rubbed my tears slowly, and suddenly we all went silent. I was still breathing heavily but this time I was aware of Ray’s presence.

I felt his hand gently rub my tears off of my face and my belly was filled with a mixture of nervousness and butterflies. I felt powerless and was afraid that Ray might see it in my eyes so I closed my eyes and held my breath. I was afraid that Ray would notice how fast I was breathing.

My heart was racing and I could hear how loud it was beating, I almost wondered if he heard the sound of my heart beat too. Ray then bent and I felt his moist lips on mine. I felt a shiver go through my neck, heart, stomach and every part of my body. The shiver was like electricity.

He was not rough like Mr. Natamba his lips had just touched mine. I did not open my eyes because I did not think I had the energy too. It’s like I was floating in air at the moment. I felt weightless and a sudden joy in my heart.

I had never felt anything like this.

“Look at me Barungi” he said to me softly and as I opened my eyes, I saw a look I had never seen before, so innocent and pure with lots of admiration.

“I have wanted to do that in a long time.” He whispered and my heart started racing again.

“You’re very beautiful.” He continued and I swear a part of me froze. I was convinced this was a dream and I did not want to wake up because Ray had just called me beautiful. I did not know if I was supposed to reply or say something so I just lay there and stared at the ceiling.

“I think I love you Martha.” He finished and I thought my chest was going to explode.

I had never heard my heart beat that fast and loud. I was so sure I was going to faint or die and immediately started to sweat yet it felt like I was melting. It was suddenly too hot and I needed fresh air. Ray continued staring at me and I also stared back, he had just said he loved me. Me, the maid, the help; Ray loved me. Before I said anything or did anything, I heard Mr. Natamba’s car park in the compound. We both got up quickly and I ran to the kitchen while Ray ran to his room.

I was restless the entire evening. I could not think straight. I continuously heard the sound of Ray’s voice echoing in my ear. Telling me how he loved me and that I was beautiful.

I wished I could hear him say those words again. I was restless and kept smiling alone. I found it difficult to believe Ray loved me. I could feel his soft lips on mine and the joy in my heart was tremendous. Ray disappeared into his bedroom till it was dinner time. I was praying so hard for strength because the minute I saw him, my knees melted and it felt like I could not stand on my own anymore. I did not look into his eyes but I felt him staring at me. The more he stared at me, the more my knees melted. I was distracted all through dinner and even when Mrs. Natamba called my name or inquired about anything I did not seem to hear. I was happy yet so scared. I did not find sleep; all I did was fantasize about Ray and me. I spent half of the night thinking about Ray and how he had tickled me and ended up kissing me. This was a beautiful memory that I was enjoying.

I had heard that time heals all wounds but I can tell you that love is not the medicine. The next morning I woke up and smiled to myself. “Ray loved me.” I thought to myself but as I prepared Mr. Natamba’s bath, he started touching me and though I knew this happened often, it felt like he was cutting through my wounds. I knew he would beat me up if I objected so I cried silently through the rape. I prepared the children for school as usual and as soon as I had finished, I went back to my room to cry a little bit more. I found a note on my bed and I very much knew it was from Ray. “I meant everything I said.” It read. I remember hugging it and crying until I heard Mrs. Natamba call out. I did not know how to face Ray. I knew I had no right to pursue whatever was going on because of very many reasons but that morning, I was reminded of the most important one of them.

Mrs. Natamba left for work, and then it was Ray and I alone again. I was determined to do everything in my power to avoid him and I seemed to be succeeding until he approached me and called me by my name. I did not look at him and neither did I answer. He made a few more steps closer and called me again.

“Martha did I scare you?” he asked softly but I still could not answer, “Barungi look at me and say something.” He continued and I still remained silent.

“Martha I did not mean to scare you, I thought you loved me too. Am sorry for everything I said yesterday.” I still did not say a word and he walked away. As soon as I heard him walk way, I started to cry again. I do not know why I was crying but I cried a river.

Ray and I did not speak for the next couple of days and I was miserable. I spent nights turning and tossing around in bed. My life felt so cold, as if all the warmth had been sucked out of me. I could almost feel his soft lips touch mine and him say those magical words that had melted me. Many times I felt like I was suffocating and wanted to scream so loud. The loneliness was louder than anything else but I was not about to be raped by a man and then love his son. No way!! He spent the whole day in his room and had only one meal which was dinner and that was because his parents forced him to. I missed him so much. He always greeted me occasionally but I had decided I would not talk to him. I don’t know why I made that kind of decision but I missed him so much. Ray did not push for anything but I knew and could tell he was suffering as much as I was.

I missed his silly notes, I missed watching television with him, I missed doing housework with him, I missed taking turns with him to read novels, missed his voice, smile, laughter and I really missed his company. At some point Mrs. Natamba took Ray to hospital thinking he was sick.

All I know is I missed him but every morning when Mr. Natamba raped me and I was reminded, I got more determined to keep his son far away. I often cried myself to sleep and hated day time and wished I could at least see Ray walk by. Every time I promised myself that I was going to talk to Ray if he tried to talk to me but when he did, I got angry and ignored him. I later ended up regretting not talking to him, found myself reading the notes he had sent me before over and over.

Every day I missed Ray more than I did the previous day and I could tell he was suffering too. However, I knew I could not let anything happen between us. I was thus better off missing him than being with him. Ray however never gave up on me. He always said his greetings even when he knew I was never going to respond. It killed me that I could not and I always wanted to scream and tell him how much I missed him but the thought of being raped by his father did not leave me with the luxury. I usually spent hours thinking about him so this one afternoon, I was sitting alone at the balcony when Ray came and sat next to me.

He did not say a thing for the next few minutes then he held my hand. I was nervous but I did not want him to let go.

“I cannot take this anymore Barungi; I need you to talk to me.

I miss you so much and I do not want to live like this anymore.

Am hurting a lot and I know you’re not happy too. If you cannot love me am okay with that but please be my friend again.” He said and I have never forgotten those words.

“I cannot Ray.” I responded softly and started crying.

“You cannot what Barungi? You’re now crying and I do not understand what is going on.” At that moment he stood up and knelt right in front of me and hugged me. I remember breaking down hysterically in his arms.

He held me a little bit longer then tried to rub my tears off my cheeks. My shoulders shrunk and I wished for the ground could just absorb me. No one had ever looked at me like that or taken care of me. I could not bring myself to look at him. I was melting and feeling very powerless.

“I have to prepare dinner.” I said and stood up. I did not trust that my legs were able to carry me away but I knew I was about to faint from all that I was feeling if I dared to stay with him.

“Are you running away because you hate me or because you love me?”

“ Aaaarr...aaa…I…” I opened my mouth but I could not construct a sentence or even a word.

“Talk to me Barungi please.” I could hear the desperation in his voice but I still walked away. I cried the rest of the evening. I did not understand why God was punishing me. How could something so good be so painful? I knew I loved Ray and walking away hurt me a lot but I was confident it was the best thing to do. I did not have dinner that night and neither did Ray. Food could not fill the emptiness and loneliness we were both feeling.

After everyone had gone to bed, I had a soft knock on my door and I immediately knew who it was. I badly wanted to pretend I was a sleep because I knew nothing good would come out of me opening that door but I still went ahead and opened. As soon as I opened the door, I saw the look in his eyes and my heart broke. There was pain, sorrow, loneliness and sadness in his eyes. Ray entered my room and sat next to me and I could not help but tremble and my heart went racing again.

“I cannot sleep Barungi; I need to talk to you please.” He was begging and his voice was shaky.

“Ray this is not right at all.”

“I miss you all the time, when I see something funny all I want to do is tell you. I dream about you and it hurts me that you’re sad because I love you but Barungi please you have to love me. I am hurting a lot.” he whispered and tears flowed freely from my eyes. I did not care how ridiculous I looked; all I wanted to do was cry. As my eyes cried for him, my soul ached for him. Ray sat there silently holding my hand. I cried for the next few minutes and cannot explain why I was crying. All I know is my heart and soul ached so much and I wanted to hug him.

“You have to love me Barungi please. I can’t continue to live like this.”

“Ray, I am the house maid and this is impossible.” I managed to say.

“I know that but my heart does not. God knows I have tried to fight this love I feel but I cannot anymore. I need you Barungi please.” His voice was shaky and I could tell he was about to cry and this time I reached for his hand and held it.

“Your mother will not allow this, your father will kill me and I cannot….” Before I finished what I was saying, Ray kissed me.

I wanted to stop him. No matter how much my brain told me to stop whatever was going on but my heart was lost in the moment. I felt like my body was floating in the air again and in an instant all my troubles and fears disappeared. I felt like I was about to explode with lots of emotions and love. I did not know if I was kissing him right but I had watched people kiss on television and also when Mr. Natamba always forced me. Ray’s was however so gentle and sweet and I liked it. I could not think straight with his lips on mine. He was melting every bit of me and I did not want that moment to come to an end. “Tell me you love me please.” He whispered in my ear and a shiver went through my ear, neck and body. I tried to open my mouth but failed. He asked me if I loved him again and I nodded.

I had tried so hard not to nod but my body was against me. I just nodded in agreement and he hugged me. I did not know what this meant but part of me was so happy I had finally accepted this love. “Thank you Barungi, you’re now my girlfriend.” He said to me and walked out of my bedroom.

I sat there for the next four hours, staring in blank space and thinking about him and what he had said. I was his girlfriend and the words kept running through my mind. I had a boyfriend now and I wanted to scream and shout to him that I loved him. He was my Ray and he had called me his girlfriend. I sat and touched my lips wondering if he had liked kissing me as much as I liked kissing him. I smiled over and over. It was hard to believe that so much happiness could come from something so little. I was walking on sunshine and finally it felt like the heavens were smiling on me.

I was living in fantasy world and was so happy until the next morning when I was preparing Mr. Natamba’s bath and he started touching me. That was my reality check. I had had a beautiful night with Ray but as soon as Mr. Natamba started raping me, I was reminded of who I truly was. A rag that was meant to be used and I was very sure that if Ray knew about this he would lose all the love he thought he had for me. I was very sure of that and I was not ready to let that happen. I had to talk to Ray and push him a way a little. I knew if he found out about Mr. Natamba and me he would hate me and he would definitely be hurt and betrayed. I was not about to be abused by the father and then be in a relationship with the son. A part of me wanted to hurt Mr. Natamba by sleeping with both the father and the son but I truly loved my Ray and I did not want to hurt him. That morning after every one had left; I was washing utensils when I felt someone behind me. I knew who it was but I did not know what to expect.

The thought of him walking behind me made me restless. I did not know how I was supposed to greet him or even what to do. He had called me his girlfriend the previous night and I was raped by his father the next morning. I could not even have love in my life because of that monster. Ray continued walking towards me and I pretended I was not hearing a thing or feeling him walk. He then wrapped his hands and arms around my waist from behind as I closed my eyes and smiled. “Good morning beautiful.” he whispered in my ear and I could not have asked for better. It felt so good to be held gently. I wished that moment would last forever and I loved his breath on my neck and smelt him.

“I dreamed about you last night Barungi.” He said and I was silent for a moment. “I want to love you forever.” I began to cry when he said that because I knew that I had to end his dreams about forever in the next few minutes.

As soon as I told Ray that I could not continue to be his girlfriend, my heart broke. He asked why and I told him that his parents would never approve of me and that it was disrespectful for him to date the help. He put up a fight and tried to convince me otherwise but I knew what I was going through. I stood my ground and told Ray not to touch me, kiss me or even think of me. I advised him to forget about me and then I went to my bedroom to cry. As I cried, I wished and prayed he would walk into the room and hug me. That hug never came. That whole week was torture to me and Mrs. Natamba had asked a couple of times if I was okay and I claimed that I was having a minor headache. Ray always told me he loved me at least seven times a day and he made sure I did not forget it. Every time he told me or wrote a note, my heart broke. I thought he would give up but he never did. Then one night, as we silently had dinner with Mr. and Mrs. Natamba, Ray stood up and walked to where I was sitting and I froze, I knew

something really scandalous was about to happen. As soon as he had everyone’s attention, Ray opened his mouth and said “I love Martha.” The minute I had those words I began to shrink and wished the floor would swallow me, I wished it was one of my hopeless dreams.

Mrs. Natamba called her son to the bedroom and I could hear her shouting all sorts of insults at him. She told him I was a prostitute and that he was going to die from HIV and many more horrible things. Ray was not silent either; he kept telling her he loved me. Mrs. Natamba repeatedly told him that I had bewitched him and that he needed to be prayed for because no reasonable man would love a rag like me. He did not give up without a fight. He tried so much to fight for me.

At some point Mr. Natamba slapped him and when I heard him cry, I could not help but cry too.

I had come to believe that something was wrong with me and at this moment I felt responsible for whatever was happening to Ray. I always believed that everything was always my fault and now I had caused Ray trouble too. Mr. Natamba called me to their bedroom. He shouted all kinds’ of insults at me and slapped me like I was an animal. My nose was bleeding and my mouth too and despite the fact that Ray had tried to rescue me, Mr. Natamba over powered him. I had gotten used to living with these slaps but when I saw Ray suffer because of me, I knew I had to do something about it. After Mr. and Mrs. Natamba had finished disgracing me, I knew that I was done with them. I had finally had enough.

The anger and rage I felt was unbearable and I felt like I was going to explode any minute. I had come to realize that regardless of what I did, I would never be respected or appreciated by Mr. and Mrs. Natamba. I made up my mind to leave that house that night. I had come to the limit of this torture and pain. I went to Ray’s bedroom and I hugged him for as long as I could, I thanked him for loving me and hugged him a little bit more. He held me so tight and we cried as much as we could. I wished that I could hug him forever but everything had to come to an end. He told me over and over that it would get better but I knew I had reached my limit and was leaving. I however could not bring myself to tell him I was going to leave. His heart was breaking and I could not bear to see him suffer even more. I just let him hold me for as long as he could.

Later that night, while everyone slept, I walked to the door, opened the gate and never looked back. It was around midnight but I knew I was walking away from all the misery. I had just put an end to the torture from the Natambas. Walking out of that house at midnight was one of the hardest things I had had to do in my life. I knew there was a possibility of Mr. Natamba living up to his threats and attacking my family but I had had enough. It was hard for me to take that step and I was not sure if it was the anger making the decision or if I had finally had the courage but I was finally free. Despite the fact that it was dark and dogs were barking from every corner, I was at peace and very happy, I was finally free and I knew I had done what was best for me. I knew I was going to miss my Ray but also knew I was never going to regret the decision I had just taken. I did not know where I was going to sleep or what I was going to do. I did not know if I was going to be safe or even live but I walked in the darkness with the biggest smile on my face. There was peace in my heart, a kind of peace I had not known in a long time.

CHAPTER FOUR

A few weeks on the streets felt like I had been there for months and years. In two weeks, I had had to exchange the very few clothes I had for food, I had been raped twice and had not had a shower since I left the Natambas. My clothes were very dirty and ripped and I smelled like an old dirty He goat. I went days without any food and when I did have some, it was out of the garbage. At the beginning I felt very hungry but after days of no food, the hunger had disappeared. You just learn to cope and manage the hunger.

Very many times I thought about ending it all. I failed to find a ray of hope in my situation and I badly wanted the suffering to end. I walked in fear, lived in fear, breathed fear and even slept in fear. I could hardly find any sleep whenever I finally found a corner to lay my head. I dreaded nights and whenever the sun began to set, the darkness filled my heart too. Nights came with lots of fears, they were so dangerous and there was no safe place for me.

Every breath and step I took during those nights felt like one step closer to my death. I saw the end of me every minute. I have never felt so alone in my life like I did then.

I knew I had to fight on and make it somehow because I knew giving up meant death and death meant my poor mother would never hear from me again.

No matter how hard it got, I struggled on. I usually spent the afternoons sleeping because I could not afford to close my eyes during the nights. The last time I had tried to get some sleep, I got raped. Every rape came with new pain.

The last man that had raped me left me unable to walk and to make matters worse; he probably had not had a shower in days. He smelled like a dead rat. I had given up on thinking I was ever getting out of this horror. It was a cycle rape after rape, torture after torture and the tremendous pain that words can never explain. I had never understood what I had done to deserve the pain and torture I was certain God was punishing me.

During those days, I lost so much weight; I barely had anything to eat. I remember one rainy night; I was out on a veranda of one of those random shops. I had prepared to spend the night there and it started raining. I had nowhere else to go and only had a torn dress on. The cold was too much and I felt my bones freeze. The veranda was not enough to shield me from the rain and as I sat in the cold shivering uncontrollably and tremendously, I remember asking God desperately to take me. I just wanted to die and if I had had the means that night, I would have killed myself. Like the violence and constant harassment I had endured for long was not enough, I had to spend a night in the rain. I had heard of bad luck but this was not just any bad luck. I was definitely paying for something bad I had done. I missed the love, care and the feeling of warmth and family. I missed the noise of my siblings and hugs of my mother. I missed my father too, in my own weird way.

As time went on, I thought of myself less and less, I did not care what happened to me or if I died. People everywhere thought I was just another insane girl. Often, I saw people run away from me. I had no feelings whatsoever, I had lost it. I was dead inside and did not know how to cope anymore. My faith in life, God and people had died a long time ago. I lived like a shadow, weightless and pointless.

One of my biggest cravings had become death but no matter how much I wished for it, God always let me see the sun rise every other day. The fear and pain I walked with every day was paralyzing. A part of me always felt and knew it was my fault. I did not know what I could have done differently but I never stopped beating up myself and feeling responsible for all that was going on in my life. My feet became swollen and had countless wounds, they had become numb and no matter how much I walked on those wounds, I felt no pain. I was so vulnerable, emotionally and physically exhausted. I looked like a twig and every part of my body just wanted to give up.

When you’re homeless, you think that help is out of reach, every small thing means the world to you and a dirty rotten mango tastes like heaven in your mouth. I felt so helpless and worse, so worthless and useless too. My life was torturous and hopeless at that moment but I was very aware that I had made the right decision when I left the Natambas. I was better off rotting on the streets than being treated like an animal. It is hard to imagine anything worse than physical and sexual abuse. Even when I went days without food, I still would have chosen the hungry life over what I had at the Natamba’s. True, I missed my Ray so much and he was my guiding light when the pain and fears were blinding. However, the peace I felt when I left the Natamba’s was unimaginable. The fact that I had finally had the courage to escape made me feel powerful and that was my motivation even when I went days without food.

The darkness of sorrow had become a part of me; I had not known or seen kindness in a long time. One evening, while I was having one of my many aimless walks, I fainted. I do not remember much but I know I had not eaten in a long time. By the time I regained consciousness, I was surrounded by very many people and after a few murmurs, and an old lady took me aside and asked what was going on. I told her my whole story and after she had listened, she bought me lunch and asked me to follow her. This lady was called Mrs. Nkunda and she owned a small restaurant in town. She asked if I was interested in working for her. I was desperate and this felt like God had finally remembered me so I immediately shouted yes. Mrs. Nkunda was a widow and had two children. She employed very many girls and had asked them to accommodate me.

Within no time, I made friends with some of the girls.

I finally had a good long shower and a decent place to sleep. I was so happy and knew that God had finally smiled my way. My goal was to work so hard and later go home.

Mrs. Nkunda had mentioned she would be paying me but did not say when and how much. Different girls told me different stories of how Mrs. Nkunda had saved them and I was so convinced that she was the angel that had come specifically to save me too. I woke up every morning and went to work with the girls. My duties involved making sure the restaurant was clean and cooking. Evenings were usually busy so I helped wait on tables once in a while. I was free to eat food at work. Mrs. Nkunda had bought me a few clothes and their cost was to be deducted from my salary.

Luck had finally smiled my way and with a job and home, I knew my life was heading for better. I had never stopped missing Ray and found myself wondering and thinking about him on different occasions. I found myself comparing him to the men that walked in and out of the restaurant.

I monitored their physical looks and often wondered if my Ray would ever come to me again. I missed him and always wondered if he missed me too. I wished I had had a way of letting him know I was happy and safe. Despite the many night mares, I could still afford some sleep which had not happened to me in a long time.

The girls were friendly and accepting. We did everything together; we went to work together, showered together, and ate together. I had however come to notice that the girls got chatty and cosy with some of our regular clients especially in the evenings. They would be chatting privately, embracing and touching like lovers then after a while, one by one, they disappeared with their respective men. This happened every day and often, I saw the girls leave with different men on different occasions. I knew something was not right but I also knew I did not want to know whatever was going on. All I wanted was to be able to work and not go back to the streets again but darkness was always looking for me.

One evening, while I was about to go home, madam Nkunda asked if I wanted to make extra money. For some reason I immediately knew that something was about to change but I politely asked her how that was possible.

She told me that if I gave some of her customers extra “attention” and “care”, I would be able to make 5000 Uganda shillings every day. This seemed like a good deal so I sat down with her and inquired about what I had to do and how I would get paid. After a long talk, everything made sense to me. I finally understood how the other girls were able to make money for all the nice things I had seen them with. Mrs. Nkunda was so persuasive and when I turned down the deal, she asked the other girls to talk to me.

As soon as I stood my ground and insisted to Mrs. Nkunda that I did not want to make the “extra” money everything changed. The girls became rude to me and unexpectedly, they acted like I had committed the biggest crime. They stopped talking to me and whenever they were having a discussion and I happened to walk by, they immediately went silent. They iced me out so bad that it began to torture me. It was hard to live with these girls and have all of them ignore and hate me. I was restless and desperately wanted them to talk to me. I was not ready to quit my job and head for the streets again. That was not an option at all; I had been through enough rapes and pain in the last few weeks on the street. I was not ready to return. I later learnt that Mrs. Nkunda always asked them to be mean whenever anyone felt they were “too good” for her “extra”

business. After a few days, I caved and went to Mrs. Nkunda to accept her proposal. I accepted not because I wanted to be part of the business but because I wanted to fit in. Furthermore, I was not ready to go back to the street.

I vowed to myself that I would save up every penny I made and later, I would leave Mrs. Nkunda’s place. Mrs. Nkunda took time to brief me about the business. She told me all I had to do was talk to the men, give them a little attention and care but I knew that was not all.

My first client was a 50 year old man who had been requesting for me for a while. Mrs. Nkunda told me to drink and eat whatever I was given. I felt so disgusted and nervous sitting with a fifty year old man. I did not think I was going to be able to relate to him at any level. He was over thirty years older than me! Mrs. Nkunda kept sending alcohol to our table and asked me to drink it. It was so sour and I could feel my throat burn at every sip. The more I drank the alcohol, the more I felt my fears and pain disappear. I do not remember much from that night, but the next morning, I woke up to the fifty year old lying next to me. This felt like Mr. Natamba all over again. I did not know where I was or what I had done but at the back of my mind, I knew what had happened. I felt so dirty and used, wondered if I was ever going find some peace and good life. As I sat up, the old man woke up and politely said good morning. I did not respond. I started to cry and he asked if it was my first time to which I nodded.

David, the fifty year old, introduced himself and asked to see me later that evening again. I told him I was never doing whatever had happened the previous night again.

David was nice to me; he gave me 20,000 shillings and asked me not to tell Mrs. Nkunda because he had already paid her. It was at this moment that everything made perfect and complete sense. I now knew how she profited from this kind of business. When I returned home, I was sad and depressed so a few of the girl talked to me about their experiences with prostitution. They discussed about everything from the right kind of protection to use to the perfect way to manipulate and seduce a man. As I listened, my fears lessened. I learnt that all these girls had goals and families to take care of. All my fears were conquered and I knew at that point that I had to make the most of that situation. With time, I learnt that needed six bottles of beer for me to become confident for the “extra” business.

By the end of my first month, I had saved over one hundred and fifty thousand shillings. I saved every single coin I got and tried to minimise my daily costs as much as I could. I hated the prostitution business but had goals too. I wanted to return home but never wanted to go empty handed either. I was so embarrassed and disappointed in myself and sometimes I felt very dirty. My mother had raised me right; it did not make sense how this was my life. I however thought I did not have many options. I usually had multiple clients a night and Mrs. Nkunda always maximised every opportunity to make money. I worked every day of the week and according to Mrs. Nkunda; I had no right to even be sick. I was terrified to speak up to her or tell her no.

I was her new money maker and thus, everyone wanted a piece of me.

No money was enough to pay for the loss I felt every time I went to bed with a different man. I lost a part of me each night and the worst was; I had to burry all these feelings deep inside my heart. Everyone was busy fighting their own battles and trying to make a living. Mrs. Nkunda called for us whenever our client for the day came in. All they had to do was make a pick of which girl they wanted and pay for her services. I hated the life I was living but I had learnt to put my goals first. I had also managed to convince myself that it was okay. True, I felt guilty every time I walked away with a different man and it all felt like I was cheating on Ray. But I had learnt to ignore my feelings.

