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Twist Of Fate
When you speak of growing up in the heart of a wild jungle, it strikes a deep chord within me.
The tales of scraping by, day after day, with nothing but the barest sustenance resonate with my own experiences.
The harsh twists and relentless hardships life throws at us, I've walked that tumultuous path too.
We all carry a life story, etched with the scars of our journey, molding us into the people we've become today.
In my culture, there's a saying that pierces through the soul: "A child who's never known goodness has no compass to steer towards the shores of noble ambitions."
I bear a story that tugs at the heart, one of a mother's unyielding love. I was raised by a single mother, a woman whose love for me defied the societal norms. They called me a child born out of wedlock, and as tradition dictated, my mother was banished by her own parents.
Our home, though not far from my birthplace, was a desolate village, a few kilometers from the land that rejected us. No one wished to lay eyes on us again.
At the tender age of four, most children are oblivious to life's hardships, let alone its bitter taste. But my journey was starkly different. At just two years old, I could already discern the stark contrast between what life should be and what it cruelly was.
In the face of such despair, my mother resorted to the unthinkable – prostitution. She did it not out of choice but out of necessity, a mother's unwavering commitment to ensure we had food on our plates. I refuse to cast judgment upon her for those sacrifices.
Our village was barren, its land infertile. Even if we had wanted to cultivate, there was no bounty to reap from their soil.
Throughout it all, my mother constantly motivated me to focus on my studies and listen attentively to others' feedback, all in our pursuit of improving our quality of life. Meanwhile, I was growing tired of attending school, and at that point, I became my own person.
Every night, an ominous presence relentlessly pounds on our door, craving something so unspeakable from my mother, even as we lie in slumber. The mere act of her refusal invokes chilling threats of annihilation, casting an eerie shadow upon our already nightmarish existence.
In this wretched abyss we found ourselves in, every additional moment of torment brought us closer to the precipice of our demise, where the specter of death loomed ominously over our lives.
On that fateful day, the man returned, but this time my mother was absent from the house. She had stepped out to purchase groceries, leaving me with the task of collecting firewood and preparing a hot bath.
Then, with a deafening roar, he bellowed, "Where is that woman of the night?" Drawing closer to the fire, he reached out to grab me.
My voice quivered as I screamed at the top of my lungs, but my cries were in vain, lost in the silence of the night.
In his twisted logic, he claimed my mother owed him a debt from the previous night, and since she wasn't present, he insisted I repay it in her stead. The darkness of that moment enveloped us in a suffocating despair.
I choosed to remain silent, my anxiety intensifying as he persisted with his question. I huddled closer to the dwindling fire, shivering from a mix of fear and cold.
I fought desperately against him, and during the struggle, my dress was torn to shreds. Despite my resistance, he overpowered me, pressing me down. He showed no mercy, relentless in his descent, driving me deeper into despair until I felt my breath slipping away.
My memory fails me when it comes to what transpired next – how it unfolded, who may have come to my rescue. All I knew was that when I awoke the following day, I found myself in the care of an elderly woman, likely the local traditional healer. The confusion and vulnerability still lingered, a stark reminder of the night's horrors.
This scenario left a scar in my life that I find it difficult to forget till this day…
Of truth, terrible things happen, but our response to these things determines who we'll be tomorrow and also shapes us for greatness.
It's a story I'll tell to as many generations to come, a story that'll never grow old or bored to the ear.
To me, it's a story of yesterday, but to you, it's a message of encouragement and motivation for the future.
© Abby David
The tales of scraping by, day after day, with nothing but the barest sustenance resonate with my own experiences.
The harsh twists and relentless hardships life throws at us, I've walked that tumultuous path too.
We all carry a life story, etched with the scars of our journey, molding us into the people we've become today.
In my culture, there's a saying that pierces through the soul: "A child who's never known goodness has no compass to steer towards the shores of noble ambitions."
I bear a story that tugs at the heart, one of a mother's unyielding love. I was raised by a single mother, a woman whose love for me defied the societal norms. They called me a child born out of wedlock, and as tradition dictated, my mother was banished by her own parents.
Our home, though not far from my birthplace, was a desolate village, a few kilometers from the land that rejected us. No one wished to lay eyes on us again.
At the tender age of four, most children are oblivious to life's hardships, let alone its bitter taste. But my journey was starkly different. At just two years old, I could already discern the stark contrast between what life should be and what it cruelly was.
In the face of such despair, my mother resorted to the unthinkable – prostitution. She did it not out of choice but out of necessity, a mother's unwavering commitment to ensure we had food on our plates. I refuse to cast judgment upon her for those sacrifices.
Our village was barren, its land infertile. Even if we had wanted to cultivate, there was no bounty to reap from their soil.
Throughout it all, my mother constantly motivated me to focus on my studies and listen attentively to others' feedback, all in our pursuit of improving our quality of life. Meanwhile, I was growing tired of attending school, and at that point, I became my own person.
Every night, an ominous presence relentlessly pounds on our door, craving something so unspeakable from my mother, even as we lie in slumber. The mere act of her refusal invokes chilling threats of annihilation, casting an eerie shadow upon our already nightmarish existence.
In this wretched abyss we found ourselves in, every additional moment of torment brought us closer to the precipice of our demise, where the specter of death loomed ominously over our lives.
On that fateful day, the man returned, but this time my mother was absent from the house. She had stepped out to purchase groceries, leaving me with the task of collecting firewood and preparing a hot bath.
Then, with a deafening roar, he bellowed, "Where is that woman of the night?" Drawing closer to the fire, he reached out to grab me.
My voice quivered as I screamed at the top of my lungs, but my cries were in vain, lost in the silence of the night.
In his twisted logic, he claimed my mother owed him a debt from the previous night, and since she wasn't present, he insisted I repay it in her stead. The darkness of that moment enveloped us in a suffocating despair.
I choosed to remain silent, my anxiety intensifying as he persisted with his question. I huddled closer to the dwindling fire, shivering from a mix of fear and cold.
I fought desperately against him, and during the struggle, my dress was torn to shreds. Despite my resistance, he overpowered me, pressing me down. He showed no mercy, relentless in his descent, driving me deeper into despair until I felt my breath slipping away.
My memory fails me when it comes to what transpired next – how it unfolded, who may have come to my rescue. All I knew was that when I awoke the following day, I found myself in the care of an elderly woman, likely the local traditional healer. The confusion and vulnerability still lingered, a stark reminder of the night's horrors.
This scenario left a scar in my life that I find it difficult to forget till this day…
Of truth, terrible things happen, but our response to these things determines who we'll be tomorrow and also shapes us for greatness.
It's a story I'll tell to as many generations to come, a story that'll never grow old or bored to the ear.
To me, it's a story of yesterday, but to you, it's a message of encouragement and motivation for the future.
© Abby David
