By A Guest Writer

I was 10 years old. Happy childhood, quite innocent young girl. Life was beautiful. Until one day. We got a new house help. He was a man. Usually, our house helps were female. But this time my parents thought the workload needed man power. He started working in our house. Lived together. Ate together. Few months passed. He had made a bond with my family. My parents trusted him. I trusted. One day, whilst my parents were at work, our house-help said he had a story to tell me. But it was a special story. He said that whatever he says in the story, we have to act it out. I loved stories. So I said yes.

He told the story. Bit by bit. The characters in the story were a boy and a girl. They went to the river, to fetch water. The river was full, so the girl and the boy had to remove half their clothes in order to avoid getting them soaked. Our house-help asked me to remove my clothes – since we were acting out the story I removed my skirt. He removed his pants as well. He stopped telling the story. He moved closer. He touched me slightly. Then he held me tight, my small arms hurt. I got scared. I told him to let go.

He said we were just playing. After all, it was a story, and we were acting it out. I bit his arm. He screamed and let go of my hand. I ran. Locked myself in my room. Cried. Ashamed. I thought I had brought it upon myself. I did not tell anybody. Not even my parents. 6 years later, I started living with my uncle and aunt. I was 16 then. In my first year of college. Quite reserved young teen. One morning, whilst getting ready for school, I bumped into my uncle. There was no one in that room except for the two of us. He said good morning. I answered back. He looked at me. I did not know what he was thinking.

He gripped my waist. Pulled me closer to him. He brought his face closer to mine. Placed his lips on mine. I was in shock. I did not know what to do. I slipped out of his hands. Went to my room. Cried. Again, this is my fault, I have brought this upon myself – those were the thoughts lingering in my head. I did not share it with any of my relatives.

Throughout college, I struggled with low self-esteem, and resentment. I was very ashamed of myself. I could not share what I had been through for fear of being judged. When I finally did, I realized I was not alone. The friends I shared this with had also experienced something similar. We then decided together to spend our days trying to get help to girls who have been abused, who feel they have no purpose in this life, helping them with the trauma and putting them on a new path in this life. We are all passionate about working with young people in our country and promoting girl child education and together, we founded a local organization. God is always in control.

Jars treasures

5 thoughts on “JARS OF CLAY”

  1. The fact that you eventually decided to speak out and that resulted into an organisation to help other girls who have been abused before …makes this story even more beautiful

  2. Men who act in this way have turnished the true image of what being a man is. Well told story and all the best in your organisation.

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