Most of these men thought just because they had made a payment, they had the right to do anything they wanted with me. This left me bruised most of the time until I learnt the art of manipulation. I became a great actress and mastered my routine. I knew what to do and when. I lost my self to the extent that I did not care what any of these men thought of me. All I wanted was just to make it through the night so I faked it as much as I could. When the night was done, I made sure I got a little more money from them and walked away. My body was like a machine, I worked tirelessly and often when I was alone, I just cried.

No matter how much I wanted to be okay with the whole business, I never was.

I never stopped feeling scared, dirty and filthy every time I looked into the mirror. This all felt like a death sentence and I often wondered how I got to be that kind of girl.

None of these men had any respect for us, to them, we were just prostitutes. Some nights I got hit and the men would jump on me like I was some kind of object. It was hard to get through each night. Almost everyone in society looks at prostitutes and thinks they deserve every bad thing coming their way. Most of the girls I was prostituting with had the hardest times and wanted to quit but life does not give us the luxury. Each one of those girls had something that was pushing them to those kinds of limits.

I will never forget the look on my mother’s face the day I returned home, she hugged me so tight and started to cry.

She asked me where I had been and told me Mrs. Natamba had told them I had run away. I did not want to hurt my mother with the details so I explained that I had gotten a better job and thus decided to leave the Natambas. I had done shopping for my family and had lots of gifts for them.

I made up happy stories just because I wanted them to be happy. I did not want to worry my sweet mother so I lied to her face. It hurt me so much because all I wanted was to share my pain with my mother. My father on the other hand was so proud and bragged about me to the whole village. His rich daughter had returned and he now had money to spend. My siblings were so happy to see me too and never left my side even for a second. I had finally bought them decent beddings. Seeing them happy made me forget everything I had been through.

My family was so proud of me which only embarrassed me.

No one knew what I had had to endure to get everything I had returned home with. I cried every time I was alone and the thought of returning to prostitution was killing me.

I used this chance to pick my primary leaving examination results and I also paid school fees for my siblings. My mother had so many hopes in me and I was determined to continue with school. The trip to the village reminded me of how many people looked up to me and made me more determined to end my days of prostitution. I left my mother with seventy thousand shillings and gave my father thirty thousand shillings. My mother had never seen or had that kind of money and I knew something good would come out of it. That amount would last them along while before I had return or sent more.

I could not stop thinking about the look on my mother’s face. She looked so hopeful and as she tried on the dresses I had bought her, I saw her face light up in ways I had never seen. She was so proud of me and I was glad that my siblings had an education that was fully paid for. I was determined to continue being the light of my mother’s life and I did not care what I did to make that happen. All I wanted to do was keep that smile on her face. It hurt that I could not master the courage to tell her what was exactly going on in my life but I knew my story would only bring her so much pain and sorrow. I could not imagine myself putting her through all that pain. All I wanted was to have her enjoy those moments for as long as she could. I knew prostitution was wrong. I was living in sin and questioned my actions every minute but I had also learnt that my options were limited. I however did not want to live as a prostitute for the rest of my life and was determined to get out of the mess I had created for myself.

Mrs. Nkunda made me quit my job at the restaurant and had me taking on more clients. She got me a new decent place to live and always sent the clients to this place. This had me sleeping with over ten different men a day. I was like a gold mine to Mrs. Nkunda and all she did was make as much as she could from the business. I saved money tirelessly, hoping to get out of the horrible, torturous life I was living. This meant working tooth and nail and I did my best to put on a show. My body was always numb and usually felt nothing while my mind blocked out the horrible and nasty experiences. I sometimes got myself drunk as early as 7:00am to go through the day. It was hard to be with these men so I was usually drunk through it. Every time the men slept or took a shower, I went through their wallets and stole a little more money for myself. I was not just a prostitute; I had become a thief and a good one.

I hated the life I was living but was more determined to make as much as I could from it. I put my conscience a side and decided to earn or steal the money.

Most of the times, I sat and thought about how horrible my life was and all the bad decisions I had made. I hated the judgment I got from my neighbors and the people that knew what I did for a living. I sometimes spent sleepless nights or cried myself to sleep. I began to hate myself too and even when I looked at myself in the mirror, all I saw was a horrible disgusting thing. I never made friends and every time I walked up the streets, I felt like everyone knew what I did for a living so I chose to hide; I remained behind closed doors and only went out at night to get myself food and household items. I became anti-social, disassociated and alone. I was afraid of being on the streets again and afraid to make friends too. I was afraid and alone and always longing for some kind of affection or love. I lost myself and even when my clients disrespected and hurt me, I did not blame them because I was for sale and did not deserve any compassion. These men would hurl dirty looks, insults and objects at me and I just endured it all. I drank lots of alcohol just to survive one more day.

I was not proud of the woman I was turning into. I was so ashamed of myself and often devastated. Day after day, I got up to the same routine, men entering my room and leaving me more hurt and feeling worse about myself. I found it hard to say a prayer, as a little child, I was taught that God watches over everyone and that he never took his eyes off of us. I knew He knew how much wrong I had done so I feared to even mention His name. I felt like I was not even worthy to complain to him or ask for anything. It was hard to find little or any love for myself. I had come to learn that men had no dignity whatsoever when they were in need of a good time. I had also never understood why they stooped so low. Most of my clients were married, very sensible and reasonable men but they still came to look for hopeless and trashed me. Educated, married and rich men, some held public offices but felt on shame to sneak off and be with a prostitute who was clearly under age.

None of them cared about me as long as they had a good time. I always wondered if my own father was capable of doing the same thing to someone else’s child if he had a chance. I slowly continued to lose all faith in men.

I was afraid, shaken by everything around me but most of my fears were about the possible outcomes of my actions.

I had heard about the stories of HIV/AIDS and witnessed some; I knew pregnancy was real too and that it was a possible outcome. I however, did not know what I would ever do if any of the two befell me. I had had STI’s and was always in and out of hospital for them so they did not frighten me as much as HIV and pregnancy did. I was a horrible person for prostituting myself but I hated the idea of abortion and the thought of possibly killing a child scared me as much as mothering a child whose father was unknown. I had over ten clients a day. Despite my fears, I had no option but always lived in fear because the client was always the king and he determined whether we used protection or not. I basically had no opinion about my life and no control over it too. There are men who did not care about anything or anyone if it got in the way of their little selfish desires and happiness. Most of the clients were very violent and I often ended up hurt but I was deeply imprisoned in my fear and hence silenced. I saw no escape and no other way to make a living. I was deeply ashamed, always blaming myself for whatever happened to me and often sliding into deep depression. I had turned into a zombie; I was beaten, tortured, burned, slashed and tied up.

I longed for freedom but did not know how to free myself.

I felt lost and extremely tired; life had been unfair to me and with no trust in people, I bottled up all the sadness and pain in my heart. My mother’s hopes were pinned on me, I wanted to earn as much as I could to educate my siblings because I did not want them ending up with a life like mine. With this at the back of my mind, I always got up and opened my legs for the next client. This was my life and every single day, I went through the same fears and hoped it would one day get better.

My worst and most vivid memory of my prostitution days was the night I made one million shillings in one night. Mrs. Nkunda had summoned me very early in the morning and told me she had a new and important client for me. She made it known that I would be earning one million from that deal. I had always been paid 20000 for a session and I honestly could not imagine making one million in a night.

It was too good to be true and I did not know what I was going to do with that kind of money. She told me that one of her old friends had come to town and his friend needed a girl. I knew what I was doing was wrong but this money was too much. I could see myself starting a business with this money and finally quitting prostitution. With all the excitement at how much I was about to make, I agreed to the job. Mrs. Nkunda did not give me details but she told me I had to dress my very best and also pull the best of my skills. Mrs. Nkunda personally took me to the saloon and had my hair and nails done. I did not know how much she was getting from this deal but she was over the moon.

Despite the fact that a part of me felt that something was about to go wrong with this client, I ignored all my fears and was determined to make this money. I wondered how a man was willing to give one million shillings for a night with a prostitute. This deal did not make sense to me but I was determined to make the money.

By 7:00pm I was ready to get to work, the client had sent a car to pick me. I was “smartly” dressed and very ready to give this client a ride for his money. Before I got into the car, the driver gave me my pay; I had never been paid before a job so this was definitely a happy moment for me.

I carefully went back into the house counted the money and hid it as far as in the house ceiling. I climbed on top of the table, to chair that I had carefully pressed on top of the table and hid my one million in the ceiling. My room had a hole that led to the ceiling so it was easy to get there. I was too excited. I had a million plans for that money. After carefully hiding the money, I walked to the car trying to act all calm and composed, and we drove off. I could not wait to get back home and count my money again and again.

The driver dropped me at the gate and asked me to go in.

He did not say much on our way and neither did I. I was so ready give my best show and blow this client’s mind away.

I walked into the compound; it was so beautiful, with lots of flowers and very clean. There was a white man sitting in front of the house. Everything finally made sense when I saw the white man. I had always known that white men were rich and so I was not surprised when I learnt that he was the “one million” client. As soon as he saw me he stood up and ushered me into the house. He had a few friends over and they were all black. The minute I entered, they all clapped and made noise. They were seven men in total; I was frightened and confused at this moment. I got scared and felt claustrophobic. I tried to act as normal as I could but I was so terrified.

One of the men asked if I knew how to strip dance, I had learnt to strip dance from Jackie, one of my colleagues.

They played music and asked me to strip for them. As I took off my clothes one by one, they screamed and shouted like I was some kind of goddess. They kept shouting and yelling commands of what they wanted me to take off next. I was so embarrassed to do most of the things they asked for. The fact that I knew I had been paid in advance, I obeyed every command. They all looked like hungry wolves and reminded me of Mr. Natamba and his brothers. I was scared to death, worried that I was never going to make it out of this place and as they started to touch me, my fears were confirmed.

First, the white man took me to his bedroom and I gave him the best of my work. He had paid so much therefore I gave him the best of me knowing I was later going to leave. When we were done, he asked me to go back to the sitting room. As soon as we got there, he shouted to the other six guys, telling them to enjoy me. My nightmare had finally come to life. I curled up on the sofa with my head down and suddenly felt alone and in danger. The guys were all excited and jumped on me like a pride of lions that had spent days without food. I knew I did not stand a chance and hence did not want to bother myself fighting them. They did not wait for me to take off my clothes but rather tore them and ripped off my knickers. I knew I had brought this upon myself thus had no one to blame but my greed for money. I resisted when they started to spread my legs and told them I was not here for them; the white man reminded me that he had paid one million to me. The men screamed at me with all kinds of insults.

They reminded me that I had been paid and that I was a prostitute. I surely knew I was one and that I had been paid but for seven men?

The first man brutally jumped on me and tore through me. As he had his way with me, the others touched every part of my body. They violated every hole on my body, starting with my mouth; I could hardly breathe. One by one they took turns at me but that was not enough for them. They tugged my hair and dragged me all over the place. Whenever I said no or tried to object, they reminded me that they had paid their money which meant I had to obey. They spit on me and put all kinds of objects up my vagina as they took videos of these acts. They penetrated me anally and vaginally with beer bottles and juice cans.

They molested me in every possible way they could think of. The objects they stuck into my vagina tore me so bad.

I was bleeding heavily from all the bruises and scratches sustained. I was frozen both physically and emotionally but did not know that I had not seen the worst yet. These men were determined to hurt me so bad and have fun with me to the maximum. The white man sat and cheered them on. How was this okay and fun for them? They tied my arms on the kitchen table with my legs apart and then blindfolded me.

I could not help but fear and wonder how this was going to end. My heart was racing because I did not know what was coming my way and now I could not see anything. I do not know what they stuck into my vagina next but I felt so much pain inside me. It was excruciating and then I felt a stinging bad burn. They were all laughing as I cried out in pain. They pinched me, slapped me and poured all kinds of things on me for fun. By the time I got the chance to see again, there was blood all over the place. They later one by one carved their names into my thigh while licking my blood. I do not know what kind of ritual this was. I however cannot explain the throbbing pain of having a knife cut through your skin. I begged them to stop and asked if I could just return their money but nothing could stop them. Like it was not enough, one of the men poured alcohol in my wounds and later boiling hot water. They hit me until I urinated all over myself. The pain was too much for me to take. They found happiness with each and every action and I could not imagine why. I was screaming and crying in pain and agony, I was sure I was definitely going to die. I vividly remember begging them to kill me at some point. I could not untie my own hands so I lay there in pain, waiting at their mercy. I knew it was my entire fault for accepting to be a part of a business like this. I still look back at those hours and wonder how I got myself in that position. My greed had blinded me and was now about to kill me.

After eleven hours of rape, torture, tremendous pain and crying hysterically, I pulled myself together and got dressed. I staggered on my feet ,struggling to put a foot on the ground, it took me a while to get on my feet but when I did, I made my way to the gate as fast as I could in that situation. I was in so much pain to the extent that it hurt even when I breathed. I was suffering unbearable pain and did not think anything could help me at this moment. I had just had one of the worst nights of my life and as soon as I got outside the gate, I fell down and fainted.

I woke up to a streaming light through the door, I did not know where I was at this point but I was in terrible pain.

Every part of my body was hurting, I had a fractured jaw, cuts from head to toe, three broken ribs, burns all over my breasts and my vagina was deeply wounded. I could not stop crying, the doctors tried to get me to talk about what had happened and who had done this to me but I had no explanation. They had called the police too but I still told them and insisted I did not know how I had got there.

I only had some memories of sirens and lots of people talking and looking at me.

I was in hospital for two weeks; ended up spending the one million and half of my savings on treatment. For the first time in a long time, I went on my knees and asked God to save me. This cup of suffering had gone beyond my limits, just when I thought I had finally earned enough to save me from prostitution it turned out to the worst day of my life.

I had lots of wounds and was unable to walk for weeks. I had to walk with my legs wide apart due to the pain and wounds. I started having breakdowns; I was always shaking and suffering huge anxieties. Mrs. Nkunda came to the hospital once to check on me but did not bother to ask what had gone wrong. No one was there for me; I had to fight this battle alone. My heart bled and the night mares were terrible too. I did not want anyone seeing me so I hid.

What those men had done to me was unimaginable and terrible in every way but I knew it was my entire fault. I spent hours in bed raving and ranting with no food; I was in so much pain. The pain ate me from the inside out.

It’s like I had a monster in my head that had taken over.

I was very much aware that I had brought it upon myself but it still hurt so much. I could not believe what had just happened to me.

For weeks I became my own enemy, I had so many voices in my head, I wanted to kill myself and it was a battle I had to fight each day. Mrs. Nkunda had told me I had to return to work as soon as my wounds healed and this terrified the hell out of me. I longed to sleep and block it all out but the nightmares were always haunting me the minute I shut my eyes. I did not want to wake up either because it meant facing the reality of my situation all over again. The nights were nonetheless worse because the nightmares were more real. I was frustrated and depressed. I was so lonely and the isolation was not helping either. I had no one to talk to about my pain, I therefore suffered in silence. One of the saddest things in life is to feel broken and ripped apart, to feel like you can never be put back together and worse to go through it all alone. There were days when I wondered why I was alive, why God always let me live! I had seen and tasted death but never understood why I always made it back.

I knew I was never going to be happy in life. I did not know the girl that looked back at me every time I saw myself in the mirror. What had I done different from all those girls my age that were happy. I had never stopped blaming myself for what happened that night. It hurt me so deep, not just physically, my soul was bleeding too. I desperately wanted to think I was strong for surviving whatever I had just gone through but then I was reminded that I had put myself in that situation. It was hard to blame it on God too. I kept thinking that maybe if I had paid enough attention, if I had not been greedy, maybe if I had run away I would not have gone through all that torture but how was I supposed to do it all. To wake up to the scars and wounds in my heart was so painful but to have no one to share my sorrow with was vexatious. I curled up in my bed every night and cried myself to sleep. I did not know if I was ever going to get over the monstrous and tyrannical acts that had been done to me. My body and soul were in grave pain.

Every morning, I looked as I took a bath, I looked at my wounds and scars, and I wondered if my lips would ever know to smile again. I was so brain washed to the extent that I thought I deserved everything that was happening to me. I was a slave to fear and everyone was an enemy to me. My heart carried a pain I had never imagined. I was living in so much bondage and did not know how to get out of this mess I had created for myself. I felt so weak and powerless; the few that had heard about what had happened to me were not ashamed to tell me I deserved what I had got. The power of abuse is so deep and its roots were so rooted so deep in my life. I carried so much hurt, anger, hatred in my heart. There were nights when I found myself sitting in the dark corner of my house crying and shaking. I badly needed a miracle and I longed for my broken soul to be whole again. I had not known joy in a long time and wished for just a little light in my life.

Every day of my life started with bewilderment of loneliness, hurt, hate and anger and ended in tears. It was very hard for me to step out of the house, I did not want anyone talking to me or even touching me. I was so screwed up to the extent that I found myself reacting violently or excessively evasively when anyone tried to hug me. I walked away when anyone sat or stood close to me. I panicked when someone walked to me so I isolated myself the more.

I freaked out when anyone was in close proximity, I wanted everyone at a distance. I thought this was a phase I would soon get over with but that never happened, a week turned into two and I found myself so isolated and alone.

The fear was always there and I did not know how to get rid of it. Mrs. Nkunda badly wanted me to return to work because my regular clients were asking for me. The thought of anything sexual, kissing, hugging, touching was so disgusting and I always panicked at the mere thought of it. The more I isolated myself the deeper my fears grew.

Getting out of my house became almost impossible. I was only comfortable walking late at night where no one would recognize me. I was walking in a shadow of death, pain, isolation and did not know how to put it all to an end. I felt so hopeless and helpless with every breath I took, I was at war with myself and this battle was tearing me apart and causing me incredible pain and hurt. I literally had no motivation to live at all.

When time came for me to get back to work, life became impossible for me. I found myself shaking and vomiting during sex with clients; it was too disgusting for me to bear.

I hated being touched, felt trapped and panicked when any of my clients did touch me. I always crawled into the corner, sat by the wall and then I cried for the rest of the night. I had promised myself that none of my sisters would ever live a life like mine. I was so determined to work tooth and nail for them to have a better life even if it meant crying the whole night. There were times when my spirit was too broken and it was hard to breath but the fear of my sisters dropping out of school and ending like me got me up every time. I was deeply traumatized from all the sexual and physical abuse. Most of my clients got violent whenever I objected. Mrs. Nkunda on the other hand had made it known to me that I was nothing without her. She threatened me enough to make me very dependent on her.

Everyone around thought I deserved everything because I had made the choice to stay but the bondage was far too big for me to break.

At times, I felt like I could not take it anymore. Often times, I felt like I was losing my mind, I screamed and shouted for help every time my clients went violent but no one came to my rescue. I wanted to get out of this business so badly but did not know how. I hated it so much and could not help but think about how dirty I was, and how disgusting it was to see the satisfaction on the faces of my clients. This was my life and as bad as I felt, I knew I was to blame for the choices I had made. I found myself wailing and sobbing every time I was awake, I sometimes cried in my sleep too.

Money was no longer enough to put me through this much torture. I desperately wanted to quit. Mrs. Nkunda never stopped paying me but I had no opinion about who I was spending the night with. Due to the fact that I no longer had interest in the business, I found myself having very painful and dreadful sex. It was so humiliating and I felt worse whenever these clients would sodomise me.

My troubles and pains were too much for me to bear and after a while, I knew I needed help to get by, so I started drinking alcohol again. After a few sachets of very cheap stinking liquor, I would feel an amazing rush and suddenly my problems would disappear. I then got on with my day without feeling a thing. This cheap liquor became my comforter and friend. With it in my system, I was able to attend to clients without any fears for body contact or disgust. For months I depended on alcohol. I spent almost all my earnings on alcohol. There are some mornings when I woke up and found myself covered in vomit or sleeping by the roadside.

I got so drank and wasted to the point that the first thing I did every morning was reach for my bottle of liquor.

Liquor was the first and last thing I had when I woke up and before I went to bed. My eyes were sunken, I had darkened, lost weight and had scars and wounds I had no knowledge about. I did not care where I spent the night and with who. I had struggled with depression, physical and sexual abuse for so long that I desperately wanted an escape and I had found one in alcohol. I was unable to function without alcohol. I found myself going days without food, depending on alcohol. All my awful problems would melt away with a few sachets and I was not self-conscious anymore. This was good for business and Mrs. Nkunda used this opportunity to send more clients my way.

I became so addicted to alcohol to the extent that I was unable to function without it. I found myself shaking and trembling when I was sober. I became the queen of prostitution; I took on as many clients just to get money to pay for more alcohol. I could not handle myself around alcohol. I loved alcohol and I found myself ready to do anything for just one more glass of liquor. I sometimes had sex with men and did not even remember it. I was drunk every minute of every day. I became a nuisance to the extent that I did not care what I looked like. I would go days without showering or even eating. My life revolved around the bar and despite the many times I got rushed to the hospital for excessive consumption of alcohol, I never woke up.

I only wanted to forget about my life and problems a little longer. I could not stand being sober, it felt like I was suffocating whenever I was sober, my bones would be in so much pain, I felt like throwing up, chills and my troubles too. I hence found myself running to the bar over and over again. My clients soon started rejecting me for other girls, I had become something else. I was too dirty from all the alcohol and not showering. The stench from alcohol and vomit chased away my potential clients. Mrs. Nkunda and the girls tried to talk to me but I was lost in my own world.

I had embarrassed myself in every way. There were times when I woke up completely naked by the roadside or in a dirty trench somewhere. No one wanted to be associated with me but none of this mattered to me. I drank every kind of alcohol that came my way.

I however knew I had hit rock bottom the day I woke up in hospital. It was an abortion gone wrong, first of all at this point, I did not know I had been pregnant, I did not know I had even had an abortion. I had no idea about how all this had happened and when the doctor narrated my condition to me, I wondered how I got to this point. I knew I had been very careless with my life and needed to change. I knew it was time to take charge of my life and was so determined to quit prostitution. The doctor carefully explained to me the danger I had just survived. She told me there was a probability I was never going to have children in the future because my uterus had been damaged so badly. I will never be able to describe how painful it was to hear that. I could not believe I had managed to waste my life to this extent.

True, I had been through tough times but I had made bad decisions time and again.

I was determined to turn my life around. It hurt that I had waited for these extreme situations to realize that I needed to wake up and turn my life around. I had had an abortion from God knows where and had absolutely no memory of it. I had been dependant on alcohol for a long time and knew that quitting was going to be a struggle but I was so prepared for the fight. I spent days rehearsing the speech I was going to give Mrs. Nkunda. I did not want to go back to my drinking days for any possible reason so I pushed myself each day while I was in the hospital. I tried to keep my spirits high as much as I could. I found myself fantasizing and trying so hard to block out all the bad memories and pain. Every day in that hospital was a struggle but I was so determined to turn my life around.

Around that time, Mrs. Nkunda was involved in a horrible motor accident and died before I could tell her anything.

I knew she was going to threaten me if I had told her I was quitting so this was a blessing in disguise. God was finally giving me an easy way out. With everything that had happened to me, I knew was no longer going to feel sorry for myself but rather take this opportunity that had been given to me to rewrite my story. I was determined to change my life forever. Mrs. Nkunda had always told me what to do and when to do it, who to be with and at what time. I was now free, I was hurt and sad about her death because she took me out of the streets but I was happy to be free and it was time to turn my life around. I had been saving and stealing from my clients for a while so I had a little money to get by. I did not know where I was going to start but I wanted to put an end to my prostituting days.

I had to sell my belongings and with about Four hundred thousand shillings, I only had to plan the kind of life I wanted for myself. One thing I was sure about was the fact that I wanted to go back to school and now that I was free and had a little money, education was essential.

I was frightened, confused and desperate to know what I was going to do next. I knew it was not going to be easy at all but going back to prostitution was not an option at all.

Prostitution was something that slowly killed me from the inside, exposed me to danger of all kinds and left me very broken. I knew one of the things I had to do was plan. I did not know where I was going to start from and often found myself restless and craving for a drink. It’s amazing how an addiction can slowly eat away your life when you give it the power to. Prostitution had eaten two years of my life but not anymore. The minute I left hospital, I informed everyone I was quitting and also I needed to change the environment. I parked the few things I could, my savings and left. I did not want any of my old clients coming to harass me.

I got myself a very small place to rent and ventured into the utensil business. I started by hawking utensils everywhere, from people’s homes to offices. This business did not yield much; I made almost 5% profits on each item.

