Damilola Babs

Muna sat there and ate like a hungry buffalo. I was angry and her family was the reason. How come nobody noticed that I died on Thursday?

It was Sunday evening already and they all sat at the dinning table digging into their plates of spaghetti and sauce. The smell of the chicken in the sauce dominated the room, it nauseated me and I doodled at the food.

“Baby, eat now.” Aunty Theresa tried encouraging me. I smiled weakly and gave her a bad look once she wasn’t looking. Losers! My heart yelled.

Uncle B entered. I was used to him, we were all used to him coming to the table last. He came last, but finished first. He sat quietly as my aunty rushed to serve his food. I wondered at him. Was he handicapped? The man did absolutely nothing around, yet my sister, Aunty Theresa worshipped him and it was just annoying.

I lifted the fork to finally eat the food. This time, the noise from the clash between the plate and fork traveled to my brain. It became the voice of my killers. The ones who killed me on Thursday.

“Wait now, look, you will like it, I promise you. It is just small, I will not enter well.”

“Brother Kenedy, please,” I begged, but it was obvious everything he wanted was packed in between my legs. I was just twelve and I had come for my holiday, unfortunately, it would be my funeral.

I closed my eyes knowing it was a done deal. There was no way I could fight him off.

“Ha!!” I yelled and he went deeper. I felt pain, but he didn’t care. He enjoyed every bit of it and that was all that mattered. Once he was done, I thought it was over and I could finally report to Aunty Theresa what her first son had done to me, then the other one came. He was worse, more merciless, and ruthless. His hands did more and I felt sore. I knew I was badly wounded, and would be needing treatment.

My anger grew and somehow, I maneuvered my plate of food and threw it off the table. My eyes swelled with tears that I needed to control. I got up and didn’t respond to anything anybody was saying to me. I returned holding a broom and a packer. I swept the broken plate and walked back into the kitchen angrily. My mother’s sister noticed my agitation and followed me. I didn’t want her to, but she did anyway.

“What is wrong with you, Tobi?”

“Nothing,” I responded without looking at her. The broken glass went into the waste bin while the boom and packet returned to their place. I took a quick stride in an attempt to leave the kitchen.

“Come…” Aunty Theresa dragged me back softly. “Is it because of what Kennedy and my husband did?” she asked to my greatest shock.

“So you know?” I asked her, thinking my messiah had finally come.

“Are they not my family? I know now, but you see, you have to protect me oo, you have to protect my family. This thing is normal with men. See, even Muna, Muna does it too. At first, it was painful, but now it doesn’t hurt her anymore.”

“I don’t understand, your husband and your son sleep with your daughter?” I asked.

“That was the reason I adopted her. I cannot kill myself. My husband likes them young and so…”

I was irritated. I didn’t want to hear it anymore. My stomach hurt, my eyes, my hands, everywhere became hot. My eyes said a lot. It made my aunty stop talking. I walked out on her to bring my cup of water. The older man took advantage of the moment again, he hit my small behind like what he did days back wasn’t enough. I lifted my eyes and saw Muna’s reaction. The fifteen year old was adopted when she ten. I pitied her, she looked more helpless than me. At least I was going to leave, what about her?

“Hello, mommy, I want to come home.” I told my mom on the phone crying. I knew she didn’t joke when it came to we her children, and if I told her what Kennedy and his father did, they were going to be dead, but mom adored her sister. She would die for her first before us. The other side of the coin was that mom could commit suicide.

Mom arrived on Tuesday and took me out of the house. As she put me in her car and we drove off, I couldn’t stop looking at Muna, she didn’t return inside with her parents. She stood there watching as mom drove the car. I saw her shoulders rise in pain and her tears drop, and I couldn’t help but ask mom to stop. I rushed back and gave her my small new diary.

“Here, write everything here and hide it. One day, I will fight for us.” I told her and hugged her.

“It is always painful, Tobi.” She told me and my heart stopped, but no, not now. Even if I spoke up, there was no proof. I traveled back with mom. We live in Abeokuta, and I was glad to be back home. It was peaceful, we had no wild animals at home. I thought of Muna every day.

Two weeks later, on a Thursday morning, mom came to my room and announced that she died.

“How?” I asked.

“She fell. That was all we were told.”

“Indeed!” I yelled and curled back into my bed crying. Muna’s death killed me. The warrior in me died. My victory would never be complete without Muna here. I died the Thursday Muna died. Yes, I died. I hope she used the diary I handed her because it was my weapon of war.