ASHAWO DIARIES (TALES OF ADWOA ATTAA) CHAPTER 4

They say every cloud has a silver linen and I say I am that silver which gets bothered by clouds which are always forced to fall and leave me visible. Maybe I made myself so. Could it also be that God wrote my fate so is to blame? Well, let’s talk business. This business is no easy business. A business filled with more risk than that of a driver, a business with clientele the world over but workers who are harassed with illegal tags, a business that the Bible, which I was made to believe in, tells me is the only crime against my own body but a business which was soon turning into what I am, defining my every movement.  Mimi and I started a bond that terrified and excited me. She would massage, caress and smooch me into orgasm in her bid to teach me the art of seduction, which I got to know is too vast to learn in a lifetime. She would bring in a male model to suck, fuck and touch as I watched, horny (when she touched and is touched back, sucked and is licked with breast sucking and wettingly mounts or is mounted in a ride) or terrified ( when she is punished with a huge man-thing and forced to suck into gagging) or disgusted (when she swallowed cum while sucking, spittle was spat into her mouth or she was urinated upon or urinates on them etc). Maybe more than I had bargained for, but I was adjusting.

Whether it is syncing of thoughts or same likes, Mimi and I did not see ourselves working on Sundays. Mine was purely psychological. That fact that God sits on his throne every Sunday (psyched to believe that) so my parents forced me into worship, was still with me. No, was more visible than it was when I was in Asuntreso. Sundays were the only days I tried my hardest to do no wrong. I went around looking for genuine beggars to give my widow’s mite to. I read few chapters of the Bible and asked God to forgive my sins in few worded prayers and long guilty silence. Sins I knew very well I would go back to the next day. For I was the pig with mud rolling tendencies.

Mimi never liked talking about herself. I however forced why she came to be a prostitute just like me out of her. Something I wish I had not done. She was from the Upper East Region of Ghana. Her mother had left her to her father and bolted to Kumasi when she was just two years old. According to her, she grew up to hear the story of her mother and very old father as the town anthem. Her mother was young, a deal was struck between her family and her father’s family in marriage. She gave birth to her, defied her father by breaking off the marriage and secretly bolted with another man. 

Many added their twists as she grew. That her mother, Abibata, had contracted some deadly sexually transmitted disease and died. Some claimed she had been used for rituals by a man who picked her up as a prostitute. Still, others claimed she was alive but suffering from many sexually transmited diseases and out of shame, could not return home. So the whole household chores were hers to do. Fetching water for a household of over 16 to use from a far away dam, doing dishes, washing clothes, sweeping, cooking (took it up at age 8 after her paternal grandmother, who was the only one who showed her some form of love and taught her to cook, died) and running errands. She was the perfect being of abuse by members of the only family she knew. Her own father cared less about her and hated her with passion. Many said he loved her mother so much and couldn’t stand it when she run off with a younger man. His family members were worse. She was made to eat little or nothing everyday, sleep outside the house at the mercy of visitors and was never made to see the floor of any classroom. 

Mimi was first raped when she was ten years old. Her own elder brother (step) had done it. When she told her elder step mother, she had gotten the beating of her life. She recounted serving meals without kneeling because she felt pain in her abdomen as a result of the rape. Her stepmothers had insulted and physically assaulted her for disrespecting them until she fainted. It was water they threw on her in order to revive her. She told me in tears how she had used nim leaves on her private part to stop the bleeding and had proceeded to use ginger which burned like hell, all the while sitting on hot water. So she kept quiet when it happened again and again and again and accepted it as a ritual. The ritual lasted for three years and others joined in. At a point, every male that came to the house took advantage of her until she became pregnant. It was then that her life took the worse turn. By then, her father was bedridden with age. At thirteen years old, her step mothers whose sons had defiled her, ganged up to beat her up. They assaulted her like a thief until they saw her blood and packed her few clothes into a small black polythene bag and asked her out of the house to go and look for her mother.

Mimi had walked for about thirty minutes and collapsed from exhaustion, hunger, pain, sorrow and thirst. She woke up on a hospital bed. A good Samaritan had found her and sent her there. She lost her womb. To her, she did not know the importance of a womb because she had no desire to give another being a life like the one she had. The man, Joseph, was kind and took her home in his bid to help her learn a trade. Because it was a small village, her three step mothers and their sons had come to Joseph’s house to threaten him. They had accused her of witchcraft and had asked that she be sent away. When they realised he would not send her away, they reported him to the village Chief. She heard stories of Joseph taking advantage of her, inciting her to rebel, using her to defame her family and many other nasty ones which were all false. Mimi said she felt sad that her benefactor and saviour was going through such an ordeal through no fault of his so she fled when he went to work and left for Kumasi with the little savings she had made from the chop money he was giving her. She stayed with him for seven months. It was Joseph Ndiego, who taught her how to read and write the few words she knew and according to her, he was the only man who had shown her pure love without requesting anything in return. He taught her that God hears all prayers. He taught her the importance of religion and because of him, she fell in love with Christ although she was brought up a Muslim.

Mimi came to Kumasi with determination to succeed. She worked as a chop bar attendant, pure water seller and many other odd jobs but could not make ends meet. Men still took advantage of her wherever she slept. First it was in the chop bar where some men waited till all were gone and pounced on her, then in front of stores, those places were worse although payment was made to acquire a spot. Thieves also searched and took away all she had each day. When she left her wages with people, they too disappointed her by telling her stories instead of giving it back when need be. She fortunately or unfortunately met Geti, her boss, the one who introduced her into the business. She was relieved that she would be paid for something many men had gotten freely from her; sex. As to where Geti was, she told me it was a story for another day. Her real name was Fatimata Akudugu Lariba. She cried after the story and I cried with her. As we slept on the student mattress in the midst of the songs of treacherous mosquitoes who had grown resistant to mosquito coils, I realised how blessed I was to have parents who cared and I regretted living my life as an embarrassment to them. I tapped Mimi gently and repeatedly on her back and lured her to sleep all the while telling her “tomorrow is another day, the past has severed its cord from your present navel” re-echoing my father’s best proverb as I thought of my sins of covetousness which brought me into prostitution and severed me from my family.

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © October 2017

Photo Credit: Google Pics

Chapter 5 will be posted on Monday, 30th October, 2017.

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