The challenge was walking all day and not being able to make a single sale. It was so tiresome but gave me peace of mind. For once, I was comfortable with my life. A few weeks into the business, I sold off most of my belongings to get more capital and pay off my daily costs. I sometimes had one meal in two days because I needed to save enough for myself and my mother too. I was thin, wore the same clothes but was finally happy with my life. I had never gotten over all the pain and hurt I went through and carried my scars everyday but my soul had a little peace.

Often times I met some of my former clients and they would disrespect me by throwing hurtful comments and touching me inappropriately, I however held my head up and made it known to them that I had quit the prostituting business.

It was hard but I was determined to have a fresh start and redirect my life. A few weeks of being sober and quitting the prostitution business felt like an eternity. My business was not yielding much and yet I had invested my all. No matter how hard it got, I never at any one time thought about returning to prostitution, I had completely closed that chapter of my life.

I had always admired students from a nearby school, the deep blue skirts and clean white shirts. I always stood by my door and watched those girls walk by. I had promised myself that as soon as I made enough money, I would enroll in that school.

On one of my many unproductive afternoons, I decided to make a stop at St. Mary’s high school; I had to join this school come rain come shine. The minute I walked into those gates I knew I was home. Every evening I came to this school and walked around. I badly needed to be a part of this community so as to keep my dreams alive, I settled for a walk through the school in the evening when everyone had retired. A few days of walking around the school compound, I finally gathered the courage to walk to the headmaster’s office; I was so confident that this was the place for me.

My primary certificate spoke so well for itself to the extent that I was immediately admitted despite the fact that the school year was already half way. I was shocked at how expensive education was going to cost me. The money I had saved up was never going to be enough considering I had made investments. I was so proud of myself. Regardless of the fact that I knew I was never going to afford the school fees and uniform at St. Mary’s, I was determined never to look back.

With this at the back of my mind, I took that admission letter with lots of joy and walked to my place. I read it over and over again that night. I was happy and proud that I at least had the potential to get into a school like St. Mary’s. This alone was enough satisfaction for me. The feeling I got from knowing that I had been admitted to the school of my dreams could not let me go back to prostitution. It was a joy like no other.

A feeling of achievement and I unavoidably fantasized about me in uniform.

The next day I went back to St. Mary’s hoping I would reach an agreement with the headmaster about my school fees. I was ready to do anything to get into the school. As I walked into the office I met Mr. Okot, he had been one of my clients. He immediately took me aside and asked what I was doing at the school and I narrated the story. It was then that I learnt that he was the headmaster and the man I had met the previous day was his deputy. He took me to his office and we had a long talk but there was no way he could help. After establishing that he was unable to help, I asked him for a job.

The determination I had to join the school was limitless and I was going to be a part of it at any cost. The one job that was available was for a cook. The school needed a female cook and I immediately accepted the job offer and started planning from a different angle. I rented myself a new but much cheaper place close to the school because the job did not come with accommodation. My salary was going to be sixty-thousand shillings a month and I was so grateful.

The first days of work were very challenging and tiresome; I always got to work at 6am, and left at 9pm. My work involved a lot of cooking, lifting big saucepans, lots of peeling and lots of burns. The only advantage was I did not have to worry about buying food because I ate at work. I had a little peace because I was not prostituting myself anymore and I was at school and despite what I did there I was contented. I was happy that I was close to my dream even though I was not pursuing it yet. To look at those uniforms and be able to wake up every morning and enter those gates was close enough. In my free time I went around picking every piece of writing I found around the school. I read everything I came across. It reminded me so much of the times I used to read Ray’s books. The thought of Ray brought many memories, the good and the bad. I had never stopped imagining what would have become of us if I had just secretly pursued our love. Then the thought of being raped by the father and sleeping with the son kicked in and I suddenly lost interest in the fantasy.

A few months on the job Mr. Okot gave me a promotion; originally I did general cooking which meant cooking for the whole school with my colleagues, washing plates, fetching water among others. My promotion gave me lots of free time. I had been promoted to store manager which meant I was only had to keep record of what came into the store and left plus making reports to the school bursar about what the kitchen needed. This meant I had more time on my hands and better still my own office. The pay was still the same but I knew I was blessed to have this promotion.

Mr. Okot was always nice to me and I well knew it was a bribe for keeping his secret. I never wanted to be known as a former prostitute either so I kept my mouth shut and read everything that came my way. I had never forgotten why I was doing this so I made as many friends as I could.

As soon as I made friends with the librarians, I knew my life was never going to be the same. I used the friendship to borrow as many books as I could. I had the chance of reading at home so I utilized every opportunity I got. I also arranged my reading according to the school syllabus. I made a friend in senior one to get to know what they were studying and when. I loved history and literature more than all the other subjects.

By the end of the school year, I had made friends with all the teachers and made sure I was available whenever some of the students had discussions and prepared for exams. I did everything I could to utilize every learning opportunity that came my way. I was finally happy and doing my best not to focus on the bad but rather the good.

I nonetheless got nightmares from time to time. I found myself screaming in the middle of the night but this was the least of my worries. I made as many friends as I could but stayed away from males. I only befriended females and even when any of the males at school talked to me, I did not let them get close. The damage was too deep that I resented all the men I met. My soul never healed from all the harm, torture, violation and the fear. I had been wounded so badly to the extent that I never stopped feeling mauled, marred, contused among other feelings.

CHAPTER FIVE

Three years later, I approached Mr. Okot and asked him if I could be admitted again to attend school with the senior four candidates. By this time, everyone knew about my crazy fascination of school and I had been involved in various school activities. I had never missed a school debate or any of their public speaking competitions. I had over time come to recognize that Mr. Okot never said no to me. He always made sure I got what I wanted. I do not know if it was guilt or pity and did not care whatever it was as long as it was to my advantage. He told me if I could make it through the yearly intake interviews, there would be no problem with me enrolling. I read so hard, day and night and when I sat for those exams, I did not just pass the examinations but rather excelled. Everyone was shocked at how well I had done. I was forced to take the interview twice but I still excelled. Some of the administrators were not convinced with my results. With this excellence, I was able to keep both my job and attend class when I could on condition that if I failed my classwork, I would quit the job.

I was so determined to prove myself to everyone that had finally seen potential in me. I slept for only four hours each day and spent most of my days reading as much as I could.

I came first in my class that term, this amazed everyone but I knew how hard I had read. I had worked tirelessly and was so happy when my efforts finally paid off. I was not going to let anything come between my dream and me.

One of my best friends was called Nkwanzi, a very humble girl from one of the richest families in town. Her father was a renowned business man and was the chairman Board of Governors. She was always favoured by the teachers mostly because of her father’s status. She loved to read but was very dense which pushed her my way for discussions. She spent most of her time in my store/office too. I loved her honesty, zeal to achieve but most of all she was the boss’s daughter and I knew she would one time come in handy.

I spent hours coaching her and in turn, she paid my rent as I sent my monthly salary back home. During holidays, Nkwanzi and I spent hours in the school library. She had access to it because of her father and that was another advantage of being friends with the rich man’s daughter.

Her brother dropped her off at school every morning and picked her in the evenings. Her brother always gave her money for lunch which we shared all the time.

Nkwanzi and her brother gave me a lift whenever they found me along the road as I walked to school. First time to sit in their big car, I was not sure I would open the door right. After I did what I had always seen everyone do and it opened. I was glad I had not been embarrassed by the car door. Nkwanzi introduced me to her brother and as usual, she had something to talk about. While in the car, she did all the talking. I did not want to get into conversation with her because I had little knowledge about her brother. For the next weeks, they always gave me lifts when they met me on the way and dropped me at my terrible place in the evenings. I lived in a slummy area because it was all I could afford but Nkwanzi and her brother had no problem dropping me off in their posh car. It was often intimidating but never seemed to bother them.

Nkwanzi’s brother never said much, to him I was invisible; he only said hi once in a while and then concentrated on his driving until one evening. Nkwanzi had left school early because she was having painful menstrual cramps that day.

When Abaho came to pick her that evening and I politely informed him about the fact that Nkwanzi was sick. He asked if I needed a lift home and I immediately said no and lied that I was still catching up with some reading. There was no way I was going to sit alone with him in that car.

In my head, I could already see him driving off to a place I did not know and raping me. Yes, my past experiences made me to think the worst of every man.

“Martha I see you with your bag, I know your heading home.” He said after I had declined the lift.

“I was planning to take a walk today.” I replied politely and avoided eye contact.

“Is it because your friend is not around?”

“No sir.” I responded.

“Enter the car I am going to drop you at your place. I do not bite and besides it’s getting late and dangerous.”

I wanted to tell him that dangerous was me accepting his lift but I instead stood there in silence.

“Well Martha, I will not insist. Have a safe journey home.” He said and drove off.

I was so glad when Nkwanzi returned to school and I was worried too. Her return meant I had to take rides with Abaho again. And indeed the next time he was driving me home, he out of the blue asked how old I was.

“I will be 19 years old next month.” I replied softly.

“Do you stay with your parents?”

“No.” I responded.

“Why?”

“Do not make my friend uncomfortable.” Nkwanzi said and I was thankful for her rescue.

“I asked to give her a lift the other day and she said no.”

he reported to Nkwanzi.

“Barungi does not befriend boys.”

“Why? Did some school boy hurt you?” he asked and I could hear the concern in his voice.

“Boys and men have 4F’s when it comes to girls.” I boldly responded.

“What do you mean by 4F’s?”

“ Find them, Fool them, Fuck them and Forget them.” As I said them, I looked in the side mirror to see his reaction.

He was silent and had listened carefully. Nkwanzi was silent at this point and I could read the shock on her face.

“Nkwanzi I hope you heard your friend; most men are truly like that so it’s up to you girls to learn to say no...” he concluded the conversation with a lengthy uncomfortable talk about abstinence.

From that day, Abaho paid extra attention to me and the difference was loud and clear. He started taking both Nkwanzi and I for evening tea in restaurants and sometimes he even treated us to lunch. After a few months of him being nice to me, Nkwanzi must have noticed the change in her brother because she constantly told me about how her brother liked me but I dismissed her theories time and again. I knew I could not give it any reason to grow because I was well aware of how rich men behaved. I had lived with one of the most ruthless ones and seen many of them pay money to have a piece of me. I knew how powerful this family was so I did my best to stay away because I did not want anything coming in the way of my dream now that I had already tasted a bit of it. Nkwanzi did not make it easy because she desperately wanted me to be with her brother.

There are times when Nkwanzi gave me extravagant gifts and I knew they were from Abaho not her. Regardless of all the sweet nothings she said about her brother, I had seen all kinds of men and to me, they were all just hungry lions waiting for their next prey. With that in mind, her stories meant nothing to me.

Veraciously, I had never understood why men had a desire to be with me. Abaho had no business whatsoever to be around me but he continuously managed to make it to my store time and again. He was managing one of his father’s businesses according to his sister, an engineer and his father’s favourite. He always had too many questions for me and most of which I had no answers to. Abaho had however never gifted me anything; he always had his sister do it or Mr. Okot. Whenever Mr. Okot gave me an extravagant bonus for the work I had done, I knew exactly where the bonus was coming from. Like that was not enough, I was given an assistant which meant I could study all day. One thing was for sure, I was never saying no to a bonus because my mum needed it and I needed the assistant to concentrate on my school work. I knew all about rich men and their ways. To them, their money got them anything they wanted so I avoided Abaho as much as I could despite the fact that he had made life comfortable for me.

After sitting for my finals, we had a ten week vacation before getting our results. I had read day and night for my exams and had given each examination my absolute best.

Regardless of the fact that I had given my education my best, I was as shocked as everyone else when I found out I was the best that year, not just in my school but rather the whole municipality. I was all over the newspapers and each newspaper wrote about the store keeper who had come top of the district. It was amazing for everyone to acknowledge my effort and appreciate the fact that I had potential. I bought each and every newspaper and when I went to visit my family, I read to them. I had finally brought light to my father’s house. He made me a party and had his goat slaughtered. The party did not have much but I knew my father was proud of me. He called his friends and had me read for them the newspapers. He was the talk of the village. My mother never stopped thanking me for not bringing her to shame. Throughout my visit she asked me not to touch a thing when it came to house work. She referred to me as her princess.

St. Mary’s school gifted me 250,000 shillings, a mattress, beddings and a scholarship. I had been offered scholarships from three different schools, some of the very best in the district but I chose to stick to St. Mary’s because they knew my story. Nkwanzi had done very well too thanks to me but her father had chosen to take her to one of those posh Kampala schools. I was going to miss her so much that I knew and I did. She had been my motivation and always brought a smile to my face when I was feeling down. I had never been more determined to excel with my school. I now had a reputation to keep. I had chosen to do history, literature divinity and economics for my Advanced Level Education. Everyone thought I should have done sciences but I was so passionate about literature and history. I was elected head prefect of my school that year and always came top of my class. My life had changed a great deal, true I had no one coming to visit me on visitation days and I always stayed at school during holidays but I was happy. During holidays I took up minor jobs at the school like slashing the compound, painting the school, sweeping among others. I later sent the money to my mother.

Prostitution had scarred me and the pain and heartache I got from the numerous rapes never healed but I was thankful that my life had changed.

Abaho never stopped coming around, he often brought me letters from Nkwanzi but even when he did not have letters, he came to see me. I found these visits very uncomfortable and hated them so much. Mr. Okot had even cautioned me to be careful. I always calculated my words when I talked to him and tried to make the visit as brief as I could.

Once in a while he brought me a few gifts and novels claiming Nkwanzi had ordered him to do the shopping but I well knew it was a lie. My past haunted me so bad to the extent that I had never let anyone in; I always stayed away from boys and kept the girls at an arms distance. I had never had the courage to confide in anyone. The fear of rejection, judgment and pity could not let me. I never went to church either because I felt dirty and even when we had morning prayers at school; it was almost like a recital for me. I said the words but never believed and meant any of them. I had never learnt to love myself again. I showered in private because I did not want anyone seeing me naked or even the many scars on my body. Body contact terrified me and everyone thought I was just a strict and uptight girl yet all I carried was the darkness and pain of my past.

There are times when I had night mares about being raped and most of them were about Abaho rapping me. I had read somewhere that most of our dreams were our biggest fears, thoughts and hopes. This knowledge did not make the situation any easier, I found myself crying in the middle of the night and resenting Abaho for absolutely no valid reason. Many times, I had asked him not to come back to the school but rather to leave any messages he had for me with the teachers. I used every excuse I got to push him away and the same applied for all males and my classmates.

I looked at twelve year old boys and all I saw were future rapists. There was no good in males according to me. No matter how much I was mean and rude to Abaho, he always came back. He had never given me a reason to be rude but my past had given me enough reasons.

The unending trials of my life always had a way of showing up somehow. One morning; I fainted on my way to class.

I spent the next few weeks in and out of the sickbay. For some reason I was not getting any better and the fevers were recurring. After weeks in and out of the sickbay, the nurse recommended that I should be allowed to go home.

I could not imagine going home to my very poor mother and burdening her with the illness so I pretended I had gotten better and went back to class. Before long I had diarrhoea and was back to the sickbay. My biggest worry then was going home to burden my mother and missing out on my school work. The nurse had made constant recommendations for me to go home or be taken to a hospital but I always managed to convince her that I was fine. I lost a lot of weight and the school started to get concerned. I did not know or understand what was wrong with me.

It was not until Abaho came to school one evening that he insisted on taking me to hospital. Mr. Okot and the school nurse insisted too and I knew how much this continuous sickness had been affecting my studies. I agreed with them after hours of persuasion, left school with Abaho to the hospital. On reaching the hospital I explained to the doctor how I had had series of sickness and he sent me to the laboratory with a note of the tests he wanted to be done.

After blood and urine samples had been drawn, I sat there waiting with Abaho. I was so embarrassed because he had been there when I told the doctor about my diarrhoea and so much more. Abaho kept reassuring me that I was going to be fine. As we waited for the results he took me to the canteen outside for a snack and he gave me a tour of the hospital. I was feeling so weird around him. He was footing the hospital bill and because I had learned the hard way that nothing came free, I worried. Abaho had registered himself as my guardian but this did not calm any of my fears. I was grateful for his kindness but my fears were overwhelming. He however tried the best to crack jokes and make me as conformable as he could but nothing seemed to work for me. I had never been alone with him for this long hence I found it hard.

I knew something was wrong when the doctor asked to speak to Abaho alone first. They spent over thirty minutes in the room talking. I have never forgotten the look on Abaho’s face when I entered the doctor’s room; he looked so shaken and worried. I sat down and looked at the doctor. He and doctor stared at me for a few minutes then cleared his throat. “Barungi Martha, I want you to know you not the first person to be in this position….” I did not hear what he said next, I knew my worst fear had finally hit me “You are HIV positive.” I heard him conclude. A shadow came over my head and I sank back in the hard chair and cried. I cried so much and loud to the extent that everyone on the outside could hear cries. I was yelling and screaming out of control.

Abaho hugged me and tried as much as he could to calm me. He held me so tight but I did not care if he hugged or touched me; in my head I was already dead. He hugged me so hard and continuously told me it was going to be okay. I remember telling him to shut up. I thought of all those men that had raped me and the ones that had paid for me. I could not believe I had AIDS. I was scared and overwhelmed. I remember asking why me over and over again. Abaho continued to hold and reassure me but I knew I was finished. My past had finally caught up with me, at 20 years of age; I had slept with over 150 men.

I kept thinking God had finally sentenced me to death, wasn’t the rape and torture I had been through enough for him? Why did he have to punish me this hard and now when my life and future were finally looking up? I saw all my dreams and hopes vanish.

It was devastating, embarrassing and heart breaking; I had finally got my life on the right track only to be taken a thousand miles back. I was so afraid of dying and once again I could see and smell death all over me. I did not want anyone else finding out I was sick. Abaho held my hand the entire time and gave me hugs here and there when I broke down during counseling. There was no counsel that was ever going to ease my pain. I had lost faith in the world and people around me a long time ago.

I sat through counseling and heard basically nothing. I was just staring in empty space, not thinking of anything, feeling or even hearing. I felt like I had nothing to hang on to. I just wanted to end my miserable life and all the suffering. I felt all alone. I saw my future slip away, I had just lost everything. I had nothing left and no life, no hope, no dream. There are no words to describe what I felt at that moment.

After all that talk with the doctors and counsellors, I was asked to come back the next day. The minute I sat with Abaho alone in the car, I started to cry all over again and he hugged me once again. “Everything is going to be fine darling, you’re not alone. I am here for you.” He said and pulled me closer. I felt so lost and it felt like my whole life had just dropped and crushed right before my eyes.

“Don’t take me back to school please.” I remember whispering amidst my tears.

“Where do you want me to take you?”

“I just want to die. I am going to kill myself.” I responded and pulled away from him.

“I will not leave you alone and you are going to live. One day you will be my wife.”

The minute I heard him say I was going to be his wife I turned and looked at him. He looked every serious about what he had just said. I did not say a thing; I looked away and wondered why he had just said that. He had successfully managed to destruct me. How could one be that terrible at giving comfort!

I had seen the discrimination HIV victims suffered in my village. A rumor was enough for everyone to run away from you. Now I was one of them. I did not know why Abaho was still by my side but I knew he was going to be the first one to run away from me. That night, he got us a room at one of the biggest hotels in Mbarara and forced me to have something to eat. He was not afraid to touch me or even eat with me which shocked me.

“When I was a little boy, my father cheated on my mother every time. My mother was always crying and it affected all of us. With time I learnt my mother was not crying because her husband cheated but rather because he had brought the HIV virus with him. She thought she was going to die and leave us so young and defenseless” I listened to him carefully as he spoke to me. “It’s now 15 years later and my mother has never been happier. You’re not the first Martha and you will not be the last. People live with HIV every day. It’s not written on anyone’s forehead. Unless you choose to tell, no one would ever imagine it. My father looks healthier than most men in town yet his sick. It’s not the end of the world Barungi.”

He finished and then hugged me again. I could not believe that Mr. Bakama was HIV positive. He was fat and a very vibrant man!!

“Barungi I need to tell you something I haven’t had the courage to tell you before.” The minute he said that, I knew I was doomed. “I have liked you a lot ever since the day I saw you. I am going to be there for you through it all, you can count on me dear.” those words melted my heart and this time, it was me holding him tight.

Abaho spent the night with me; he did not touch me through the night. I could barely get any sleep so I lay there staring in dark space. I now had a little hope. If Nkwanzi’s parents had managed to live with the disease for all those years maybe I could too. I was finally comfortable having Abaho around since I now knew his parents were like me. The next morning I had a meltdown in the shower.

I felt very frustrated but I knew I was not alone. Abaho and I went to hospital and I was given medication. I was supposed to take seven pills a day for the start. After the hospital, he took me to lunch and then to meet his mother.

He told his mother about my status and then left the two of us to talk alone in private. She told me about her story, how she found out she had HIV, how she felt, how she cried, how she takes treatment among other things. She asked me how I thought I had got the virus and I told her I had been raped in the past. I told her about Mr. Natamba but did not mention names. I could not bring myself to talk about my prostitution days. I felt so good finally telling someone about my story and as I narrated and the story she broke down and cried with me. I had never thought I would feel that good sharing my past. It was the first time I had felt safe enough to talk about it. I knew she was probably going to tell her son the story but well, I had nothing more to lose. By the time we finished talking, I had never been more determined to live. I was so scared and angry but I was not about to let this disease define me.

I returned to school the next day and Abaho told everyone that I had typhoid and that I would be taking medication for a long time. He had bought me lot of eats and drinks too to help me gain some energy. I did not want anyone else to know about my status so Abaho had fake medical documents made for me. My life was changed forever. I was very cautious about taking my medication. I always had to hide before I swallowed my medicine. I withdrew from the society much more and buried myself in my books. Knowing I had AIDS, I knew my education was the only thing that was ever going to save me. So I read like never before. Abaho constantly came to check on me and so did his mother for the first few weeks. All she had were words of encouragement for me.

I always looked forward to Abaho’s visits, it was the only time I got to be myself, I told him how I felt and discussed my condition with him. The rumor around school was that I was dating him but I had too much on my plate to care about a stupid rumor. Mr. Okot constantly cautioned me about Abaho but the fact that he knew my status had made us so close. He always bought my medication and followed up to make sure I was taking it. He occasionally took me for counseling on days when I felt so down. I also registered him as my guardian on all my medical forms.

He stopped me from working during holidays and insisted I had to concentrate on school work first. He was always looking out for me. It had been long since anyone had been this nice to me. I felt so comfortable with him and he did his best to care for me.

I had grown fond of Abaho’s visits and I knew he visited every Friday evening and I expected him every Friday.

He usually spent an hour and we talked about everything there was. From my studies to his job to our dreams hopes among other things. He was a very funny, crazy, sensitive man. He had become my good friend and I did not care what he thought. I said anything that came to mind. He made my world lighter and I missed him when he was away.

I knew he liked me very much but had never understood why. One of those Friday evenings Abaho came to school and found me in the sickbay, I had a cough and fever that week but did not want to alarm him because it was not that bad. The minute he was told I was in the sickbay he came running like a hungry dog. He found me sitting on the sickbay bed, talking to my classmates. I don’t know if he thought I was dying or did not notice the people around us but he immediately hugged me so tight with so much urgency and asked if I was okay over and over again. My classmates were shocked, laughed and walked away. The other sick students were staring and I felt so embarrassed.

“What’s going on Abaho?” I asked when I finally pulled away and caught my breath.

“I was told you were very sick…and I freaked out.”

“Am okay Ethan, look at me.”

“ Are you sure? Should I take you to hospital? Are you taking your medication?” He was speaking so fast without breathing in the middle of the sentences.

“Am okay, it was only cough.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” I responded over and over to reassure him.

“You know I love you so much Barungi, I was so worried when I heard you were sick. And by the way why didn’t you inform me?”

I could not bring myself to answer the question, mostly because I was frozen; Abaho Ethan had just said he loved me. I don’t think he even heard what he had just said because he immediately touched my forehead to check my temperature and then he started looking for the nurse. I did not know if I had heard right or if I was day dreaming.

I turned around and found the other sick students smiling.

I was so embarrassed; did he really have to tell me he loved me when everyone was hearing? After talking to the school nurse, he came back to my sick bed and hugged me. I whispered to him and told him he was embarrassing me to which he laughed. By this time I had already handed over to the anew cabinet of student leaders. I had a reputation to uphold but then I did not want to make Abaho feel bad so I swallowed my pride and let him be.

