VICTIMS AND SURVIVORS EPISODE 1 BY AISHA ODUMS (A MOST READ)

 

VICTIMS AND SURVIVORS. Episode 1.

(Awareness Campaign about the dangers of Obstetric Fistula popularly known as Yoyon Fitsari in Hausa). 

I looked at the women that were spread out in front of me.We were all present for the same purpose all of us here being either victims or survivors.

The smell of urine could not be strongly perceived as it should, due to the Urine drainage bag attached to every patient who hasn’t undergone surgery or treatment. 

The women all sat expectantly waiting for me to say something, I knew they were nervous because looking at them I could see a fourteen year old lurking behind them in the shadows of the lit hall. 

It was another new session for therapy at the Godiya Ga Allah Hospital and as was the tradition, A victim or survivor would share their stories about how they found themselves in their present condition. 

I got up and went behind the podium that had two mics attached to it.I cleared my throat and started talking. 

“Assalamu alaikum warahmatullah. I greet and welcome you all with the greetings and salutations of Islam “Most women who shared the same faith as me replied as they should while the Christians replied saying “Welcome “.after some time, the hall fell silent again, so I took it as my cue to continue. 

“As you all know,my Name is Dr Aisha Abdulraheem and I am the founder of this hospital. And as it is tradition, during every session we normally gather every week to talk about our life and circumstances that brought us into our present status. I enjoin all of us here to feel free to talk about ourselves,for there will be no Judgement. So is there anyone who is ready to share her story with us? ” I paused as my eyes drifted from one woman to the other in the hall. Seeing that nobody in the Hall was lifting their hands up, I coaxed them further “Feel free, no judgements, remember? ” Still nothing. So I went on “Perhaps you’d like to hear my story first ” series of “yes” rang out across the hall while some just nodded their heads. I took one of the Mic and went to sit down cleared my voice for the second time that evening and started telling my story…….
From a tender age, I was told that my mom lost her life giving birth to me and was also told that I belonged to someone, a Man. 

As the tradition of my village demands I was supposed to be married as soon as I hit puberty. Barely got to finish primary school before I was hauled off to a man’s house to be his wife. But the most pitiful reality is that I didn’t myself understand the concept of marriage. For at my age if a question was poised at me as to what marriage was, I would have told them it was a man and woman living together, while the man works and brings food home the woman on the the other hand cooks the food and cleans the house subsequently giving birth to children in quick succession(how the children were born, I didn’t know). As superficial as it may have seemed, that would have been my explanation for I really didn’t know what marriage was. 

So that was why I was confused, when some women left me in a room in the said husbands house on a springy bed that abundance of raffia palms on it which was covered with a soft wrapper. They covered my face with a veil before they left with strict warning to refuse any gift from the groom tonight.

“Salamu alaykum”I heard the voice by the door and immediately raised my head, and tried to look through the veil for who the individual was but the darkness of the room made it impossible. The person came close and sat next to me on the raffia bed, I could feel the person’s body heat but I didn’t make a sound. Then the veil was lifted from my head and I curiously raised my head to see who this person was, it was Yarimah, the Prince. He couldn’t be older than nineteen. “You are my husband? “I asked dazed. He didn’t answer, he just smiled and drew me closer. He knew me that night more than I knew myself. It was only after, when I laid down, sore and in pains that I deduced another actuality about marriage “it is also a life changing experience “.
Days have transformed into months and months into a year. And within those months, I have been made to grow up more than I ever did while I was in my father’s compound. 

My mother in law was not pleased with the results of my marriage to her son because I couldn’t have a child. I was thirteen, how impatient could she have been? .

It had been two months since my mother in law started throwing fits like a child about my (barrenness).One faithful evening I was sitting on the corridor eating Tuwo when I heard guda by the door. Women filled the house and passed me almost walking over me, taking a girl whose face was covered with a veil similar to mine when I first came to the house. Some were throwing me dirty looks while others were sizing me up. I recognised one of the women as my Aunt in law, so I thought to ask her who got married, Yarimah had many brothers so it could have been one of them. It was a family house after all. Her answer made me regret asking her because she told me that they had brought someone for hudu who can eat and produce children unlike me who only knows how to eat and excrete.
I hadn’t seen Yarimah, since that faithful day neither did I look for him. It was only on the fourteenth day that he came to my hut and demanded for his (right) and left. 

I was ill, I knew because I had been throwing up and having no appetite and I craved fura which was unusual considering that it was never my favorite. I told Yarimah I was going to my father’s compound and he let me. 

I went to my father’s wife and told them about my illness and they got excited and started saying things along the lines of (Allah Ya sauke ta lafiya).
I went back home only to be welcomed by my angry mother inlaw. Just one look at her face and I knew that she was not pleased. 

She made many unpleasant statements among which she accused me of getting pregnant only because her niece was pregnant. Why else would I have gotten pregnant? She had thought. I was surprised because I had been ignorant about my pregnancy, talk more of a co-wife’s.
Months came and went, so has any affection between my husband and I. I could say those affections dissapeard and not even my pregnant state could bring them back. I was only another pregnant woman to him. 

All through my pregnancy the only health advice on how to take care of myself was from my Father’s wife, and that too was limited knowledge.
My pregnancy was nine month and a week when my water broke. I started having contractions from that day onward. Yarimah noticed me in pain wanted to bring a midwife, perhaps out of pity but his mother refused saying she would take care of me. I was in labour for a week, and my strength was drained. The day that the final contractions came, my mother in-law had been tending to Zinaru, the second wife and left me to the mercy of my inexperienced self after telling me that she had to go and help Zinaru’s male child since she was certain I’d give birth to a female.
I cried while pushing the heavy weight out of me, not even my agonised wails could bring my Mother in law or anyone to my room. Other wives in the compound couldn’t come, they were all cowards when it came to her Wrath, and to think that my Father in law the village head had entrusted the affairs of inside the house to her. 

I felt when the weight slipped out of me but I was already feeling sleepy, so I slept.