Preface
Hello Writing Club, this is my first post which is micro story that touches on the issue of abuse in marriages, this story addresses some myopic views as regards sexual abuse in marriage even going as far as criticizing the Penal and Criminal Code of my country Nigeria which states that a married man is incapable of raping his wife under any circumstance.
This story brings to light the adverse effects it has on people who grew in an abusive home.
This story stemmed from the idea of bringing to light the travails women face in marriages.
From this short story you will notice I tried to bring together the factors that work against women in abusive marriage Nigeria, these factors include the Law of the land which is supposed to protect the victim and not the predator.
So I am really really pleased with how I was able to put everything together and send out a strong message. I am looking forward to critiques and questions.
Cracks in the Wall
Love was what they called it. That Papa rose his hands and allowed his fist touch his wife’s tender face, it was seen as love. I didn’t know what the villagers preferred to give it as a title but Mama said it was love and I refuse to believe.
The neighbors saw, I know they did. There were cracks in our walls, our businesses were all in the open and by that, I mean our lives because we were too poor to own a business.
Papa was supposed to fix the wall just like he was supposed to fix the leaks in the roof, the one that made us feel like we didn’t have a roof over our heads whenever it rained.
It used to be fun before, or we tried to make it, I and Nnaemeka, when we would place little cans and dance to the music the water droplets would create as they dripped.
We never grew past it like we did with playing in the sand and making meals out of the grasses in the compound, the holes just got worse and it made everything unpleasant.
It was no longer a leaking. Tap, it was a running one. Daddy had to fix it but he was never going to, just like he was never going to fix his marriage with my mom.
He hit her and slapped her and laid with her when he wanted to. He used her because she was merely just his wife, the word I dread so much.
Nobody will own me, I won’t let my parents take my bride price, I won’t even bring a man home, and if one tries to get me or as they like to call it in my hometown, pluck a flower from my father’s compound, I’ll take to my heels and run. I’ll run away from the cracks in our wall and the cracks in our broken family.