I did not know what Abaho meant when he said he loved me but for the next days, it was the talk around school. I was frightened to imagine Abaho in love with me because I basically had nothing to offer him. I was just a broken, HIV positive girl with great looks and nothing more. On the other hand he was the handsome, a well groomed man that had had the courage to bring light into my dark life. Abaho was a rich man, cultured, humble, very hand working and educated. It was not until he had told me he loved me that I came to recognize how handsome he was.

He had these amazing beautiful big eyes that would light up every time he smiled or talked about anything he was passionate about. I must say they also did light up every time he looked at me. He had a gorgeous full smile with perfectly lined teeth. I swear I stared whenever he smiled.

Then he had a very deep sweet voice and the nicest laugh.

All in all Abaho was handsome so what was he doing loving imperfect me. True, I knew he had a special liking for me but love! I didn’t see that coming. I started to wonder if his mother had told him the story of my life. All I can say is I did not sleep that night.

Rumour does travel very fast. A week later, Mr. Okot summoned Abaho and me to address the news that had been in a local newspaper. “Tycoon Bakama’s son in love with a school girl.” was the heading of the article. Abaho had asked me to deny all allegations. He denied and so did I. Mr. Okot asked Abaho to reduce on the number of visits he made to the school. Abaho reduced his visits to once a month, I missed him greatly. Even when he came we did not talk as much as we did in the past. He was always on a hurry to leave. It did not shock me though it hurt a little.

I did not know why a rich man’s son would ever want to be associated with me. I had never taken the time to even imagine a life with him. I was sick and basically did not have much to live for except for my education.

I missed sitting in the car with him and talking about everything and nothing, I had grown to love and enjoy his company so much. There are times when I would look at the gate hoping and praying his car would appear. After days of waiting with no miracle, I decided not to bother myself with all that and again, I took all my frustration to my books and read so much. Abaho never missed any visitation day; he was always there and was as supportive as he could be. He took the time to buy me all I ever needed for school. I went for school trips with all the other rich kids. He was so involved in my life to the extent that he saw my report card first and regardless of being the best in class, he got me as many remedial classes as he could. He told me about his business deals and plans among others.

Abaho never stopped checking and monitoring my medication. He made it a point to call every day and ask how I was doing even when he did not talk to me directly.

It almost felt like he put me first. I had never understood why he had chosen to take care of me. He was always there when I got sick or needed anything. Everyone had continued to believe that I was relating with him and I decided to let it be. Whenever I aired my concerns to him he reminded me that there was absolutely nothing between us. This always made me wonder what exactly he wanted and expected of me. One minute he had said he loved me and the next he was being a father figure. I however had no complaints because I knew I was so lucky to have someone like him in my life and that should have been enough for me. I had been through so much in the past and I was thus not about to build castles in air. I knew life had given me a second chance at a future and despite the insecurities I got from living with AIDS; I never stopped reading my books.

My books had become my life. I never stopped progressing in my studies and when it came to District Mock Examinations, I came first in the whole district. Abaho had promised to get me a job for my vacation if I came on top of my class. He had never stopped being proud of me and had my best interests at heart. I admired his graciousness and support. He was always there to listen and I did most of the talking at times.

Abaho spoilt me with chocolates and cake whenever he came. I always wished I had met him before my life took a hopeless turn, but there I was, with HIV and no hope of being with a man like him. I cannot say I knew what I felt for him at this moment, but I knew it was special.

The day I finished my final examinations and high school, my school offered me a tutoring job. I basically had to help around tutor students and live like one of the teachers at the school. Abaho had secured me a job with his father too and after sitting down and weighing the options, he decided that I was better off working with the school.

Working with his father would raise more questions which he was not ready to answer. I absolutely understood and respected his stand.

Before I started my job as a tutor, Abaho took me shopping for new clothes, most of them were too expensive for my taste, and he introduced me as his sister when we met anyone he knew. At the beginning I was offended but I let it be. Abaho bought me a cell phone too and furnished the small place he had rented me just outside the school. It felt like Mother Nature was finally smiling at me for all the wrong that I had been through. I was happy and I once in a while took the time to be thankful for my life.

Abaho spent most of his evenings at my place and whenever he was around, I made tea and we talked about everything and anything. Nothing was off limits. He told me about his ex-girlfriends and heartbreaks, job and dreams. Time with me was like therapy to him. He had a lot to run and manage and often got stressed from it all. I always found it funny how a rich man’s son found comfort in poor me. Abaho had however never made me feel any different about myself. He talked to me respectfully and always listened to me. I loved spending time with him and this was probably the greatest time of my life. I loved how he hugged me when he saw me, he always wore the biggest smile on his face and then he spent the next minutes asking about my day. He was the only person I knew that paid complete attention to me. Every time I had a conversation with another man, I was resentful but with Abaho, I felt very secure. I loved being around him and I did not care if he saw me as his sister as long as he was around.

Abaho and I had our own kind of bond, there are times when I spent the whole evening with him and then the minute he got home, he still called and we spent hours on phone. I never understood this bond but I loved and enjoyed what we had. He always introduced me as his sister and treated me to good food in an incredibly beautiful hotel every other day. I missed him and knew he missed me too though he never said a word. There are times when he hugged me and felt him shake slightly. He loved my curly hair so much and often played with it. I was able to smile around him and he made me very happy. I got silly and playful when he was around, I was not afraid to be myself. It hurt me deep inside that I could not have met him sooner. While I was unable to share my life with him, I knew nothing to do about it and whining wasn’t going to help. He was my safe haven and he made me very happy.

Our friendship was very simple but very strong, it was my comfort and joy; I knew I was safe as long as Abaho was in my life.

Abaho had always treated me to dinner in nice hotels and I loved being treated like a lady, we often had fights here and there about the expensive meals but he always reminded me that I deserved it all. I had however never understood how someone could be comfortable spending over 75,000 shilling on a single meal; it was half my monthly salary for God’s sake. Nevertheless, I loved and enjoyed the beautiful places he took me to. During one of those dinners, Abaho asked if I could accompany him to Kampala for a weekend. I let him know that I had never gone past Mbarara to which he laughed and then he reassured me that I would be safe and have fun. I knew I was safe around him because he would never touch me because I was an AIDS patient, and I definitely knew I would have fun with him. I remember parking the most beautiful of clothes I owned on a Monday yet we were supposed to leave on Friday, I was so excited. I had heard many stories about Kampala and could not believe that I was finally going to experience the capital city.

Abaho told me he loved the genuine excitement I portrayed but well, I was just being a village girl excited about her first trip to the capital city. My stomach was doing flips as I entered Abaho’s car that morning, I had woken up twice that night to check my bag and make sure I did not forget anything. An exhilarating feeling engulfed me when Abaho finally started the car. My mind was racing with all the stories I had heard about the big city. Abaho must have been amused at my excitement. He carefully updated me about every small town we went through. It was a beautiful drive and I loved every bit of it.

It took us about five hours to get to Kampala; this adventure was one of a kind and the excitement I felt was overwhelming. Kampala was so beautiful, forget Mbarara.

I immediately fell in love with that beautiful city. It had lots of lights and people. Everyone was busy and seemed to have somewhere to get to. I could not stop staring at the skyscrapers. I had never seen such tall buildings in my life and could not help my amazement and fascination.

Abaho let me have my village excitement moment as he drove quietly. He drove me around the city to satisfy the villager in me but it was not enough. I was too excited and overwhelmed by the whole experience. That night we spent the night at the most beautiful hotel after the most sumptuous and yummiest of dinners. The hotel rooms were spotlessly clean and I loved that Abaho had taken the initiative to get me a room of my own. I spent half the night at the balcony staring. The city lights looked so beautiful, how I loved watching the flight of cars drive by!

The next morning I woke up to breakfast in bed and lots of beautiful roses. No one had ever done anything that sweet for me. This was the sweetest gesture. I screamed at the top of my lungs when I saw the hotel attendant holding them.

It was the first time I was receiving flowers and breakfast in bed. I was overwhelmed, surprised and happy. I loved my bouquet of red roses and as I drooled over them, I did not know Abaho was watching. He was the sweetest man I had ever known and he definitely knew how to make me feel special. As soon as I realized he was watching me, I jumped and gave him one of the biggest and warmest hugs that he almost fell from its intensity. Imagine every awkward moment in your life and combine it into one. I was wearing my micro mini night dress. After hugging Abaho, I remembered I was naked and suddenly felt so embarrassed and shy. After trying to pull down my very short night dress with no success, I slowly reached for a towel and covered up myself.

“I love it when you’re this happy dear.” He said and I looked down at the floor with so much embarrassment.

“Thank you.” I muttered but my voice was very shaky.

“Do you love them?”

“Yes.”

“Am glad you do. You better have your breakfast before it gets cold.” He said and I had my breakfast in shame, I could not believe I had taken my village excitement to a level worse than it was.

That day, Abaho took me shopping and later to all the nice places time could allow him to. I had never been happier all my life. He made me feel so appreciated and loved. He held my hand the entire day and did not get distracted at any one point. Abaho turned off his cell phone and gave me all his attention. He did not seem to care what anyone thought of us.

All he did was make me laugh and treat me like an absolute queen the whole day. Abaho had no problem sitting in the salon with me for six hours as I had my hair done. Very many people mistook me for his wife and for some reason it did not bother him at all, he actually did not correct any of them. He shared his food and fork with me like he did not know I was an AIDS patient.

He gave me a makeover that day and anyone could have mistaken me for a goddess. I felt like a queen and he treated me as such. He did not stop surprising me and continuously told me how beautiful I looked. I had one prayer though; I prayed and hoped this was not a dream. Abaho looked at me passionately and constantly asked if he was doing everything right. I could tell that he was nervous and so was I. We had always had a great time together and always enjoyed each other’s company but suddenly I was afraid to embarrass myself and cared what he thought of me. I did not understand why I felt the need to impress him and why it felt like he was trying so hard to impress me too.

Abaho had asked me to dress smartly as he was taking me somewhere special that night. It was the day of converting all my dreams to reality. I spent hours preparing; I showered over 5 times and could not stop sweating from all the nervousness.

A small smirk came upon my face every time I thought about him. I could not stop talking to myself and pacing around the room helplessly. I wore my best black dress and matched it with the new strappy red stilettos shoes he had just bought me. I felt smart but wondered if he would love how I looked.

There was no explanation to why I felt this way. I was too anxious for my own liking until I heard a knock on my door.

I froze for a minute, opened the door and saw him. There he was, looking so handsome in a suit and once again I melted. I did not say anything for the next seconds and neither did he.

He later told me I was the most beautiful girl he had ever met and I felt a rush all over my body. I was just frozen and silent.

“Say something Barungi.”

“You look good.” I managed to say.

“I was hoping you would say that. I am taking you on a date, just you and I.”

“Date?” I asked without looking at him.

“Yes dear, you are so beautiful tonight.” He reached for my hand and held it so tightly; a swift charge ran through my whole body again.

I was nervous and yet excited, I was unable to talk and walk. I did not understand what this was but did not want to make sense of it either. I did not hear half the things he said but I still nodded my head in consensus. He took me to a very quiet and intimate restaurant. I was too nervous to order for anything and more to that I did not understand the menu. It felt like the menu was written in a different language. Abaho took it upon himself to order for me food and take care of me the entire night like he always did. I honestly do not remember what we talked about; I was just staring into his eyes and lost in his charm. He looked very handsome that night. He did not stop complimenting me and tried as much as he could to make me feel comfortable.

He kept asking me if I was fine and trying to make me smile but I was feeling butterflies in my stomach the entire time. I did not understand what was happening to me and no matter how much I tried to remind myself that I was on a date with Abaho, the guy that had seen my silliness and stupidity but it did not help. I was lost in a world of charm and loved every bit of it. We went for a walk and had ice cream; he did not stop telling me how beautiful I looked. I loved every minute of the night and my heart was dancing the entire time.

At the end of the night, Abaho walked with me to the hotel and into my room. We sat at the balcony holding hands and talked for hours. I again, do not remember what we talked about but it was a sweet and special moment. I did not want the night to come to an end but it had to. I later reminded Abaho that he had to get enough rest as he was driving the next day so we both stood up, ready to say goodnight. As usual he reached for a hug and wrapped his arms around for a while. My heart was racing in that moment. We both went silent and just stood there hugging.

As soon as I managed to pull away from his embrace, Abaho leaned in very slowly with his arm firm around my waist and kissed me. I felt a thrill of nerves and butterflies, my knees felt too weak to support me. He was very gentle and when he slowly pulled away seconds later, I could swear that I fainted in that moment. I was basically frozen but remember him whispering goodnight before he walked away.

I knew everything had changed the minute Abaho planted that kiss on my lips. I could not stop thinking about Abaho and that magical kiss, I found myself closing my eyes and thinking about him. I sat silently at the balcony and melted at the thought of him and that sweet kiss. I did not know what this was but one thing I was sure of was I could not have anything with him. I sat on my bed, staring in blank space wondering if he really loved me and why he had kissed me. I wondered what that kiss meant. Was it possible for someone like him to love someone like me? I did not sleep that night. It was hard to believe that Abaho had just kissed me and I thought going to sleep would steal the joyous moment. For the first time in a long time, I slept with a smile.

CHAPTER SIX

Abaho and I never got to discuss that kiss, the next day we drove in silence pretending like nothing had happened. I was very glad we did not talk about it. Whenever he tried to bring it up, I made sure to change the topic somehow. I did not want to mess our friendship with kisses that were evidently a heat of the moment. I was living with AIDS; I could not imagine Abaho starting a relationship with me.

Let alone, his family accepting me as the one for him. So to save myself the heartache, I ran away from the topic.

After a couple of weeks, everything went back to normal.

Abaho visited every once in a while and took me out on fancy dinners.

Abaho later took it upon himself to give me driving lessons.

It was probably the first time Abaho and I had a fight or argument about anything. He was a terrible teacher and I was the worst student, always making mistakes. I did not know how I was going to make it. I found myself very nervous, I did not want to fail or let him down, and in turn he was being too protective of me. He did not give me room to make a mistake. I found myself accelerating all the time, which meant he had to keep his foot on the brakes. The worst was when I crashed into a tree. It was a bad crash and despite the fact that insurance was going to fix the car, he was angry with me. He had warned me about accelerating on many occasions but I don’t know why it had completely failed to sink in. After crashing his car, Abaho did not talk to me or come to my place or talk to me for the next few days. I missed him terribly. It was too much to take. I did not understand why I missed that much. It was very perplexing. I found myself not eating and being rude to everyone around me. I was in a terrible mood. These feelings reminded me of Ray and confused me.

After running out of things to destruct me, I decided to pay him a visit and apologize or at least force him to talk to me. My life had revolved around him so much to the extent that it was hard to ever imagine a life without him. I had never visited him at work so it felt so weird looking for him.

His secretary led me to his office. As soon as he saw me he smiled and stood up, meeting me half way across the room. He hugged me and as soon as I was in his embrace, I started crying. I knew his secretary was watching but it felt so good to be in his arms and I could not help myself. He held me for the next few minutes as I cried continuously telling me it was okay. After finally composing myself, he pulled away and led me to a seat. As usual he hugged me a little more here and there and sat in front of me and held my hands.

“What’s wrong my dear?” he asked sweetly and I got embarrassed, I could not imagine I was crying a few seconds a go and worse still, I could not think of any good reason as to why I was crying so I stared at the floor.

“Do you hate me?” I asked. “No my dear, how can you think of such a thing. I was angry but it certainly is not hatred.”

“I miss you.” I whispered, I still could not believe those words had just come out of my mouth.

“I miss you too, am sorry I made you feel this way.”

“Don’t ever hate me please.”

“That’s impossible my darling…very impossible.” He said with so much energy and emphasis then hugged me. The reassurance felt so real and comforting. “You should know by now that you mean the world to me.” I noticed he was trying to study my reaction.

“Then why did you…?” I knew what I wanted to ask but the tears in my eyes could not let me finish.

“Forgive me for putting you through this much pain Barungi.

I did not think…am so sorry.” He held me much closer. I let him hold me for as long as he could because God knows I needed it so much. It was at this moment that I noticed the secretary still watching from her desk and the shame kicked in.

“She’s watching.” I whispered.

“Let her watch.”

I did not understand what had come over me, how could I cry like that? Abaho never stopped apologizing for making me feel bad. He took the rest of the day off and treated me to lunch and tried to make up for the sadness he had caused me. I was however feeling so embarrassed by what I had done earlier.

Where had all those tears come from? Was this love? I had definitely turned into one of those emotional girls, hang up on a man. He tried to make me smile, held my hand the whole day and even bribed me with chocolates. I was so happy but I could not believe I had just cried for a man and right in front of him. The next day after apologizing, Abaho enrolled me in a professional driving school. According to him, I was better off being their problem than risking our friendship.

I knew there was something special going on but did not know what it was.

My friendship with Abaho continued to thrive and he took perfect care of me. He had never missed any of my doctor’s appointments. I always missed him whenever he was away and knew he missed me too always. We loved and enjoyed each other’s company. Every evening was Abaho and Barungi time and on weekends he always took me on tours. I found myself visiting most of the national parks in western Uganda. He wanted me to be happy and did everything to make sure I was happy. My moments with Abaho were the happiest of my life. He made me a happy girl and I only hoped I brought him the same joy.

I vividly remember being very shaken when I was told that the Senior Six results were out. Abaho called me about ten times that day to reassure me that it was all going to turn up okay. Nkwanzi had just returned from Kampala and she was spending most of her days at my work place telling me about all I had missed. Everything about her had changed; she was not the humble girl I knew. She told me about the men in her life and all the clubs she had been too with her sisters. We were all nervous about the results and could not think straight. I failed to tutor that day. My nerves were killing me. I could not wait to find out what my results were. Abaho tried to get our minds off the results with no success. Nkwanzi had come to notice the intense friendship that Abaho and I shared and regardless of how many times she asked what was going on, we denied everything. Abaho and I knew there was something going on but had never discussed or addressed it. I did not want to complicate anything though I knew he would have loved to address whatever was going on with us. He had made attempts in the past especially after our kiss in Kampala but I ran away from the subject at every attempt.

“Martha…Martha….” I heard Abaho call out my name.

There was lots urgency in his voice.

“Yes…I am here…Abaho...” I responded running towards the staff room door.

“You made it... you made it…” he shouted repeatedly and hugged me fiercely.

I don’t remember every detail of that day but there was a lot of noise and celebration, plus Abaho could not stop hugging me. I had scored 25points and was among the best in the district again. I was so happy and so was everyone around me. I could not wait to share this news with my family and let them know I was finally going to be a lawyer.

The whole school was on fire, everyone was proud of me and they had all expected me to do so well. It was not the biggest of surprises. The sleepless nights I spent had finally paid off. I could not believe that I was going to university after all I had been through. The heavens were finally smiling my way. Nkwanzi had made 16points and her father was throwing her a party.

Abaho insisted I drive to the village since I had a driving permit and had done him proud. This however meant he would check in every hour to make sure I was still alive and the car unharmed. The minute I got home, everyone was over the clouds excited for me. My mother was so happy and spent most of the time crying. Moments like these were so precious and made me forget I was living with a deadly disease. My family was so happy and proud of me and so was I. I had a rough start in life but God had not completely forgotten about me. My father had me driving him around the village, to the bar, to the garden and even to nowhere. He wanted to show off his success and I was so happy to have been his joy and pride. My siblings wanted to be like me and I was ready to do whatever it took to make sure they didn’t get a rough start like mine. I told my mother about Abaho and all the good things he had done for me. She spoke blessing for him and advised me to make sure he married me. I found it very funny and disturbing.

It was funny that my mother could come up with such a thought and on the other hand it was disturbing because I knew it was never going to be possible due to my status.

I had planted smiles on the faces of my family and had given my sibling new hope and bigger dreams. When I returned to Mbarara I got to tell Abaho about everything that had gone down in the village. I did not spare any detail. With Abaho, I was not afraid to be myself. I did not fear judgment because I knew he knew worse about me. It was hard to believe that I was going to do law and better still, that I had been offered government sponsorship. It felt like God was compensating for all the torture I had been through. I was finally walking in the clouds and was ready to take on the world. Abaho made it a point that I appear in each and every newspaper. He was proud of me and wanted my achievements known to the whole world.

My days of nightmares were all behind me because every time I closed my eyes, I saw myself at Makerere University.

Abaho had taken the liberty to prepare me for university.

Every week he bought me something new that was necessary for university. Being cared for is an amazing feeling and for the first time in my life, I had nothing to worry about. I was being loved and cared for by a wonderful man who knew I was living with HIV and did not push me away. I only wished I was able to talk about my past with him but that’s a story I was ready to take to the grave. Abaho had never asked about how I got HIV. To him, all that mattered was the fact that I was with him and we were happy. The connection Abaho and I shared was ineffable and unique.

Nkwanzi always put us in uncomfortable positions by asking what was going on between us. We both knew what it was but hadn’t labelled it.

The week before I left for the university, Abaho took me shopping every day; clothes, books, utensils and things I did not need. He was being so extravagant with every detail. While it felt nice to be spoilt and cared for, I could not help but think of my mother who had never had the chance to enjoy some of the things I was actually enjoying and seeing. I knew I needed to save my mother from the immense poverty she lived in every day. Abaho had decided that I would be sharing a room with Nkwanzi, which meant I would be getting an allowance from the university for my living out expenses. This money was directly going to my mother. My former school had gifted me 700,000

Uganda shillings. Abaho helped me open a bank account where I could have it carefully kept. I was nervous about university, I did not know if I was going to fit in or even make friends. My only consolation was that I was going to be with Nkwazi through it all.

Abaho drove Nkwanzi and I all the way to Kampala.

He had got us a hostel and after settling in, he took the time to give us a tour of the university. It was too big and overwhelming; I did not get much from the tour. I was too excited and found everything fascinating. Everyone seemed to have somewhere to go and they were exquisitely smart.

It was hard to believe I was a law student at Makerere University. Prostitution and sexual harassment had scarred me so deep and the scars were a constant reminder of my pain and suffering. It was almost impossible for me to believe that I, a former house girl and prostitute was about to rub shoulders with people from all walks of life.

The doors to my future had just been opened and very widely opened. I was truly excited about this chapter of my life and was determined to make Abaho prouder and my family too.

Abaho spent the whole week in Kampala to make sure I was settled in. He was so worried about me and I think had it been possible, he would have enrolled just to watch over me. He walked me to my orientation class and always treated me to lunch. He was there when I went for my first lecture and was waiting outside to find out how it went.

Abaho had not only been a friend and brother; he was a father figure, my inspiration and I wanted to make him proud. He always brought me so much joy, with him, was never afraid to be me. I still had so many insecurities about men but I had completely let my guard down when it came to Abaho. He paid so much attention to me as compared to his sister. Nkwanzi had come to accept that Abaho had special feelings for me and was always running away to give us some privacy. It was during this “alone” time that Abaho mastered the courage to tell me how he felt about me. That intimate conversation between us is still engraved in my brain.

“Barungi I need to talk to you about something.” he had started and reached for my hand.

“Yes?” I replied softly, trembling at his touch.

“By now you must know how much I love you.”

“Like?” my voice sounded cold, hard and disappointed.

“I have been looking for a way to tell you Martha. I know you’re probably disappointed but I knew you were the woman I was going to marry the minute you turned down my lift that day.”

“What?” I remembered that had been 4 years ago.

“I have loved you silently all these years.”

“Ethan no... Please.” I knew there was no way in hell this was going to end well.

“Don’t reject me please.”

“You don’t know the things I have been through, the things I have done in the past.”

“Then let me into your life, I want to know it all.” he held my hand tighter.

“I cannot have a future with you Ethan, I mean…

AIDS…”

“Barungi don’t talk like that, we have been through that during counseling. I am ready to walk with you through it all. Please let me.”

“I cannot.”

“Why?” I could see the hurt and sadness in his eyes at this point; I knew I was hurting him.

“Because you deserve so much better, a girl that is healthy and limitless, a girl that won’t burden you for the rest of your life. A girl that will complete you, I have too much baggage. I have too many burdens to shoulder and I cannot do that to you.”

“If I was living with AIDS too would your decision be different.

“What do you want Ethan?”

He closed his eyes and sat there silently. He did not let go of my hand, suddenly he opened his mouth to speak and moved me to tears. I have never forgotten his words.

“I know you’re sick, am willing to get myself sick if that’s what it takes to make you mine. I know you have goals for yourself and your family, all I want is to be part of these goals. I know you feel like I deserve better but Barungi have you looked at your beautiful self in the mirror? Do you see the girl that bravery paid her way through school? You make me a better and happy man. I dream of you every night and I think of you every minute. I don’t care what you did in the past; all I ask is to be in your present and future. I want to be your husband, father of your children, soul mate, and best friend. I want to love you for the rest of life. Please be mine. Barungi Martha, please be mine.” I was crying by the time he finished talking.

I knew Abaho was sweet but I did not know his sweetness was limitless. As usual he held me in his arms and let me cry it out. I did not know what to tell this very sweet man that had just melted my heart. I still believed he deserved better, a limitless life with a better girl.

“I used to be a prostitute Abaho; I have slept with over 200 men.” I whispered. He hugged me tighter and said nothing for minutes “Look at how much you have turned your life around Barungi. How many women do you know that are capable of this? I have great admiration for you. Please be mine.” His reply amazed me and I immediately wanted to be his

“Yes.” I whispered, I wasn’t sure why I was saying yes but I had to say it.

“Yes what?”

“Yes I want to be yours.” I replied. Voice shaky, hands sweating and heart beating like crazy, it was hard to believe I had just said those words.

Abaho gave me the biggest smile and hug, he stole a couple of kisses in between the hugs and shouted thank you over and over again. “I will make you the happiest woman on earth. Thank you Barungi.”

I knew Abaho was going to definitely make me the happiest woman on earth; he showered me with gifts and treats to lunch that week. Days after I said yes were probably the first happiest days of my life. We ate together, he walked me to class, we went places together and he made me the happiest. He bought me flowers every day and simple gifts.

I had nothing to give but he did not care at all. The thought of him returning to Mbarara without me terrified me though. I had grown to depend on his visits so much and hence being unable to see him every day was something I was dreading. Either way he had to return to work and I had to focus on school. To see his face, hear his voice, watch him eat, touch him and kiss him was a dream come true for me. He made me happy and I felt very safe around him. I pictured myself waking up to his sweet face every day. I was determined to deal with my past, to be happy because I knew Abaho deserved to be around a happy woman.

We both knew saying bye was going to be hard and when the time came, it was damn hard. We stood by his car for over 30 minutes, he looked at me and I just stared at him.

He said bye over and over. He asked me to stay away from Kampala men and keep myself only for him, he asked me to read hard and make him proud. I did not need to tell Abaho to be faithful because I knew he loved me to infinity and beyond. Letting go of him was hard, I did not want him to leave and neither did he. I was going to miss his presence, smiles, our hugs and his little sweet kisses. My soul and heart ached at the sight of him driving away. After a few more hugs and kisses and two hours of us standing by his car, Abaho drove off.

Abaho and I had agreed that he would visit every weekend and he kept his promise. Every weekend was Abaho and Barungi time; we spent the weekend basically doing nothing. We talked, ate together, slept, went for walks. I loved his presence and he loved mine. He had never missed a weekend. I always looked forward to our time. He was my home and I only hoped I was his. We spent hours cuddling and talking about anything that came to mind. I loved this man and he loved me so much. He had made it known to his parents that he loved me and I was his wife to be. His mother had objections concerning my illness but that was a fight he was ready to take.

Every time I looked in his eyes I melted and fell for him instantly. An arousal rushed to my stomach and the emotion of love swept over me. Our love was very simple, there was no effort needed because we treasured each other in every possible way. I loved every bit of him and missed him when he was away. We had phone calls that lasted over four hours whenever he was away. He was my world and I was his. Every time he hugged me, it felt like he was putting together every broken piece of me. With him I found healing and he made me complete. I felt like a princess with him and he treated me as such.

Abaho made sure I gave school my all, he always took time to check on my results and he knew when I was having which lecture and at what time. He always bought me political and law related movies and we would later discuss the movie. He paid complete attention to me and made sure I had never lacked. He took me to the best salons every two weeks and sat with me as they did my hair for over hours sometimes. He enjoyed being with me. Every time our results were pinned, he was the first person I called. I loved making him proud. He provided for my family and me to the extent that I had no worries at all.

Abaho knew how to spoil me. I had never regretted my decision to be with him.

Abaho and I loved our “alone” time and often, he took time to take me on trips. We often took pictures, cuddled, ate and played all sorts of games. This one time he took me to Savannah Resort Hotel in western Uganda. It was one of the most beautiful places I had been too. Ethan and I had planned to spend the weekend there before I returned to the university for my second year of law school. We always booked separate rooms for all our trips but not that time. I was not worried at all because I fully trusted Ethan.

It was supposed to be a three day trip. On our first day, we both got to the hotel late and we were tired from the six hour drive. After a cold shower and dinner, we both went to bed.

Waking up to the love of your life is priceless. As I watched Ethan sleep like a little baby, I could not help but wonder why he had chosen me. He perfectly loved imperfect me and there was no limit to his love. I could not resist, I just had to kiss him. He woke up as soon as I kissed him and gave me the biggest smile.

“Good morning my love.” He whispered.

“Good morning honey. Sorry I woke you up.”

“Trying to steal kisses while I sleep huh?”

“I did no such thing.” I smiled.

“And now she’s shying away.” He laughed and wrapped his arms around me. “It’s nice to wake up to your smiles.”

He continued and stole kisses of his own.

“Marry me Barungi. That way I get to wake up to your beautiful face and smiles every day.” we both laughed.

“I love this.” He said and pulled me closer. It was a great feeling to be in his arms.

“I love it too but am hungry.”

“Let me hold you just a little longer my love.” He whispered and suddenly my hunger disappeared.

We spent the rest of the day talking, taking forest walks and swimming. Abaho had been struggling to teach me how to swim for months. After playing in the water for hours, Abaho and I sat under a shade and had juice and snacks.

Abaho was always showing me off. He held my hand everywhere we went and whenever we were on such trips, he dressed me in the skimpiest of clothes. After a great day of doing nothing except eating and looking pretty, Abaho and I went to our room to watch a movie. I don’t know how he did it but he always managed to surprise me and that night, he had managed to sneak into the room before me and left wine and roses on my pillow. I loved this man and he was driving me crazy with all the love. It was the sweet little things he did that moved me.

The minute he walked into the room I gave him the biggest hug and then kissed him as passionately as I knew.

“What was that for?”

“For being the best man on earth.”

“I should get you flowers more often in that case.” He teased.

“I love you Ethan.”

“And I am crazy about you honey.”

“When did you get the roses and wine in here?”

“I am a miracle worker.” He said and pulled me into his chest.

“You’re my miracle worker. Thank you for loving me Abaho, you’re the best.”

“Don’t get me all emotional, we have a movie to watch.” he whispered and released me.

“Hold me a little longer please.” My voice was shaky.

“Don’t cry please. Otherwise I won’t be surprising you again.”

“Why me?” I had never understood what I had done for him to love me that much.

“Why not you? Barungi you my home, you complete me, you’re my best friend and I love you like crazy.”

He completed his short speech with a long passionate kiss.

He had never kissed me like that. We kissed so passionately, letting our passions give in. I closed my eyes as he kissed the little tears off my face with so much love and care. He then kissed my neck. At this point my knees felt weak but I did not want him to stop. I was blown away by every touch and kiss, lost in his arms and all I wanted was to give myself to him.

The agony of immeasurable, pleasurable pleasure took me over and I couldn’t control myself. Abaho unhooked my bra.

This whole time my brain was telling me to stop but my body did not know how to. I did not want Abaho to stop. It was not until I was on the bed naked that I remembered I was about to transmit my illness to the man that had genuinely loved me.

I had to stop him.

“Ethan, stop right now please.” I shouted and pushed him away so hard.

“Did I do something wrong?”

“We got carried away and forgot I am sick.”

“But I don’t care my love.” He said trying to kiss me again.

“I care, and I would hate myself if I made you sick.”

“Please… just this once.” He was desperately asking to have me at this point.

“Ethan, don’t make this hard please.”

“I don’t care Barungi. I just want you. Please.”

“I wish I could give you what you want right now. God knows I want to be lost in your arms Ethan but let’s face it I am sick. I cannot make you sick because of uncontrollable pleasure. I feel unbearable guilt that I cannot be normal around you.” I was crying by the time I finished talking.

“I am so sorry my love. Please forgive me. I did not mean to burden you like that.” He responded and pulled me into his arms for comfort.

“I feel so inadequate right now.”

“Barungi look at me.” he said and turned to face me. “I love you more than life itself, I do not need sex to love or be with you. I love you with or without sex.” Once again he moved me to tears.

Abaho knew what to say and when. He knew how to make me happy and what buttons to push. Once again, he attended to each and every fear of mine. Ethan and I watched our movie and laughed like nothing had happened.

This man was too prefect to be real and to think he wanted me and only me was a joy beyond all joys. I had nothing to give but he still loved me unconditionally. The rest of our trip was filled with laughter and more memories. I wasn’t happy that I had limits to this love but I was glad my man loved me regardless. Abaho had never complained about my limitations but rather embraced them.

CHAPTER SEVEN

I have felt different types of pain throughout my life, the pain I felt whenever I saw my mother suffer and toil was different from the pain I felt when I was raped. It was different from the pain I felt every time I sold my body. On 1st September, 2008, I learnt a new kind of pain. I was at hostel trying to finish up an assignment that was due the next day when Nkwanzi opened the door. I had last seen her that afternoon when we were saying bye to Abaho. She stood by the door sobbing uncontrollably. I immediately knew something was terribly wrong. Of all the things that could have happened, I never imagined they could ever have anything to do with Abaho. Amidst the tears, Nkwanzi managed to tell me how Abaho had had an accident and had not survived it. I remember dropping on my knees and screaming as loud as I could. This was a new kind of pain.

A pain words cannot explain.

I sobbed hysterically, it was hard to breathe. I was gulping snotty breaths for hours. Nkwanzi held me and we cried together. I had just said bye to Ethan a few hours ago. It was hard to believe he was gone. A part of me was convinced it was all a big lie, may be they were mistaken or they had reported wrongly. I badly needed this to be a nightmare.

The pain I felt was something I had never imagined or experienced. Every part of me was broken once again. It’s like the glue that was holding me together had finally let go. I felt very powerless, it felt like I had been pushed into darkness and I knew I was never escaping this darkness.

I felt like I had been ripped apart and this time, it felt like I could never be put back together. Feeling broken is one of the worst feelings I have had to endure. I did not want to be alive anymore; I did not want to live a life without my Abaho. Once again I was alone, broken, helpless, confused and sad. I knew I was not going to survive this one. Life had found a new way of breaking me. My joy and happiness had been eaten away just like that. I inexorably wondered what I had done to deserve this much pain in one life time.

I wondered why God hated me this much. Hadn’t I been through enough already? Did he have to take away my only source of joy and love? Abaho was not only my love but my world too. He was the reason I got up and aspired to be better. He was my healing and the reason I badly wanted to be happy. I wanted to be happy so that he could be around a happy person. He was my best friend.

Nkwanzi and I travelled to Mbarara that night. It was one of the longest journeys of my life. I kept praying that it was all a misunderstanding. Anxiety and terror overcame me the minute I saw my Abaho in a casket. I have been raped and faced death during some of the rapes but this was by far the greatest pain of my life. Nkwanzi and I started sobbing all over again, screaming in a lot of pain.

I remember stroking his hair and kissing every part of his stone cold face. Shouting his name and begging him to open his eyes. I tried to hug him, convincing myself that he would hear my voice and somehow wake up. It took about three men to pull me away from his body. My screams attracted everyone. I could hear the women around ask who I was. “That’s his girlfriend.” Mrs. Bakama replied.

Abaho’s mum sat Nkwanzi and I down and asked us to be strong but how was that even possible. I did not sleep that night. I vividly remember going to the casket every now and then to see if he had woken up yet.

Nkwanzi and I remained besides each other. There are times when I knew she did not know what to say to me so we sat in there in silence. I did not know what life was going to be like without my Abaho. Abaho’s father asked me to draft and give the eulogy on behalf of his friends. I badly wanted to say no but did not know how to turn down the request of a father who had just lost his only son, friend and business partner. I don’t remember what I wrote and said but I was crying the entire time.

Mr. Bakama and his wife treated me with lots of care and made it known that I was their son’s girlfriend. There was pity on everyone’s face at the sight of me. This made me so sad and angry. I was angry with God and angry with life. I wished and prayed for Abaho to take me into his arms like he always did. I wanted him to tell me that it was all going to be okay. The hardest part was seeing the casket being lowered into the ground. It’s hard to explain that feeling minus crying. It’s a feeling I have never forgotten. I cried so badly as I saw the man I had loved being lowered into the ground. Mrs. Bakama wept too. My heart was broke and crushed in every possible way.

I spent five days with Abaho’s family after the burial. They embraced me and took care of me like I was their own.

Nkwanzi and I had to return to school though. It was the first time I was going to Kampala without my love.

The journey was hard. I compulsively thought about the stopovers we made to eat street meat and ease ourselves. I hated the journey and missed him so much. I tried so hard to get some sleep because I did not want to go through the pain of traveling without my prince. It was hard and I did not know how I was ever going to make it.

The next weeks were terrible for me. I missed class and spent most of the time in bed sleeping. I was depressed and alone. Nkwanzi tried to help and be there for me as much as she could. I missed my Abaho. It was hard to look at his picture and not cry. I missed his phone calls, it got to a point where I switched off my phone and kept it away.

This was because every time the phone rang, I jumped to pick up the call hoping it was Abaho. I hated school. I hated weekends because every weekend had been Abaho and Barungi time. I avoided all the places we had been to together. I avoided the television programs we loved. I saw Abaho in everything I did. I needed to talk to my man; I badly wanted to tell him I was hurting. All hope was gone, there was no way I was going to survive this. I needed my hero. He alone knew how to cure my pain and soothe my broken hurt. He was the first and last person I talked to every day and I terribly missed his voice. I had new fears and no strength to carry on. I missed his kisses and touch; I missed his smile and laughter. I missed the peace and joy he brought me. I was just alone and broken.

I saw Abaho in everything I touched and did. He had bought everything I owned and had walked me to my first class. He had built his life around me and was at the centre of mine. I did everything with him and told him everything.

I need to talk to him at least one more time. Abaho left a big, deep hole in my heart and a void in my life and soul.

He was the one man that had given a crap about me. He did not care that I was a former prostitute or that I had AIDS, his love for me was limitless and unconditional.

He had loved me with every breath and gave me his all.

His love knew no bounds. He loved me and had made it known to everyone in his world. How was I supposed to live without the man that had restored my peace and showered me with love? I missed his annoying silly jokes and his sweet eyes that always looked into my soul. I cried myself to sleep, begged him to come back, sent numerous messages to his phone hoping he was somehow able to read them. It was difficult to cope with the loss of my true love and friend. There are times when I got headaches from crying. Night times were the hardest, going to sleep without Abaho’s voice was a nightmare of its own.

I had been told that the pain would heal but the “time heals all wounds” miracle did not visit me. The emptiness and loneliness I felt was gigantic. I felt so incomplete and honestly, I was afraid to heal because I feared it meant I would love Abaho less or even forget him. I was afraid to forget him. Nkwanzi often told me to move on but I did not want to because Abaho was my reason for moving on. I stopped taking my medication mostly because I was too depressed to remember. Abaho was my reminder for everything. He always reminded me to take my medication, he knew when and what medication I was having. I wanted him alive to hear the things I heard and see what I saw. I had so much to tell him but he was gone.

It was sad to think that all the plans Abaho and I had made were never going to be a reality. We wanted to have four children, two boys and two girls. We had picked out their names too (Eliza, Elisa, Ethan and Elijah). Abaho had promised me marriage; a big wedding and a happy family.

We had fantasized about the vacations we would take with our children and talked about what our children would be like. A part of my soul had disappeared with Ethan and I lacked purpose and direction again. There are times when I picked up my pillow hugged it and cried, other times I punched and screamed at that same pillow. The emotions of pain, despair and grief were very torturous. Abaho and I had a love and understanding that could never be replaced and to the thought of him gone was the worst.

It was hard to imagine him absent on my graduation, my birthdays and to think that we were never going live our happily ever after.

It was hard to get over the loss of my love and no matter how I tried to engage and resume school, it was hard for me. My face was always dull and my eyes lifeless. All the joy, life and laughter had been sucked out of me. I was devastated and sad; I withdrew from all social activity.

I was always on the verge of crying. I felt like God had been very unfair and unjust to me. I had never understood why these terrible things happened to me. I felt so much hatred and resentment, I cursed at the thought of Him.

I was dealing with very painful and difficult emotions, to continue without him living felt almost impossible. To lose my shield and strength was hard and I could not help but feel insecure, unsafe and helpless. I was never going to get over Abaho, it was very clear.

Nkwanzi never gave up on me even when I had been very selfish and had taken out all my frustrations on her. She had the biggest share of my anger and stupid tantrums.

There are times when I yelled and shouted at her for no reason. She had also just lost her brother and was going through so much pain but she gracefully took in all my shouting. She was my biggest reminder of Abaho. She did her best to cheer me up and fill the void left by her brother. She took me for ice creams and walks but all this hadn’t helped one bit. I needed to heal and in my own time though it was taking longer. She worried about me and I knew it but did not know how I could get over the pain of losing Abaho. A time came when I wished I had not met him, maybe I would have managed to cope with my past and somehow would have found my own way in this life.

If I hadn’t met him, I probably would not have had to go through the pain of losing him.

Seven weeks later, I had turned into a walking skeleton. I lost over 25kgs, it took a trip to the hospital and intensive counselling for me to realise that Abaho was not coming back to me and the best I could do was make him proud by living a happy life. I had counselling from both of Abaho’s parents. Nkwanzi had called them on board. I did not know if this was even possible but I owed it to Abaho to try.

I knew he would have been disappointed if he saw me skip class and my medication but it was hard for my heart. The pain my heart and soul had to endure was unimaginable.

A time came when I would be in class and suddenly tears would just run down my cheeks without my knowledge.

As usual, I did what Barungi did best when she was frustrated, I took all my pain to my books. I had so much catching up to do which was good for me. I left hostel at 7:00am and returned at midnight when the library closed. I spent hours reading anything and everything I came across.

I started tutoring Nkwanzi who was a business student. I was ready to read and do anything just to distract myself from crying and feeling sad. I did not want to forget the man that I loved more than anything in the world despite the fact that I needed as many distractions as I could get.

If I forgot him then who was going to remember him? He had loved me a lot and I was not going to erase or forget those beautiful memories.

I never stopped missing Abaho, his family remained supportive and Nkwanzi took care of me. She made sure that we had food and all the necessities; all I worried about was my mother and siblings. I had to provide for them again. Abaho had taken it upon himself to take care of my family and me; now that he was gone I had to figure things out. This meant that all the money I had been saving from my living out allowance and the upkeep I always got from Abaho was going to my family as I tried to find a job.

Finding a job was not going to be easy and balancing work and school was going to be even harder. I however had to do everything possible to give my mother and siblings something. Mr. Bakama had offered to continue paying my hostel fee and Nkwanzi did all the shopping at hostel so I wasn’t lacking.

After along search, I got a job at a Micky’s bar and restaurant.

I was a day student but because I needed extra money, I was forced to opt for evening lectures, this was stressing since I had to hand in course work and assignments with the day class even when I attended evening lectures. I also had to write numerous letters to my lecturers explaining why I was attending evening lectures. Unlike high school, university was different and no one cared if you had a terrible upbringing or if you had a lot on your plate. I however always found favor with my lecturers because I was a good student and always topped my class.

I got out of bed at 6am to read, was at Micky’s for work from 8am to 4:30pm then I would run to the university for lectures which went on from 5pm to 9pm. As soon as I was finished with my lectures, I headed to the library till midnight. Nkwanzi thought I was taking on a lot and missing out on life but for my family, I was ready to take on anything. I had also come to believe that Abaho was watching over me and helping me somehow. On many occasions, I found myself talking to him. When work was too much or when there was something bothering me. I always whispered to him and everything would be fine. I also knew his phone had been switched off by his mum or dad but I always texted him to tell him about my day, what I was doing and what was bothering me. I knew Abaho wasn’t reading them but it helped ease my pain.

Just when I had begun to cope; God decided that it was time for my father to leave the earth too. He died from a snake bite. He had been too drunk to notice the snake. I always knew that my father was a hopeless drunkard but I did not think it would be the death of him. There are times when my father returned home very drunk and full of vomit. Sometimes he urinated and defecated all over himself; my mother had always silently undressed him, bathed him and then put him to bed. Growing up, in such a situation made me sit in the corner and cry. Regardless of how much he drunk, I loved and respected my father.

My mother reminded us countless times that regardless of what we did, this was our father and no matter how he wronged us, we were never ever going to get another copy or another father.

She had also taught my siblings and me the golden fifth commandment that required us to respect our parents. I had seen my mother work so hard to her last sweat every day to make ends meet and how thankful she still was at the end of the day. She found happiness in the slightest of things and was always thankful; she had no complaint regardless of the many times she woke up to debts of a drunken man. My mother stood by her husband every step of the way and in any condition he was. His death crushed her, she was inconsolable. I could only imagine what she was going through. Despite the fact that I had just lost a father, she had lost her husband, father of her children and soul mate.

My father’s death was not easy on any of us but mostly my mother. She had always taken care of her drunkard and always loved him unconditionally. Drunk or not she called him her husband and treated him with so much respect.

True he was always drunk but he was the father and head of our family. Life was never the same again. My mother got depressed and she spent days waiting for that 5am knock on the door from her beloved drunkard. My mother stopped eating and spent her time at the graveyard crying.

She was never the same again and it hurt me so much seeing my mother suffer. I had always been my father’s favorite child and every time he got home, he asked for me first. My father was not any saint, but one thing I was sure of is, he loved his family even though he did nothing to prove or show his love for us. He bragged about his wife and brought so much joy to us in his own way. Home did not feel like home without his commanding voice. This was hard and difficult for all of us.

Nkwanzi was with me throughout the funeral and Mr. Bakama funded almost half of the burial. Nkwanzi had taken control of almost everything as I sat down to take care of my mother. She picked my siblings from school and kept them together. Being from an extremely rich family, there are things I never expected Nkwanzi to do. She however shocked me when she ate from the same dirty old plates like everyone else, slept on the floor, showered cold dirty water and lived in a house with no electricity. I knew I had found myself a true friend and it was the first time I felt blessed in a very long time.

Mrs. Bakama and her husband visited my family 3 days after the funeral; this visit humbled me so much. They reminded me that I had to prepare to return to school.

They were very generous to us which I did not understand until Mr. Bakama told me he had been reading the messages I sent to Abaho’s phone every day. In his words,

“Barungi, you loved my son so much. I did not realise it until I read the messages you send him every day.” I had known Mr. Bakama for not caring about anything unless it benefited him somehow so this humbled me so much.

I well knew most of it was because Nkwanzi had spoken but it was okay. I was however a little embarrassed that he had read my messages because some of them were very private. Their visit meant a lot to me and gave my mother a little hope. The villagers could not stop talking about that visit. To us, it felt like the president of the country had just visited.

Leaving home for school was hard. I knew it was not going to be easy for my mother and I hated to leave her heart broken. Nkwanzi and I however had to go. I never stopped calling to ask how she was doing. At the time, it meant calling our neighbour to find out. My mother did not have a phone then. I badly wanted to pray and ask God to strengthen her for me but then I remembered I was angry with God. At times like that, I asked my angel Abaho to watch over my mother for me. I wished he had been there to help me through the funeral but well, I was just making wishes.

I had mastered the art of taking my pain and worries to my books so once again I embarked on it; I found myself reading for long hours and even the most irrelevant information. Often times, students approached me for help with their assignments and course works at a cost. I found myself writing reports and course work for many students and making almost 50,000 shillings a day. There were many rich kids that did not have the time to sit and have an assignment done so they came to me. I quit my job at Micky’s because a time came when clientele grew and I got very busy. This job was very easy for me because I was good with books and writing. A few months later, I decided to give this business a name i.e. Student Solutions. I wrote reports, private tutoring, dissertations, research, course works among others. After passing word around and posts here and there, the business took off. The university was full of many lazy students that did not have time for school work.

My life had revolved around lecture rooms and the library.

I had never forgotten my desire to make Abaho and my mother proud I therefore worked as hard as I could. The first of every month was specifically hard for me; it was a reminder of my darling love. Every first of the month, I wrote Abaho a letter and took a few minutes to cry. I missed him so much, his hugs, smiles, kisses, voice, cologne and his presence. I found myself hugging his picture to sleep.

Losing my Abaho had meant sleepless nights, loneliness, anger and pain. At some point, you however realise that though we cannot continue to live with our loved ones, they live in our hearts every day.

Nkwanzi took it upon herself to set me up with a couple of her friends even when it didn’t work every time. She loved to party and usually spent most of her time in bars and clubs. Every time she was out with her friends and a guy approached her for a phone number, Nkwanzi gave them mine. She usually lied to these guys that she was called Martha and went on to give them my number. I had many weird and interesting conversations with the strange men. I often punished her by inviting these men to our hostel without her knowledge and then I watched her get embarrassed. Most people found our friendship rather strange because while Nkwanzi was loud and a party animal, I was reserved and a book worm.

Nkwanzi also had numerous boyfriends. She had no limitations when it came to dating. There are times when she had four boyfriends at the same time. She had them bringing her all sorts of gifts. Other times, I entered the room and found a new laptop, shoes, screen or music system. These are things that Mr. Bakama could afford to give to his daughter so I never understood why she got them from strange men. This one time, she dated a Nigerian business man, so one evening she walked into the room and announced that we were going to Rwanda the next day. At first I thought she was kidding until she started parking for trip and talking endlessly.

“Am not coming with you Nkwanzi, you know that is not my kind of life.” I stated plainly and seriously.

“Martha, you are coming with me, your ticket is paid for.”

“How did you?”

“I know where you keep your passport.” she replied rolling her eyes.

“I won’t be coming along with you regardless. I have tests next week and I don’t want to involve myself with your strange men.”

“Martha, Abaho is never coming back. You’re missing out on a lot of fun and wasting away your life. Please come with me.” she pleaded.

“I am truly sorry but no.”

“What if Elliot decides to kill me and bury me somewhere in Rwanda?”

“Don’t joke like that Nkwanzi, it won’t work.”

“Martha, it’s a free trip, you have nothing to lose. Please live a little and besides we will be together for the entire trip.”

“I said no. I am not changing my mind.” I concluded the conversation and walked out of the room.

The next day, I was on the plane to Rwanda. It was hard for me to say no to her. Just like her brother, she knew what buttons to push and what to say. Nkwanzi and Elliot were making out throughout the journey and she was probably drunk the entire trip. I spent most of my time at the hotel as the two went out to party and tour around. I did not want to interrupt their private time. Elliot was very rich and always trying to buy my favour. He bribed me with a laptop, new phone and money. I could tell he really liked Nkwanzi but I knew she was just there to spend his money. To her he was just another adventure.

Rwanda was beautiful; I loved every bit of the land of a thousand hills. The streets were spotlessly clean and neat unlike some places in Kampala. There wasn’t a piece of paper on the streets. It was amazing how traffic rules were observed and everything was orderly. I had the opportunity to visit Lake Kivu and the Kigali Genocide Museum. It was an emotional experience for me at the museum. I had new respect for the peace and stability back at home. I loved Kigali and I was so glad Nkwanzi had forced me to come along. It was truly a weekend well spent. I had missed the room service and princess treatment.

Nkwanzi never stopped taking me along for her adventures, for her birthday; she had one of her very old rich boyfriends take us to South Africa. It was nice going on these trips with Nkwanzi. Many times I felt out of place and did not want to be there, I also missed my love. I loved the free adventure but knowing she was probably sleeping with all those men did not sit right with me. I tried to talk to her countless times but she always reminded me that it was her life. I had never understood why she needed to party hard and have old rich men do such things for her. Her father was perfectly capable of providing all she wanted. There are days when she disappeared and dropped at hostel for just a change of clothes. She also had a number of friends who lived the same life style making it difficult for her to listen to me.

Much as I knew that Nkwanzi was an adult, capable of taking care of herself, I had never forgotten how much Abaho had done for me. He would have been so hurt and disappointed if he knew that I let his sister live such a hopeless life. It was not until Nkwanzi had a pregnancy scare and confided in me, that I chose to have one of the most difficult conversations of my life. I did not know react to the news but if that was the price I had to pay to straighten her up, I was ready to pay it. I was however so scared, of the judgment and possible discrimination.

After rehearsing what I was going to tell her over and over, I finally gathered the courage to face her.

“Nkwanzi we need to talk.”

“What now?” she replied and I could tell it was going to be one long exasperating conversation.

“It’s about me.” I responded to get her attention.

“What is wrong? Are you sick?”

“Not very sick but there is something I want to share with you.”

“You’re scaring me Martha. Talk, what is going on?”

There was so much worry and concern in her voice.

“I don’t know where to start. This is harder than I imagined.”

“Start somewhere please.” she pleaded.

“I have been through a lot in the past Nkwanzi…..” I told her everything and spared nothing.

The look on her face was priceless. At some point in the middle of the story she just held my hands and we cried. I felt like a big load had been lifted off my chest.

Nkwanzi was speechless as I described each and every rape, my prostitution days and abortions. I told her about my sickness and everything Abaho had done for me.

“Nkwanzi am begging you; you have to stop living this nonsensical life. Nothing good could ever come of it.

Unless you plan on ending up sick and washed up.” I finished trying to lighten up the mood with a bad joke.

Nkwanzi apologised and was a little angry that I had not shared the story sooner. We then agreed that she would drop the old men, crazy parties and that she would at least try to date one man at a time. To have the story of my years of pain and suffering change her crazy life was a rare kind of joy. Nkwanzi lived up to her word. She started by changing her cell phone number to lose all the unwanted friends and she also started joining me on my trips to the library even though they bored her to death. She spent most of her free time watching series and soaps. It was not easy for her to give up that life but she managed somehow and even when she went out, it was simple and safe. Had I known that my story was the medicine to her crazy partying, I would have opened my mouth months before.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Days had turned into weeks, weeks into months and then months into years, some days were onerous and wearisome but somehow I got up the next day. Walking into the mighty gates of Makerere University for the first lecture of my final year, I inevitably thought about Abaho from time to time. We had walked through those gates together three years ago when I joined Makerere University. As I sat and waited for the first lecture of my final year to begin, I inescapably thought about the far I had come. I had managed to register Student Solutions as a company despite the fact that the company offices were in my hostel room. Nkwanzi had graduated that January with a Bachelor in Business Administration and was working with her father. Her course had been three years while mine was four minus the fifth year at Law Development Centre.

We talked everyday but I missed her every single day.

I was lost in thought when the lecturer came in and my seatmate alerted me to pay attention, I got the shock of my life. Ray was the lecturer standing before the class. I had last seen that fateful night in 2001 when I walked out of the Natamba’s home. I felt like I had been struck by lightning.

The years had been so good to him. He looked as good as I remembered except the beard. I was stunned by the physical change. He was still very handsome and looked so good in the suit. All the emotions came pouring in the minute he spoke. It was still that same deep rich, sexy, voice.

I could tell that he had travelled to the western countries from his accent. It was Ray, my Ray and he looked as good as I had remembered. My heart started racing and I was sweating all over a sudden. I felt a weird thrill. I spent the whole lecture looking into the hand out. I did not want to make eye contact with him though I knew he would never remember me. My Ray was standing before me! He was a blast from my past and not a good one.

It was one very long lecture and just when I thought I had survived it, he asked who the class coordinator was.

There was silence, I hoped and prayed for the other lousy coordinator to be present for once. He asked again and there was still silence. For the first time, I wished I had dodged class. This was a confirmation that God enjoyed my misery and putting me in very uncomfortable positions.

“This class has no coordinator?” he asked again.

“We do.” Gabriel replied.

“Then where are your class coordinators?” I could tell he was getting irritated.

“She is here.” Lynn replied pointing at me. He was busy shutting down his laptop to even look at me.

“I will need you to give me the class email address if the class has one, that’s where I will be sending all the notes and books you need for this course unit. What is your name?” he asked and was still busy on his laptop.

I could not bring myself to respond until he asked again.

My heart was still racing.

“Barungi Martha.” My voice was shaky and husky.

“What?” he asked rudely as he lifted his head up.

“Barungi Martha.” I responded. Trying to fight back the tears and our eyes met.

“Barungi Martha….my…Barungi Martha?” Shocked, he asked and started walking towards me. “Is that really you?”

Everyone went silent and I badly wished for the ground to swallow me. He had called me his Barungi Martha. It felt like my heart was going to explode, the feeling I felt in that moment is unexplainable. I had not thought about Ray in a very long time. He walked slowly towards me, did not take his eyes off of me. He seemed so relaxed which nerved me. I desperately wanted to disappear. I could see the amazement on the faces of my classmates. “Martha?”

I sensed the shock in his voice. “Where have you been?

I have looked for you everywhere.” There was no way I could afford to look into his gorgeous eyes and not cry.

A million things were going through my mind. My mind was definitely a mess at this point. Ray however stood there waiting for a response. What did he expect me to say? My stomach knotted up and I wanted to storm out of the class. “Everyone is watching.” I whispered and he immediately dismissed the class but I knew I was going to be on everyone’s lips that day.

I thought it would be a relief but being alone with him in the empty lecture room felt worse. What was I going to say to him? I had not seen him in 10 years and damn!

He looked so gorgeous. He was still his same perfect self except he now had an accent to die for. I was a nervous wreck and his beautiful eyes were not helping.

“I looked everywhere for you.” He said “Where have you been all these years?”

“Long story.” I responded without looking at him.

“I have missed you so much.” he continued and my heart went racing again.

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“It’s been a long time a lot has changed.”

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

“No.”

“ Husband?” he asked anxiously

“No.”

“Good, am single too.”

“Am a widow.” I was amazed at how those words could possibly come out of my mouth. I did not know why I had said that but I was so sure I had found a way of pushing him away.

“How many children do you have?”

“No kids.” I could see the relief on his face.

“Can we go for coffee and talk please?”

“I am late for a lecture, next time may be.” I said as I gathered my books and bag.

“We need to talk Martha.”

“We have nothing to talk about.” I murmured and walked away.

As I walked away, I prayed for my legs not to fail me. I did not look back; I did not think I could handle it. I was feeling weak and needed a good cry. I don’t know why I needed to cry but I did. I took the next shuttle to hostel and went to bed. I tried so much to get some sleep but it was useless. I missed the rest of the lectures that day and hoped this would somehow go away. My classmates called and texted asking me what had happened, why I was not in class and where I was. I could only imagine what they were all saying and what was going on in my absence. Why was God doing this to me? My encounter with Ray opened very many closed doors and wounds.

I unavoidably thought about the Natambas. I wondered what had become of the kids especially Rita. The thought of Mr. Natamba freaked me out, some painful memories were hard to block out.

The next day as I walked into class, I felt the whole class freeze and stare at me. I walked to the back of the class and sat. It was one of the most uncomfortable days. I tried to ignore all the questioning looks and cold stares. I also dodged the many questions that were posed by my friends.

My classmates had known me for being very reserved and straightforward. They had also nicknamed me Matembe after a political personality (Mrs. Miria Matembe) who was known for being very straight forward and objective. I was a no nonsense girl, a reputation I liked and intended to keep. I however knew Ray was not going to make it easy at all.

When it was time for his lecture, I wished I could dodge but also knew that it would just encourage the gossip. I don’t remember what he lectured about; all I wanted was for the lecture to come to an end. I tried so much not to make eye contact with him. He made it so hard; he was staring and looking at me the entire lecture. He kept using me for examples. There were times when I would lose concentration and he just called out my name and asked me to pay attention. It was so distracting for the entire class and I hated every bit of it. I did not know what kind of explanation I was going to give to my classmates but I knew I had to clear the air at some point.

“How do you know him?” Rose had whispered during the lecture.

“He is a distant cousin.” I whispered back.

“Oooohhh!! We thought he was an ex-boyfriend or something.”

“No way.”

“But why would he call you his Barungi?”

“He used to be my team mate during games.” I lied and hoped she believed.

“Barungi and your friend get out of my class.” Ray shouted and I froze. “Can you share with the class what the two of you are gossiping about?” he asked and again, I froze and just looked at him.

“If the two of you cannot share with the rest of the class, then get out.”

I was confident he was kidding or trying to get my attention but Ray insisted. It was the first time any lecturer had had a problem with me. I was the golden student that read ahead and got good grades. Had he really chased me out of class for gossiping or was it all because I had blown him off the previous day? Either way I did not expect it from Ray and it hurt. As I stood up and walked out, the murmurs went around. I was so embarrassed and angry with Ray. I didn’t think I was ever going to attend his class again. True, I was in wrong but he did not have to embarrass me.

As soon as I got to hostel, I gave Nkwanzi a call and filled her in on all that was going on in my life. It felt better to talk about it with someone who knew the whole story. I poured out my heart to her, told her all my worries and as usual Nkwanzi sided with the other party. She had never had my back. To her, I was just too anti-social and in this case, she pointed out that I was just being a coward. According to her, men hated being blown off. Ray embarrassing me was his way of showing me he had power over me. She laughed at the whole situation and seemed to enjoy the drama that was going on in my life. She advised me to lay low for a while and try to be nice. I did not know how I was ever going to be nice to Ray after the embarrassment that I had just endured.

After the long conversation with Nkwanzi, I was preparing to go to the library when an unknown number called. I was found of receiving such calls from new clients so I immediately answered.

“Hello?” I started. “You’re speaking to Barungi how may I be of help?”

“It’s me.” the caller responded.

“I will need a name please”

“It’s Ray.” The caller responded and as usual I froze.

“How may I help you?” This was me being nice as Nkwazi had suggested.

“I over reacted during the lecture, so I wanted to apologise.” I felt tingles run down my spine.

“How did you get my number?” I asked to change the topic.

“Does it matter?”

“I would like to know.”

156

A WALK ON THORNS

“I asked around.”

“Okay.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yes.”

“I am glad.” and there was silence.

“Have a good evening.” I cut the silence.

“Wait… don’t hung up as yet. I want you to know that I have missed you so much.” His tone was lighter.

“Thank you, I have to go to the library now. Have a good night.” I dismissed him and ended the call. It was the second time he told me he had missed me.

This call made me very restless; it was hard to understand why it affected me that much. The rest of the night was unproductive. I was neither able think straight nor read that night. No matter how much I tried, I failed to concentrate.

I knew I could not afford to have any distractions, at least not in my final year. I nevertheless do not know where my head was at that night, I just could not think straight. I could not help but wonder if Ray had really missed me.

Had he really looked for me? Was seeing me in school a slap in his face? I could not stop thinking about Mrs.

Natamba too. Ray had been my first love and while seeing and talking to him gave me shivers and tingles, I was not about to pay attention to Ray or the shivers and the tingles I was feeling.

That night before I went to sleep, Ray called again. I did not know if I was supposed to ignore the call or talk to him.

For a few minutes, I just stared at the phone as it rang.

“Hello.”

“I apologize for calling late. Can we meet for coffee tomorrow please?” he murmured.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“I need to know what happened after that night Barungi.”

“It’s not up for discussion.” I said feeling extraordinarily brave.

“Please.” He pleaded.

“It’s a painful past.”

“I understand. Can we be friends please?”

“Oh…” I gasp. I did not see that coming.

“You are my lecturer and we have a past. I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Can I call you from time to time at least?”

“I don’t want to open doors I cannot walk through.” I answered automatically.

“What do you mean?”

“I have an early morning lecture. I need to sleep.” Trying to dismiss him.

“I am the lecturer that will be lecturing so please…” he mutters.

“You are making me uncomfortable.” I stated confidently.

“I apologise, that was not my intention.”

“Have a goodnight.”

“Good night.” He responded, hang up. I did not sleep for the next hours. I entered my bed and stared into the darkness.

Ray gave me a little space. He stopped calling out my name and using me as an example during class. He basically stopped putting me on the spot. He however kept all lines of communication open. Even when he called it was just causal. He said good morning, goodnight and wished me a great day. He never stopped asking for us to hang out. When he asked, he often clarified that we would be hanging out as “just” friends. I was not ready to open the doors to this friendship so I made excuses here and there. He was not actively trying to get back into my life but it was evident he was interested and wanted me close.

I wanted limited contact with him which meant I’d never initiate a conversation. He however called and tried to be in touch as much as he could. Things were easy and light. All the rumours about me and him started to die out. I tried as much as I could not to give him a reason to complain about me. I was a little relaxed at this point.

I never stopped wondering what Abaho’s reaction would be or was to this back and forth communication and friendship. I sometimes felt guilty but Nkwanzi always reminded me that it was okay. Ray reminded me of many unpleasant things from my past. It was always hard to look at him and not be reminded of the horrible things I had been through. He looked a lot like his father and this reminded me of the many things I had buried in the past.

It was very difficult. Abaho had taught me that everything that happened to me was not my fault but the dreams and nightmares knew no limit. The feeling is very exhausting and frustrating.

It was well known that Ray was a single man. He was very polished, always smart, had a beautiful smile, the most gorgeous eyes and an accent to die for. This meant he was a big target for girls. I heard girls fantasize about him and many made desperate attempts to get to him. Stories were always going around about who did what and whom he had embarrassed. Many of these girls were devious and calculative with him and it was impressive how he pushed them a way and often embarrassed them. This one time he embarrassed Anita, one of the rich, sophisticated girls of my class. She came to class late, in a micro mini dress and high heeled shoes that were noisy and called for attention.

She had only walked half way into the class when Ray asked her to get out. She turned, looked at him, rolled her eyes and continued to seat. Ray asked her to leave the class again and she ignored him, crossed legged displaying her brown-yellow thighs in a seductive way.

The whole class turned to look at Ray, waiting for his response. Ray politely asked Anita to leave class again and she ignored. He later walked towards her slowly. From the look on his face, I knew what was about happen. He had one of those looks Mr. Natamba gave me whenever I rejected him. Something bad always happened when that look came on. Ray gave Anita two hot slaps and asked her to leave class. The minute I saw Ray raise his hand, I immediately saw Mr. Natamba. I panicked. My heart started beating so fast and I was shaking vigorously. It felt like I was going to pass out. I did not understand what was happening to me. An overwhelming intense fear over took me. I couldn’t breathe. I was suddenly sweating and my eyes went blank. I could not see a thing. Last thing I remember is hearing distant sounds and commotion.

I woke up in a hospital hours later. I did not understand what had happened. Two of my classmates (Rose and Sarah) were around. They told me how I had fainted. I did not understand why this had happened. Few minutes later, Ray entered the hospital room. He asked my classmates to excuse us. As soon as they left, we stared at each other.

Silence!

“You hit women now?” I said softly and there was a lot of disappointment in my voice.

“That girl was very provocative and disrespectful.”

“Hence the violence?” I snapped.

“Is that why you fainted?” he asked politely.

“You are an animal; the apple definitely did not fall far from the tree.” I was amazed at how spiteful I could be.

“What does that mean?”

“Evidently you are your father’s son.” I stated and turned to face the wall.

“Barungi…I apologize for letting my anger get the best of me. It will never happen again” he said and I ignored.

Ray had witnessed his father beat me once. He knew exactly what I meant. He paid the hospital bill, offered to drop me at hostel which I declined. My classmates had never seen me weak. Even with my AIDS, I had been a warrior. I had never given anyone reason to pity me. I felt that the fainting incident was a sign of weakness on my part. Ray made a simple apology to the class but Anita never returned for his lectures. True Anita had been very disrespectful but it did not make sense to go violent. Ray was well known for embarrassing Law school girls but he had definitely taken it to the limits. The sight of him brought sad and painful memories. That incident, took me to the dark days; the nightmares, depression and panic attacks.

The rest of my months at Makerere were silent, I once again channelled my depression and pain to books and somehow made it. I tried to limit contact with Ray as much as I could. When it got hard, I asked my angel in heaven to help me through it all. Asking him to help and believing he was always watching over me helped me a lot.

Not a day went by that I did not speak to my Abaho. He was my guardian angel. Ray had never stopped reaching out to me. It was almost impossible to ignore him. He was always calling me. Conversations with him were really uncomfortable.

Having Ray as the invigilator made me very anxious; I had dreamt of this day for so long. I was excited to finally put an end to my chapter at Makerere. Moments like these made me miss my Abaho so much. He would have been so proud of me. I always wondered what he would have done or said. As I handed in my paper, Ray asked me to stay behind. I watched him as he collected the rest of the answer booklets and seal them in one big khaki envelope.

After he had given them to the head of department, he asked me to follow him. He did not give me room to turn down his request so I followed him.

“Where are you going?” I asked as soon as I noticed he was headed to the parking lot.

“I am taking you for that coffee you have turned down for months now.” He answered and continued walking.

“Ray…I can’t.”

“You can and you will. I am not your lecturer anymore.

One cup of coffee is all I ask.”

“No.”

“What did I ever do to you that made you hate me this much?” He asked looking into my eyes.

“You should try asking your father.”

“I am so sorry I let my father hurt you that night.”

“There is more to the story.”

“What did he ever do that is so unforgivable?”

“Perhaps you should ask your monster of a father.” I jeered and walked away.

I did not understand where all this anger and spite was coming from but my blood was boiling. I felt a blood rush, I wanted to scream and hit someone or something. A conversation with Nkwanzi usually soothed but not this time. I knew I was living in that same bondage again but did not know how to free myself this time. Ray called me continuously for the next following days and I ignored. When I could not take it anymore, I turned off my phone and planned to go home to my siblings and mother. It had been a while since I had last seen them. I was hoping this trip would redeem me.

Warm, salty tears streamed down my cheeks the minute I was in my mum’s embrace. The tears were of immense joy.

I was finally home which meant lots of hugs and kisses. The journey had been very long and tiresome. I could still feel the big empty void left by my father. The house had turned so old, the walls were cracked. My mother was skinny; she had probably lost over 30kgs and this worried me. I knew how much she must have missed her soul mate. My siblings were so happy to see me as usual. They all had something to say or ask me. Everyone wanted a piece of me and they fought to share a bed with me. It amazed me how much they had grown and their level of intelligence. It was evident that I was missed. Apart from Nagasha, they were all in school and doing well. It felt so good to be home.

For the next days, I took it upon myself to counsel my mother and take care of her. I cooked and fed her as much as I could.

I tried to cut all her chores into half. I paid to have her gardens weeded and the others harvested. I did a few renovations on our house. She and I spent hours talking, mostly about my graduation that was just months away. She wanted a party so the villagers would know she had a lawyer. She fantasized about my wedding and give away ceremonies too. She had rehearsed her speech for the day. I let her have her fantasy; I did not think a day would come when I would ever replace my Abaho. Part of me knew that dream of my mother was never coming true. I was however her pride and joy and did not want to steal her hopes and dreams. It brought me lots of happiness to see my mother smile and relax.

Towards the end of that week, I had a call from a certain law firm in Kampala (KR Muhoozi & Co Advocates). They needed a paid intern and said I had come highly recommended. I had not applied for any jobs yet, so this came to me as a surprise.

Being one of the best students, I knew one of my lecturers had recommended me. It was so exciting. My mother couldn’t have been prouder. As much as I hated leaving my home and family, I was not about to let this opportunity pass me by.

My mother’s prayers were doubtlessly paying off. This news made Nkwanzi so happy. Her mother called to congratulate me. Knowing Nkwanzi, she had probably told everyone who cared to listen how I had got a fancy job.

Nkwanzi loaned me some money to get myself started. I had to rent myself a house as I was not living in the university hostel anymore. After picking my appointment letter and settling in the new house, I spent the rest of the weekend ironing and trying on clothes wondering what I was wearing for my first day at work. I was as excited as I had been on my first day at Makerere University. It hurt that Abaho was missing these moments. You never get used to the pain of losing a loved one. True, you learn to live with it but some days hurt and are worse than others.

On my first day, I found myself saying little and doing very little work. I was to work directly with the boss which was both terrifying and nerve wrecking. I had learnt that he was 37years old, unmarried, had a master’s degree in law, business administration and psychology. He had never had a female assistant before, was very reserved and impatient.

As soon as his car came through the gates, the secretary ran to her desk, and everyone else tried to act busy. I was frightened to meet him. I fidgeted at the sight of him. If I could, I would have raced out of that office. I was ushered into the boss’s office minutes later. My knees were shaking as I walked in. I had not even talked to him but found him very intimidating. He offered me a seat then just looked at me. I did not know what to say or do. “I am Barungi Martha, the new intern.” I said with a fake fancy accent.

He had introduced himself, warned me that he was a perfectionist and also told me that time management was key. He did not ask much of me apart from looking for files, arranging his case files, following him to court and doing most of his research. I found myself continuously faking a fancy accent whenever he asked me a question. I did not know what had come over me but my fake accent was the least of my worries. I tried to stay out of his way as much as I could, paid enough attention to his requests and gave all the work my all. At the end of the day, while everyone else was leaving, I did not know whether I was supposed to just leave or ask for permission to leave.

“Shall I take my leave now?” I asked finally gathering the courage.

“A friend of mine practically begged me to take you on, I hope you’re not another disappointment in the end.”

“I am grateful for the opportunity sir.”

“You better be.” He replies impassively.

“If I may ask, who recommended me?” I dared to ask.

“That will be all for today.” He dismissed me without an answer. I did not know how working with such a man was going to be possible.

After a long shower and tea, I felt like I could take this job one day at time. I wondered who had recommended me for the job and why Tim had not answered. Either way, I had to make this work. I ironed my clothes for the next day, watched news and just before I went to bed my phone rang. It was an unknown number. I immediately reached for the phone thinking it could be work.

“It’s Ray.”

“What do you want?” I shrugged.

“We need to talk.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“How was your first day at work?” he asked and everything now made sense.

“You recommended me?”

“I figured you could keep yourself busy. I am the KR of KR Muhoozi & Co Advocates.”

“The audacity…” I was boiling up. He owned the firm?

“Did I do wrong?” he asked innocently.

“Stop meddling in my life please. Leave me alone.” I disconnected the call.

Ray tried to call back and I ignored the calls. I was so angry.

How come I had not thought of it? Kamugasha Raymond (KR). He had fooled me. There was no way in hell that I was ever going to work for the Natamba family again. After tossing and turning in bed for hours, I called Nkwanzi for moral support. As usual she sided with Ray and not her best friend. She went on to lecture me about how it was a sweet and thoughtful gesture. She asked me not to blame Ray for his father’s mistakes. How could I not blame him?

Every time I saw or spoke to Ray I remembered every bad and terrible thing I had been through. I remembered the rapes, physical abuse, abortions, miscarriages, prostitution, HIV, nightmares. I just had to quit.

CHAPTER NINE

All the years of hard work, the reading, sleepless nights, and the frustration had led to this day. I had grown in ways I did not even know were possible. I had done this, on my own, I had made it. My dream was no longer a dream but rather a reality. I was proud of myself. The joy and fulfilment in my mother’s eyes was unexplainable. She was proud of her little girl. The joyous smile did not leave her face. This was her first trip out of Bushenyi and definitely the first to Kampala. Nkwanzi had taken it upon to drive my mother to Kampala as I was too busy with graduation preparations. She took my mother to the saloon, pampered her and bought her a new dress for the big day. This girl was truly a blessing in every way.

Flashes of stories blast through my mind, I remembered the first day I walked into the gates of St. Mary’s. I remember begging Mr. Okot for the admission into the school. I remembered making rounds after everyone had gone home, picking every notebook and piece of paper left behind. I remembered going hungry to save every single coin I made for my mother. The pains and shadows of my pain haunting me every day, not even AIDS blocked me from this day. I had made it. I had definitely worked

tooth and nail to be here today. I, former prostitute and housemaid! I remembered how Abaho had dried my tears, was he watching his girl do him proud? Could he see me?

And my father, it hurt that these heroes of mine were unable to be there for such a day. I could see my father bragging in the whole village about me. Seeing my mother proud was more than enough.

My mother cried at the sight of me in a graduation gown.

I cried too. I was the first to graduate in my nuclear and extended family. She hugged me and wetted my shoulder with all the tears. She thanked me repeatedly. Nkwanzi stood there, trying so hard to hide her emotions. This was it, my day, I was finally a lawyer. How I wished I could throw all this in Mr. and Mrs. Natamba’s faces. Mrs. Nkunda, every animal and monster that had paid for a piece of my flesh. It was true what they said, no dream was too big and every dream was valid. As we drove into the gates of Makerere University, I held my head high and puffed up my shoulders. I had achieved something no one was ever going to steal. There were many of us but I knew my story and success was exceptional. Not even the early morning rain stopped me from shinning. I led my mother and Nkwanzi to their seats and then went to join my classmates.

It was a special magical day and sharing it with my course mates of four years was exceptional. We laughed and congratulated each other. Everyone was passing on an invitation for their graduation dinner and parties. I had written presentations and assignments for most of my course mates, discussed for all of them on different occasions, spent long hours with a few in the library. It was fulfilling to look around and see each one of us achieve this. We laughed and enjoyed the day, took photos together and brought up a few highlights of our four long years. It had been a challenging journey but worth it.

Wearing the hat and gown had been one outstanding moment, just when I thought nothing could beat it, something extraordinary happened. It was amazing to actually hear my name being called out as they read the names of my class. I shouted and screamed as soon as I heard Barungi Martha. The experience was so short but very overwhelming. It was official; I was a Makerere University graduate. It had been a long journey, from a village girl to house girl to waitress to prostitute to school cook to store keeper to student to head girl to university student and now I was a law graduate. I was so glad Nkwanzi was around. I could not have had anyone better to represent my father and sweet Abaho. We had lunch, I gave my mother a tour of Kampala before getting ready to travel to the village. We were supposed to have a small ceremony at home. Nkwanzi and I took turns to drive. It was evident; this was the best day of my mother’s life.

Success has many friends; my mother had new self-appointed best friends. The pretentious smiles on the faces of many were hard to ignore. My siblings were excited too. I was the talk of the whole village. Nkwanzi and I had planned this day to the last detail. She left no stone unturned to make my day perfect. The decorator arrived that night, the catering team too. I had invited staff from my former schools both primary and secondary. They had laid a foundation for me. I had invited a few of my favorite lectures though I did not think they were going to make it.

My mother and I had invited 50 guests but over 200 guests showed up. Whoever came up with the saying “the more the merrier” surely had not had four times more. There was trouble when it came to food and seating. Nkwanzi tried to compromise here and there with no luck. She was up and down ordering for more seats and drinks too.

Just when I thought nothing more could go wrong, Ray showed up with one of my lecturers. I had not invited Ray.

I had not talked to him since the job incident. It had been months of me ignoring his calls. As soon as I saw him, I ran to look for Nkwanzi. She was the only one that understood the Ray situation.

“Ray is here.” I whispered. She had been talking to my mother at the time.

“Ray?” she asked “Ray…Ray...the Ray?” she panicked.

“Yes.”

“Where is he?”

“Who are you talking about?” my mother asked.

“Her lecturer has arrived.” Nkwanzi responded.

“Come, let’s go and attend to him.” Nkwanzi pulled me away from my mother.

“Did you invite him.” she asked as we walked away.

“No. He came with one of the lecturers I invited.” I was frozen.

“He is clearly desperate and obsessed with you if he has to stoop so low and crash your graduation party.”

“Don’t talk like that.” I glowered.

“I am just spelling out the obvious.” she smiled “Which one is he?” she asked looking at the two men.

“The very tall one...” I scowled.

“You mean the cute, tall, hot one?”

“Sssssshhhhhh…they will hear.” I whispered, desperately praying she would shut up.

I introduced Nkwanzi to my former lecturers and she immediately went smiley and cheerful on me. It was annoying and a relief too. I could not even afford a fake smile so I was glad she could.

“It’s a long drive to this place.” Professor Odong said after the brief introduction.

“Yes it is.” I agreed politely.

“If Ray had not persuaded and insisted, I don’t think I would have made it here.” he added.

“Thank you for coming. Let me get you something to drink please.”

I had to walk away before something venomous came out of my mouth. I knew Ray was crazy but this was a new low even for him. How could he? I had finally proved my mother’s theory, “Never underestimate a man with a motive.” I was so thankful that I had Nkwanzi with me.

With her around, I knew she would keep them as busy as possible.

Nkwanzi was my party planner, best friend, sister etc. She kept everyone smiling and ran the party exquisitely. She was my miracle worker just like her brother. She praised me throughout her speech. She was not ashamed to tell everyone about how I had saved her from her stupid partying ways. She also shared about all the times I did her assignments for her. My mother on the other hand cried I think half of the time “I sent my daughter to become a house girl, she returned a lawyer” she said. She thanked me for being the light of my father’s house. I only wished he had been there to see a day like that. Ray and professor Odong testified to me being the best student and gifted me one million shillings on behalf of Makerere University Law School. I was convinced this money was coming straight out of Ray’s pocket. It was so uncomfortable to have him there. As much as I loved my party, I badly wanted everything to end soon. I wanted Ray as far away from me as possible. I don’t know why he even tried at all.

No amount of money was ever going to pay for all the pain his parents put me through.

It was the first time Nkwanzi had my back. She kept Ray busy and far away from me. It was such a huge relief but I knew how naughty Nkwanzi could be so I worried every time they laughed. I tried to keep professor Odong as entertained as I could. He was amazed by my story and had lots of uncomfortable questions about my life. I tried as much as I could to survive through the old man’s questions. Just when I thought I was past the weird and uncomfortable questions, he made it worse.

“I now understand young Ray’s fascination. Do you know he likes you a lot?” he asked and I froze.

“He…he…he…eee…” I stammered and closed my mouth. I did not know what to say.

“He does like you and that’s the only reason why we are here today.”

“Professor…this…is. That is not true.” I could not believe what professor Odong had just said.

“Why else would he drive six hours to attend a graduation party?” he asked and expected an answer.

“This is uncomfortable.” I looked away.

“I know it is. It would however bring me so much joy to see two young promising people that I have nurtured together.” He concluded.

It felt awkward to be around him knowing what was going on in his old head. I excused myself and asked to talk to Ray. Nkwanzi gave me one of her “Be merciful” looks as we walked away. Professor Odong continued watching us.

“Why?” all I managed to say as soon as we were away.

“I don’t know Barungi. I think am crazy.”

“Of course you’re…”

“It was the only way I could get to you.”

“I want nothing to do with you.” I snarled.

“I will not leave you alone.” He had a determined look in his eyes that scared me so much. I had seen this look before, in his father’s eyes.

“I think you should go now.” I said politely, recollecting myself.

“I will go but I will be back.”

“Please don’t.” I pleaded

“How can I not? It’s been eleven years Martha and I still cannot get you out of my system. I have never moved on from you.”

“That is your problem, not mine.” I snarled.

“Did he hurt you that much?” he asked sweetly and calmly making my eyes teary. I immediately looked down to avoid eye contact. “That much?” he asked and I felt a trace of sadness and shock in his voice. There was silence before he cleared his voice to speak again. “I promise I will leave you alone.” he said and walked away.

I had just become the new reference for my village and had just made my mother the envy of all women. I wanted to enjoy this day but my past seemed to follow me like a shadow. No matter how hard I tried, the wounds of my past were never healing. I was so sad because Abaho and my father were unable to see the fruits of their hard work and now Ray had reminded me of pain I had been trying to burry. He said his goodbyes immediately after our conversation. He was sad, it was written all over his face.

It was a relief to have them gone. I knew I was in trouble because Nkwanzi definitely had millions of questions.

I faked a smile through the entire evening dreading the private conversation I was going to have with Nkwanzi later.

One by one the guests left. As everyone sang me praise and many girls wished to be me, I wondered if their reaction would still be the same if they knew I had AIDS.

I wondered if AIDS and the years of torture was the price I had to pay for this achievement. Was I happy? Yes but the sadness and scars of my past were something I had to live with even in the happiest of moments. It’s funny how people look at a rich or successful person and think they have it all. My heart was bleeding regardless of the fact that this was a happy day. I had mastered the art of smiling through my pain and tears, so I smiled.

I was seated at the balcony when Nkwanzi joined me. We sat there in silence for a few seconds.

“Congratulations.” She said breaking the silence.

“Thank you for everything.” I responded.

“Why are you sitting by yourself ?”

“I am thinking.”

“About Ray?” she asked

“Don’t go there please.”

“I know you’re sad. What did he do?”

“He just reminds me of his father.”

“I know.” She held me for comfort. “You will be fine.”

She added.

I did not know if I was ever going to be fine but I was glad my best friend had not nagged me with the whole topic like I expected. She tried to cheer me up the whole night.

Leaving home has never been easy but I had to return to school. Despite the fact that the Bar course was harder than I had imagined I loved being at the Law Development Centre. My mother prayed for Nkwanzi and me many blessings before we left. She was so proud of me.

I encouraged my siblings to aim higher and then set off. I had planned to spend the night in Mbarara. I had to thank Mr. and Mrs. Bakama; they had contributed so much to my education and were currently paying for my studies at the Law Development Centre. I was always nervous around the Bakamas; it always felt like I was visiting my in-laws. They also always treated me with so much respect.

The Bakamas did their best to make me feel like one of them. They threw jokes here and there throughout dinner.

Nkwanzi dared to share some of our embarrassing, funny stories. Mrs. Bakama loved to pamper me though it made me very anxious. On the other hand, Mr. Bakama asked what I was up to. He was the kind of person that wanted to know what plans one had and what they were working on.

I however had one goal and that was to make it through the night. While I always came off as overly confident and spontaneous, it felt like I was going to pee on myself any minute. I always complimented Mrs. Bakama and tried as much as I could to act sensible and innovative around Mr. Bakama. We had a great time and I survived the night.

Mrs. Bakama was so proud of me and the mister did what he always did, offered me a job! He had politely asked me to work with his numerous companies once I had finished my Bar Course.

To be in their home and share a meal with them was not only delightful but also made me feel closer to Abaho. Mr. Bakama and his son had a business relationship rather than a friendly one so he had so much to ask about his son.

It made both of us sad but there are times when we found ourselves laughing. I often wondered if my Abaho was going to turn out like his father. They talked and laughed alike. I could tell that they missed their son so much and so did I. By the time Nkwanzi and I retired to bed; I had more than enough talk with the Bakamas for one night. They had managed to take my mind off Ray and the Natambas.

It was time well spent. I had lived one messed up life but this family was definitely my blessing.

I had been through more than enough emotions for one week. Graduation, Ray, the Bakamas, it was hence nice to return to something I knew best. All the emotions and drama had drained me enough. I returned to school with so much determination. To make my mother proud, give a perfect example to my siblings and to live up to the expectations of the Bakamas. I wanted to make my mother the proudest woman on earth. I was ready to do anything to make sure the smile she had on her face did not go away.

I knew she was going to feed my siblings with so many stories about Kampala. Making my mother happy made me feel like my life finally had a purpose. Every time I spoke to my mother, she thanked me for making her so proud and the envy of the village.

Ray kept his word; he stayed away as he had promised.

It was palliative not to worry about him contacting me.

By the end of my Bar Course, I had forgotten about him. Once again my life was all about my books and more books. When I was not in class, I was busy writing assignments for other student or tutoring for money. I neglected myself so much. I never bought myself anything new, I stopped going to the saloon which meant cutting my hair. I embraced my faults and flaws so well that I did not care about changing them. I suddenly did not care how I looked or dressed as long as I was in class and doing well.

Being far away from Nkwanzi did not help the situation either. She was my fashion guru, always had me in check.

By the end of the Bar course, I could not recognize myself.

The thought of finishing school for good was thrilling but the Bar Exam was something else! I had taken very many exams and had been nervous countless times but the Bar Exam was something else. First of all I made a fortune from the many tutoring sessions I held with my fellow students towards the exam. I found myself charging 50,000 shillings from each student I tutored. I had students coming to me till late in the night. Some of the girls spent nights at my place. As days came closer, I felt apprehensive. Doing my final examinations at law school was nerve-raking. I found myself worrying about whether I had prepared enough for the examination, whether I would run out of time, whether I would remember everything I had read…my worries were endless. The pressure was on and it was written on the faces of all my classmates. I knew many men that had taken the examination four times and still failed.

As we sat, we murmured success wishes to each other and then silence. The examination hall was as silent as a graveyard. Halfway into the exam, Chantal one of my course mates who was sitting in front of me, went into labour. The invigilators panicked when her waters broke but she insisted on finishing her exam. An hour later, the pain was clearly unbearable and distracting but she stood strong regardless of the many objections. She was sweating and changing sitting positions throughout the exam. This made me very nervous and hard for me to concentrate.

Four hours after the exam, she gave birth to a bouncing baby boy.

It felt good to walk out of LDC hoping I had excelled.

Mindless of all the drama, I knew I had given my best and unless otherwise, I was confident I would get positive results.

Nkwanzi had planned a girl’s night out. It was her way of celebrating end of my years at law school. As expected, she hated my short hair and had it fixed immediately. It was always hard to argue with Nkwanzi when it came to such matters. At the end of the day she always won so I did not bother putting up a fight. She had me in the skimpiest of dresses. It was almost impossible to even walk in the high heels.

“I am not going anywhere dressed like this.” I told her over and over again.

“You are and you will.”

“I feel like a prostitute.”

“The clothes don’t make you a prostitute Barungi.” She defended the choice of clothes.

“I am very uncomfortable, I don’t even like the whole idea.”

“For once in your life can you be spontaneous and not think about the worst of everything. I drove five hours to be with my so called best friend. All am asking for is a night with my best friend. Is that too much to ask?” she was very exasperated.

“I am so sorry.” I apologized and rested my case. I felt like a prostitute all over again and was embarrassed to even walk out the door. I liked being invisible but in that dress and heels, I knew all shades of men were going to be staring the whole night.

I was very certain I was not going to enjoy this celebration with Nkwanzi. Clubs and drinking alcohol were not my thing and certainly not my kind of way to celebrate. I had however gone through with the plan because of Nkwanzi.

She was too excited for my liking. I promised myself to be home by midnight. Crowded and noisy places were not a place for me, I preferred quiet ones. On reaching the club, Nkwanzi and I found two seats at the corner and ordered for drinks. She spent hours reassuring me that I was going to have fun. After a few glasses of long island, everything changed. I started to let go of all my insecurities and have fun. I did not care if my dress was short anymore and started to dance in ways I did not know I was capable of. Different guys started asking for my number and buying us drinks. Despite the fact that I was drunk, this reminded me of my prostitution days. Nkwanzi was having a great time, loud and wild as usual. Between the drinking and dancing, she was having the night of her life. Last thing I remember from that night is excusing myself to use the washrooms.

The next morning I woke up to the worst of headaches, everything around me was dancing and spinning. As I sat up, I realised I wasn’t in my bed and neither was I in my room. Where was I? How did I get here? Where was Nkwanzi? How did I get here? I began to panic. I crawled out of bed and looked out the window. I did not recognise the surrounding. I looked around the room for clues but there was no success. The room had different shades of black and white. My heart was racing. I kept wondering what had happened the previous night. Then I realised I was in a man’s t-shirt and had nothing underneath the t-shirt. What had happened to my clothes and underwear?

Had I had sex that with a stranger again? The questions and fears increased every passing minute. I looked around for my phone and bag but could not find anything. Then I heard the sound of television in the next room and someone move around. I did not know what to do, I was practically freaking out, and I was horribly confused.

I wished this was all a nightmare. I stood there contemplating on whether to go check out what was in the other room or not. Before I made my decision, the door opened. Ashamed to meet the stranger in whose bed I had spent the night, I looked up and there he was, Ray.

A sigh of relief escaped from my mouth. I had never been happy to see Ray. He stood there looking at me for a few seconds. I have never been so embarrassed in my life like I was in that moment. I could not afford to continue looking at him. My eyes had immediately drifted to the snow white titled floor. “Come and get something to eat.” He said and walked out of the bedroom.

I was so happy to finally have something in my stomach.

I had been very hungry. As I ate slowly and quietly, the shame killed me every minute that passed. I badly needed to know how I had ended up at Ray’s house. He sat there and watched as I ate the scrambled eggs in his t-shirt that barely covered my thighs. As soon as I had finished eating, he cleared the table and then sat across me.

“Barungi?” he called asking for my attention but I was too ashamed to look at him.

“How did I get here?” I badly need to know.

“You called me at around 3:30am asking me to meet you.”

“Oh my God...” I whispered, very disappointed with myself. How could I do that?

“You were with your friend when I met you.”

“Where is she?” I asked. I needed to kill her, how did she let Ray take me to his place.

“She was very drunk and disappeared a few minutes later.” That was classic Nkwanzi, of course she disappeared.

“And my clothes; did we…do… Did we…you know..?” I stammered.

‘If you are asking if we had sex, we did not. You were too drunk, vomited all over your clothes, my car, my clothes, and your hair. I had to give you a bath.” I wanted to die or at least disappear at that moment. The shame I felt in that moment is indescribable.

“I am so sorry I put you in such a position.” I apologized.

“Am glad it was me and not some random guy Barungi.”

Part of me agreed with him on that.

“I have to go home.” I desperately wanted to know if Nkwanzi was safe so that I would kill her.

“Why?” he asked.

“I need to know if my friend is home and safe.”

“ You can call her and find out. I however need to talk to you.” My heart skipped a beat as I reached for his phone.

What more did he want to talk about?

I slowly typed in Nkwanzi’s number and waited for her to pick up.

“Hello.” she finally picked up.

“It’s me.” I responded, very happy to hear her voice.

“Where are you? I have been so worried. You disappeared last night and left your phone behind too.

What happened? Are you ok? Are you safe?”

“Calm down, I am okay.”

“Where are you?”

“I will give you the details when I come.”

“I am so glad you’re safe. I was so worried.” I could tell she was about to cry.

“Nkwanzi, I am fine. This is Ray’s number, I will be home shortly.” Ray was listening and watching but I wanted to Nkwanzi to know where I was.

“Oh my God…Ray? Like the Ray...Ray...” she shouted and I disconnected the call. I did not want to continue the conversation with Ray watching.

I said thank you and handed over his phone, avoiding eye contact. We sat in silence, I was still feeling ashamed and he was just staring at me.

“Barungi?” He called, again asking for my attention.

“Yes.” I responded and looked him in the eyes this time.

“Did my father really hurt you that much?” the gentility in his voice made me cave.

“I do not want to talk about that right now.” I answered politely.

“You told me everything last night.”

“What do you mean by everything?” I prayed and hoped I had not talked a lot. It was getting worse than I expected. I now wished I had woken up in a stranger’s bed and not Ray’s.

“Yes everything, the rapes…prostitution and abortions...”

I sighed, closed my eyes in disappointment but thanked God I had not mentioned HIV. “You were crying the whole time, talked to me about Abaho for hours.”

“That must have been uncomfortable for you, I am sorry.” Immense shame engulfed my heart.

“Barungi, why didn’t you tell me you were sick? I know my father wronged you but is that why you rejected Me.” he added and my heart sank, it felt like I was being squeezed out of breath.

“Sick?” I asked, I could not believe myself, how could I?

“The…the… about the…HIV” he said with so much difficulty.

All my fears were finally confirmed. Nothing good had come out of my drinking. While I was glad that he knew about his monstrous father, I was disappointed that I had shared with him about my personal life. My reality always managed to catch up with me somehow. I could not believe I had opened my drunken mouth and spilled out everything just like that. The bright side of it all was that he would finally leave me alone. In that moment, I promised myself never to touch alcohol or enter a bar. I sat there with tears rolling down my eyes. I don’t know why but the tears were uncontrollable. Ray, who was now sitting beside me reached for my hand. My mind completely absent of his presence, for the first time in a long time I did not feel like rejecting him. The sheer sense of powerlessness was gripping me.

“My father left us seven years ago.” Ray muttered trying to distract me.

“He died?” My teary eyes were so wide. I was so shocked.

“I wish he had died, he left my mother for another woman.” He responded.

“Oooohhh…” I was disappointed.

“He left and did not look back. I however cannot imagine he was capable of some of the things you said. And uncles too…I just…” I had told him about his uncles? I questioned my stupid self. The gang rape too? How could I? That’s the moment I was sure I was definitely never going to even mention the word alcohol ever in my life again. This decision was signed, stamped and sealed.

“Barungi, I was staying with you in that house. We were in love. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“How could I? You were just a child and besides I loved you so much. I could not bring myself to…” my voice was trembling. I hated having this conversation.

“I will make him pay. He will pay for everything he did to hurt you and my mother.” he threatened me with a lot of rage in his voice.

“Your mother…” I was confused.

“He hurt my mother when he left. She has been very broken since he left.” The threat and rage now made sense. It was about me, he was fighting for his mother. I had just given him a solution to get back at his dad.

“Your mother hurt me too. She knew everything that was going on.” I pointed out to him

“I know that, I am so sorry Martha.”

“It’s not enough for me. I still get nightmares about your father. There were days when I was afraid to even close my eyes. I have cried myself to sleep for years. I hate and fear men because of him. You do not know how many times I tried to kill myself. I look at you and see your father.” I responded amidst tears and walked away.

I was so exasperated by the whole conversation. Why did God always put me in the most uncomfortable situations?

I know I had brought this upon myself but I had to blame someone. I sat on Ray’s toilet for almost 30 minutes trying to recollect myself. It was then that I realized I had been talking and moving around in only a t-shirt. I hated feeling helpless. This is not how I had expected the night to end.

How did a celebration turn into this whole drama? I should have just stayed home. I badly wanted to leave but did not know how. Like my worries weren’t enough, Ray was outside the bathroom door begging me to open the door.

I continuously called on Abaho my sweet guardian angel and asked him to make me strong and help me through it all.

After gathering some courage, I managed to call out minus leaving the bathroom. Feeling very angry and ashamed, I wanted this day to end.

“Can I borrow some clothes?” Mine were on the bathroom floor, full of vomit and completely ruined.

“Rona left some of her clothes, you can borrow. Please open the door Martha.” He pleaded again. I took a deep breath, stood up, tried to pull down the t-shirt to make it a little longer but there was with no luck.

“I need to leave.” I said opening the door.

“Can I take you somewhere for lunch?”

“No, thank you.”

“Barungi lunch with me won’t kill you.”

“No please, I am begging of you…don’t insist please.” I implored.

“Can I at least drive you home?” I couldn’t afford to say no.

Nkwanzi had left me with absolutely no money for transport.

The look in his eyes pushed me into nodding yes. He was sad and very apologetic.

We drove in silence; I was wearing Rona’s jeans and his t-shirt. I wondered what was going on in his mind. I then remembered him mention that he had given me a bath. Shame overcame me again. He had seen me naked and touched me.

Jesus!! How irresponsible of me. I did not know whether I was supposed to feel violated or grateful. I remembered my clothes on this bathroom floor, dirty, stinky and filthy. I knew there was no way he could have put me to bed in that condition. It was embarrassing to imagine what he had gone through with me. I noticed his car had been washed. Parts of it were still wet. I couldn’t wait to get home and burry my shame in Nkwanzi’s laughter. She was definitely going to have a good laugh. I swore and promised myself never to contact Ray after all he now knew I was living with HIV and probably wanted nothing to do with me.

The minute Ray stopped the car, I was confident this was the last time I was ever going to see him. I hence wanted him to know I was grateful for everything he had done for me the previous night. I however did not know how to start. I took a deep breath and before I could open my mouth he spoke. “Barungi, before you leave I would like to apologize for everything you went through because of my parents. I am so sorry they hurt you so much. I cannot begin to imagine what you went through.” he stopped to catch his breath. “I now understand all the anger and hatred you have been throwing my way for the past months, I only wish there was a way I could ease your pain. I meant every word I said earlier and promise I will get you justice.” His voice was getting shaky.

“Please forgive me for not protecting you from my father, you were my girlfriend and I should have known something was wrong. Please forgive me.” his eyes were teary by the time he finished his little apology and I was practically weeping.

It was good to hear someone accept responsibility for everything I had been through. It felt good to hear an apology.

I sat there and cried uncontrollably. I wasn’t crying because of the pains of my past, I was just crying. For so long I had blamed myself for everything that had happened in my past.

I had felt lonely, broken, torn, helpless and incomplete far too long. I appreciated the genuine apology and the sincerity in his voice. It was so nice to hear an apology but I was however still angry and intensely hurt. He sat there in silence and as I tried to stop my tears from flowing with no luck, he let me have a good cry. When I was done with my tearing up episode, I thanked him for taking care of me the previous night and apologized for my carelessness and trouble caused.

As I walked away, I prayed that was the last time I ever had to see him.

CHAPTER TEN

Life has thrown me very many bones over the years but I had never imagined meeting Mr. Natamba again would be one of them. I remember having a million butterflies in my stomach the minute I was summoned to the police station. I had been working with the Bakamas for almost five months and they adored and loved me so much. I was always efficient and in two months, Mr. Bakama had raised my pay twice. He respected me so much and asked for my opinion when it came to everything. He was hence shocked when I was summoned to the police station. I wondered what it was about; I had not been in any kind of trouble known to me.

My heart picked up its pace as I drove us to the police station.

Nkwanzi had insisted on coming along too but it did not make things any different. I was freaking out. Lots of questions ran through my mind. I snapped out of my nervousness and nerve wrecking thoughts when the car stopped. I felt very petrified and struggled to keep a stern face. Nkwanzi held my hand tightly as we walked into the police station; I died a thousand times with every step I took. My legs were shaking and my throat dry. I was confident I hadn’t done any wrong but was still very terrified. The whole idea of being at the police station shook me up really badly. I wondered what Mr. Bakama was going to think of me. Much as he had tried to make me his friend, I still looked up to him and felt like he was my father in-law. I understood that having me close made him feel like he was closer to Abaho, Mrs. Bakama and I had had that conversation numerous times. I knew he was desperately looking to fill the void left by Abaho and I also knew I was damn lucky he trusted me but it also meant I had to double my efforts to measure up. Being at the police station thus put everything I had worked for at risk.

The first person I saw when I entered the police station was Ray, I had not seen him since the drunken night. What was he doing here? I was so confused and felt a tinge of anxiety.

I felt foggy and scared and kept reciting “Not again. Not again.” in my mind. I could hardly walk anymore. I was so sure my usual bad luck had finally caught up with me again.

The curse that never allowed me to be happy, the same curse that had swallowed my Abaho and seen me raped. I became completely oblivious to the people around me. Feelings of helplessness, fear, brokenness came back to me in no time as I watched Ray walk towards us.

Ray politely said his greetings and asked us to sit down for a small briefing about what was going on. Every bit of me was out of control, I was basically a nervous wreck.

“What the hell is going on Ray?” Nkwanzi asked as we sat down.

“I managed to record a private conversation I had with my mother months ago. It was just after I learnt everything that went on between my father and Barungi.” He paused.

“Keep on talking.” Nkwanzi ordered with so much urgency.

“In these recordings, she talked about Barungi and the many girls my father harassed. Apparently he was always raping or cheating with the house maids.” The sadness and Disappointment on his face spoke volumes. “My mother also told me about the abortions she forced on you and all the other girls.” Nkwanzi was speechless, so was I. “I later looked for my father and confronted him. He had no idea I was recording our conversation so he arrogantly bragged about his stupid ways.”

“So?” Nkwanzi asked very excited about everything that was going on.

“I want him to pay for everything he did to you. With the recordings, you can press charges.”

“What about your mother?” I asked “She is responsible…” I couldn’t say it, I just couldn’t.

“Barungi my mother is old and very sickly, please don’t...” he pleaded staring at the floor.

“Are you doing this for me or to get revenge? Your father left your mother and siblings; one can only imagine your intentions.” Nkwanzi pointed out and I badly wanted to know the answer.

“I failed to protect you many years ago. I failed you as a friend and boyfriend. You did not deserve everything that happened to you, you were only a child.” I could not control my tears.

“My father has hurt many innocent girls and still brags about it like it’s another achievement. So Barungi I want justice for all these girls, I am angry at him and I want revenge. I want him to pay for every hurt and pain he caused you and for the tears my mother has cried.” He broke down and tried to recollect himself immediately. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about the pain you have had to endure. The guilt haunts me every second, minute, hour and day. I cannot continue to live knowing I did nothing about this injustice.”

I wanted to see Mr. Natamba behind bars so bad but did not know if this was a fight I wanted to fight. I had dreamt of justice and revenge for a long time but the idea of having my story told freaked me out. I had toiled and worked tooth and nail for my position and status. Everyone respected Barungi the lawyer. I did not want to be known as a rape victim, former housemaid or even a former prostitute. Opening the doors of my past terrified me so much; I knew the darkness of my past was capable of swallowing up and shadowing my present. My past had so many skeletons that literally made me afraid of the justice I had fantasised about. I sat there in silence and thought about all my options.

“You have to get justice without me, I cannot do this.” I told Ray.

“What?” Nkwanzi and Ray shouted. There was total shock on their faces.

“I have worked so hard to close that chapter of my life and build whatever was left of life. I will not be defined by my past.” I explained knowing Nkwanzi would never understand.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“I just don’t want to do it.” I snapped hoping she would drop the subject.

“Don’t be stupid Barungi. This man raped you, beat you, tore you apart, hurt you and did not care if you died. He broke you and those other innocent girls. If not for you, then do it for every innocent girl he dared to violate. Imagine him doing the same to more girls just because you’re choosing to keep your mouth shut. You’re not a coward so don’t act like one.”she shouted at me, I could tell she was very disappointed with me.

“You don’t understand.” I barked at her.

“You are a coward and Abaho would be ashamed and disappointed in you.” She jeered and walked way. Nkwanzi always knew how to get to me. She knew just the buttons to push and in that moment, I knew it was true Abaho would be disappointed in me. Nkwanzi’s tantrum made me realise that the fight for justice was not just about me. I had to fight for all the girls that had been violated and for myself. Ray sat there in silence and let me have my alone time.

After apologizing to Nkwanzi, I was ready for the fight for justice. She held my hand as I listened to the recordings.

It was terrifying to hear Natamba’s voice again, his voice reminded me of every hurt, every pain, every tear, every slap, every threat, every scar, every abortion and miscarriage. I practically wept as I listened to the hopeless monster brag and confess to his actions. He was not sorry but rather proud. I have never been as angry and determined to get revenge and justice as I was after listening to those recordings. Listening to him reminded me of the hatred I had bottled up for years now.

“Your uncles have to pay too.” I said, determined to bring all monsters to justice.

“Most of them have young families. I do not want to break their families.”

“They mercilessly raped a fifteen year old Ray.” Nkwanzi pointed out and he went silent. I knew at this point that Ray specifically wanted his father behind bars. This was not about his thirst for justice but rather revenge. Nevertheless, revenge or not, I was determined to get my justice regardless of Ray’s concerns.

That night, Nkwanzi and I had a long discussion about the whole matter with Mr. and Mrs. Bakama. They had been concerned and apprehensive about my trip to the police station. Not that I needed their permission to press charges but rather out of respect. I was their employee and lived under their roof so; it was in order to have them in the know. Mr. and Mrs. Bakama had my back; Mrs. Bakama spent hours trying to comfort me. It wasn’t going to be an easy journey but knowing I had a strong support system gave me hope. There was absolutely no judgment in their eyes, they were rather sorry and wanted to make things right for me. For the first time in a long time I knew I was not alone. I was determined to fight and win the fight.

Mr. Bakama was extremely angry at how cruel and heartless the Natambas had been. He vowed to get me my day in court.

Considering he was rich and famous, he spent the next couple of days calling his prominent friends for favors and advice.

It felt so good to have someone fight my battles. He pulled strings here and there and in no time Mr. Natamba and his brothers were behind bars. I was still too much of a chicken to confront those terrible men but it was a big relief and joy to know they were behind bars and paying for their crimes. Ray’s family was exorbitantly angry at him. According to them, he had betrayed the whole family. We did not talk much after the arrests but I could only imagine what he was going through and tried to reach out to him as much as I could.

Word about Mr. Natamba’s arrest started to go around which meant it was time to tell my mother the story of my life before anyone else did. Over the years, I had hidden my pain and faked a smile so well whenever I was around her. I knew this news was going to shatter her and it did. She cried a river and hugged me very tight as I narrated the whole story. She was hurt, mostly because I had chosen to keep the pain to myself.

There was no explanation that could ever lessen her pain as a mother. She blamed herself and apologized for exposing me to everything. She cried and prayed curses for Mr. Natamba and his brothers. It was mollifying to talk to my mother; she felt every pain of mine. This news broke her very badly that I could not bring myself to tell her about my prostitution days and sickness.

Every morning I stood in the mirror and rehearsed a thousand times what I would say when I finally confronted Mr. Natamba and his brothers. I broke out into a sweat at the thought of standing in front of those animals. I was terrified and damn they still had so much power over me. Thirteen years later, I was still living in bondage. Despite the fact that they were paying for their crimes, the pain I felt was still very sharp and blinding. I had however made a promise to myself that I would face them and ask them why. I needed closure and wanted to see the looks on their faces. I could not help but wonder if prison looked good on them. I wanted them to suffer and rot away, I wanted them to know how much they hurt me and that it was time for them to pay for their crimes.

Every day of that week, I woke up and told myself that was the day I was finally going to do it. I remember driving to the police station, sitting in the car for an hour and then driving back home. Each time I sat in that car, I promised myself I was finally going to confront the Natamba’s but minutes later, I panicked and drove back home. Having them in jail was never enough for me. Needless to say, I was devastated, distraught and frightened but I still wanted to confront the wolves before going to court. My head knew everything I needed and wanted to say to those monsters but my legs were too weak to support me out of the car and my heart burst with both anger and fear.

Till today, I have never forgotten the feel of a dizzy wave of nausea and thudding heart I felt as I waited to confront the monsters from my past. I was as nervous as a virgin at a prison rodeo. Every bit of me was trembling and I sweated like a fat bird in a disco. My heart went into an overdrive the minute I saw Mr. Natamba. He still had that same cold look I dreaded.

He had aged, his hair was all grey. Prison most definitely did not agree with them, they looked so miserable. As they got close, it became hard to breathe. I remembered the night the four of them raped me. I could see them raping me; I remembered the unbearable pain, the mercilessness. I relived the nightmare the minute I saw them. Mr. Natamba had the “I am going to kill you.” look while his brothers were unable to make eye contact.

I stood there staring at them with tears streaming down my face. I felt an intense bolt of fear. I tried so hard to open my mouth with no luck, my throat was so dry. It was hard to focus, everything I wanted to say to them evaporated. My brain had suddenly left my body, I felt so disoriented. I tried so hard to speak but stuttering sounds were all that came out of my mouth. It was impossible to calm myself. My hands were shaking uncontrollably. My body was feeling everything and nothing. I closed my eyes and tried to breathe but everything was so overwhelming. I could not do it; I had to get out of there. Everything was too extreme and I wanted to be as far away from those terrible monsters as possible. I tried to run away but my legs were as heavy as a dead donkey. With tears freely running down my cheeks as I tried to ran to the door.

As I tried to get to the door, I felt like I was walking through a crowded room, trying so hard to get through. I felt a haze at the back of my head and the highest degree of exhaustion.

Before I knew it, I was very powerless, felt numb, dizzy and seconds later, I was on the floor. The idea of fainting in public is one of the most embarrassing things I could ever think of.

The faint isn’t embarrassing but the attention that comes with it. I woke up to Ray minutes later, feeling so embarrassed and stupid. “How did he get here?” I wondered. He tried to calm me down no questions asked. He apologized and for some strange reason I felt safe and comfortable with his presence.

“What happened?” he asked trying to get me to drink some water.

“I have no idea.” I lied, feeling so timid.

“Should I….call Nkwanzi… for you?” His voice was shaky; I knew he had been told what had happened.

“No need, I don’t want to worry her, besides I am fine.”

“Barungi, you just fainted.” He pointed out to me.

“I am fine now.” I reassured him and asked him to drop the subject.

Ray sat me down and forced me to drink some water. It was soothing to talk to him and have him around. We talked for an hour or so. He tried so hard to distract me and make me smile. I was enjoying his company until I suddenly became aware of his pain. I had been so lost in my own sadness that it had taken me so long to notice that he was battling with something. He looked so vulnerable and alone, a feeling I knew so well.

“Ray, are you okay?” I immediately asked without thinking.

“Yes.” He lied.

“I know this must be hard on you, talk to me please.” I said reaching for his hand, an act I did not know I was even capable of.

“I am fine.” He replied without looking at me. It was evident to me that he was lying.

“What is going on with you?” I snapped, desperately trying to figure out what was wrong.

“My mother and siblings aren’t taking to me. She kicked me out of the house.” He spoke and I froze. I knew something was wrong but I did not expect things to be that bad. My mouth was straight up dry; I did not know what to say to him. This was all because of me.

“I am sorry about that.” I said genuinely.

“I am suddenly the family enemy; no one wants to talk to me. My cousins and aunties call just to hiss abuses at me.

Why does doing right feel so wrong?” he asked and I was definitely silent. “I only wish there was a way I could open their eyes.” he added.

First, I apologized for putting him in that situation, if he hadn’t been fighting for me, he wouldn’t have been in that situation.

I then let him know that I was very grateful for everything he was doing for me. I tried to give him hope though I was not sure it was working. My response of kindness surprised me.

I was shocked because this was all unexpected considering I had spent months hating the man. Seeing Ray very vulnerable and struggling gave me new respect and care for him. After hours of me preaching to him despite the fact that I did not believe anything I said, I slowly felt closer to Ray. There was a unique relief that came with Ray confiding in me. It’s hard to admit but we were building a special bond. I felt comfortable enough to tell him why I had fainted. He sat and listened to everything I had to say. I poured out my heart and worries after all I had nothing to more lose. Unlike the Bakamas, he did not immediately try to fix me. He just sat and listened.

After hours and hours of talking, I felt so much better. I had most definitely talked Ray’s ear off and it was time for me to go back home. I murmured a thank you and gave him a hug. As Ray walked me to my car, he asked for the weirdest of favours. “Barungi…” he called out “I don’t know if what I am about to say will help but do you think you can write a letter to those “animals” instead?” he asked. I did not respond especially because it did not make a lot of sense to me at the time. “It has helped me a lot over the years; you should give it a try.” I didn’t think it would help but I still promised to give it a try.

Ray called me every now and then, he asked how I was and if I had written the letter he had asked me to write. Truth is, I had never thought writing a letter could be so hard. After my melt down at the police station, I knew this was my one and only chance to confront Mr. Natamba and yet all I had managed to write in a week was “Dear Monster.” It was harder than I thought. I just could not get past the “Dear Monster.” I found myself crying and struggling to put down my feelings. I had come to learn that I had so much pain bottled up inside me and not even my job or a fancy life could heal a thing. I did not know how to rid myself of the pain but I desperately wanted to be free.

On first day of court, I found myself very terrified and nervous. I paced around the house that morning, trying so hard to keep myself calm. I could not keep still, think straight or eat. I had too many worries and insecurities. My stomach was in knots and I couldn’t stop running to the washroom to pee. Nkwanzi tried her best to calm me down but nothing was working. I was just a nervous wreck and continuously felt like I was suffocating. It was hard to be in the same room with the Natamba’s. Mrs. Natamba and her sisters in-law were early and evidentially ready to support their husbands.

It was so intimidating and traumatising to testify to everything those monsters had done. I broke down countless times as I recounted and relived some of the worst moments of my life. It was overwhelming to let everyone into my past, as I spoke and described everything, I felt my heart break. I was however incredibly determined to get justice, I hence recollected myself each time I broke down.

Regardless of the recordings, I was as shocked as everyone else when Mr. Natamba admitted to everything I had testified. I had not seen that coming, at least not from that monster. There was a rare kind of silence in the court room; the expression on Mrs. Natamba’s face was absolutely priceless. I am not one to believe in miracles but this was most definitely one. For a second, I thought I was dreaming. Nkwanzi immediately reached for a hug, I was shading happy tears. Never in my life, did I ever think a day like this would come. I had dreamt of this day for far too long. I could already feel and smell the victory and already could see myself winning the fight.

That night, I finally decided to write the dreaded letter to Mr. Natamba and his brothers. I sat down all night making fruitless drafts of the letter. Just as I was about to give up, I received a call from Ray.

“Did I wake you?”

“No.” I whispered, wondering why he was calling at 2am.

“I just want wanted to let you know that I am proud of you.”

“Are you okay? I know what is happening is not a walk over for you either.” No one chooses his or her parents, that’s a power reserved for God. I therefore knew he was having a rough time.

“I will be okay.”

“I am sorry about everything.” I meant every word.

“I should be the one apologizing to you Martha. I hope with this you can finally find some peace because you deserve it.

God knows you deserve It.”

“I hope so.”

“I should let you get some sleep, we will talk tomorrow?”

“Ray” I called out before he hang up.

“Yes” he replied and I could feel his sadness and hear his breath.

“Thank you so much for fighting for…me.” I said knowing he had paid the biggest price to get me justice.

After that phone call, I got the courage to write the letter. I sat down and wrote to Mr. Natamba. The letter read; To the men that raped me,

It’s been 13years, for so long I have dreaded writing to you.

If only I could walk up to you and say everything I am about to write. I am however still too agitated to face you, the letter is consequently my best outlet. This is me confronting every hidden emotion I have buried deep inside for all these years.

I have never forgotten that warm afternoon on the 15th/10/2000 when you first decided to steal my life. I have also never understood what I ever did to deserve that kind of treatment. I probably will never understand what compelled you to take advantage of me. I was a child, only 15, very innocent and defenseless but you still chose to violet and torment me in the worst way known to me. Not even my screams and cries could stop you; you however continued to disrespect me day in and day out. You used me to satisfy your selfish desires. Turned me into your sex slave, tainted my soul and left an enormous void in my heart. What kind of heartless fathers are you? How can you possibly be able to live with yourselves knowing what you had done to me? What part of your sick twisted mind made you think that raping a 15 year old was okay? Have you ever imagined someone doing the same to your daughters?

While you were able to walk and live your lives to the fullest, I cried myself to sleep every night. I saw you anywhere and everywhere I looked; I lost trust in men, was afraid to close my eyes because I knew you were waiting for me on the other side too. You haunted me in my dreams, for years I did not know what a peaceful sleep meant. I found myself screaming, shaking and sweating in the night, waking up from horrific vivid nightmares about you. For years, I could not sleep with the lights off because I was afraid. I have never forgotten every pain you caused; your brutality surely stripped me bare. I remember each slap, each threat, each kick, every forceful kiss and touch, I still feel and remember each of those numerous painful rapes. I wish you knew how many times I stood under the shower to wash your horrible smell off of me. I have lived in pain, terror, loneliness, self-hate, and mistrust all because of you. You wronged me in the worst possible way, suffocated every bit of life out of me and pushed me into a dark world.

I was confined in a very small dark hole, closed off, no one to talk to. I was unable to make friends, to have fun and be myself like all the kids my age. The isolation was unbearable.

You cannot imagine how many times I thought about ending my life. The physical and emotional distress you caused me is unexplainable. For so long I felt worthless because of the many times you used me and treated me like an animal.

Voiceless, angry, lost, empty, sad, alone and confused. Just like that, you ate away my youth.

I met a wonderful man who did everything in his power to make me feel loved but I still felt empty. I was unable to completely give my all to him just because of you! How could I open my heart to someone when you had poisoned and corrupted my mind? How could I move on when I could not block you out of my head? How could I find peace when I didn’t know safety? He suffered each and every scar and pain of your actions. It was hard to kiss him and not think of you.

It was hard for me to be touched and not think of your hands trying to strangle the life out of me. Every time I met a man, I hallucinated about him raping me even before they talked to me. You fucked me up real bad, I have lost count of how many break downs I have had because you. I have walked in shame for so many years, lived in guilt because I blamed myself for everything that happened. I struggled, lost myself, was helplessly trapped and did not know who I was. My life was practically put on hold.

I have struggled with the desire to feel accepted, to fit in society. I look in the mirror and cannot accept myself either; it feels like I don’t fit in my own skin. You never should have abused me. You should have respected and protected me. You should have thought about my feelings. It is useless to rant about what should have been because the damage was done 13 years ago. I however hope you finally take full responsibility for your actions. I hope you get to pay for every damage and pain you caused me. I hope you never get to hurt or abuse another girl. I hope you find healing because no man in their right senses would be that heartless and evil. I hope you get the punishment that you deserve and that you probably get decades to reflect on your actions. I hope you live to feel the regret and guilt of your actions.

Your actions controlled my life but certainly didn’t disable me.

I always wonder how differently things could have turned out if you hadn’t abused me. I am no longer the same innocent, fragile girl you violated and I am trying to think less and less about you. I have carried the damage of your actions every day for the past 13years but not anymore. You cannot give me my life back but neither do you have a place in it anymore.

The journey is rough but I am a fighter and as such, I am stronger than the chains of your actions. You have been a part of my life for far too long but I will not let your actions shadow my life anymore. While you worry about your shattered reputation, I hope you remember the dreams you shattered.

Not just mine but every girl you dared to abuse.

I currently hold a Bachelor of Laws. Yes, you read right, I am a lawyer. That same housemaid you raped and abused is now a lawyer. How I wish I could see the look of defeat on your face right now. Not even your actions could limit me from maximizing my full potential. I am grateful for this career path because I intend to spend my life putting crooks like you exactly where you belong. I chose to take my unfortunate experience and use it to save millions of oppressed and abused girls. I hope to take every emotion and nightmare to help those going through the same. I have finally found my heart again and it belongs with the downtrodden.

I want you to know that I forgive you; I will not let your actions ruin my life anymore. I forgive you not because you deserve it but because I want to be free. Free from the hatred, rage, anger and bitterness I had lived and felt for the past 13 years. I cannot let your ruthless actions determine my joy, my choices, my goals, my emotions and my life. Your actions changed me irrevocably; nevertheless, I found strength I never knew I had. With this strength, I get to build and put myself together again. I have become a warrior, not even hell can shake me because I have had the walk on thorns and fire. I am not what happened to me, I have emerged from every bondage and place of darkness. I am not your victim anymore because that term doesn’t define me anymore, I am rather who I choose to be.

From today, I claim my life back. I claim back my self-worth, my confidence, my happiness, my safety, my voice, my sanity, my peace, my time, my independence. You are no longer needed here. You will not write the story of my life anymore; I will hold the pen from here on. You no longer have power over me.

Best wishes,

Martha Barungi.

And just like that, I was free.