STORYTELLER-

ADOBEA
(written by R. K. Gyimah)
Episode One

Oh God! Blood! Blood! Grandma, I’m bleeding. Jesus Christ! Who might have done this to me? Grandma, please hurry up; my mat is soiled. Grandma entered my room, she smiled and said congratulations; you’re becoming the woman you want to be. O my God! That was my first menstrual cycle. And my grandmother, Mama Fosua was quite happy. My name is Adobea Kwarteng. I do not know my parents, or let me put it right; I never met them. I was told by my grandmother that they both died through a motor accident on their way to the Chapel to have my one week dedication and naming ceremony. Sorrowfully, I became an orphan just a week after my birth. My father’s family painfully ejected my grandmother who was my mother’s mum from the house, and asked her to take away the cursed child. Hurtfully, that cursed child was me. My grandmother not having enough resources to cater for a week old child took me to a Foster Home. I stayed there till I was ten years old when the unfortunate happened.

I still remember that faithful day, 25th March 2003. My housemistress who also doubles as the owner of the Foster Home sent me to her house to pick up her phone. It was very unusual of her to send a little girl to her home during the dark hours of the day. I got to her house and it was very quiet. My shadow and footsteps created an atmosphere of panic and unforeseen danger. Her golden door handle was too impeccable not to be noticed. I knocked and gently pressed the handle to softly open. A hoarse voice from the inside answered, come in the door is opened. I reluctantly entered with my heartbeat in my palm. Hello, beautiful girl. I am sure Auntie sent you to pick up her phone. I nodded with loaded words in my mouth. What is your name? He asked. Seeing me shivering he said: “don’t be scared, sit down and let me get you the phone”. He came back with cookies and a bottle of drink. I was too hungry to notice I was about tasting the forbidden fruit. Donations were no longer coming to the foster home. So we ate once a day. I hurriedly accepted the offer: took in the cookies first and later the drink. The phone I had gone for rang. I wanted to fetch the phone but there I realized I couldn’t move. I was too weak. O God! I turned myself and beside me was a naked old man. My underpants were filled with blood. I have been defiled. I looked at Auntie’s husband and I wept. He threatened me not to tell anyone or else I will be sacked from the foster home. Here I was; I had nobody. So where would I go if I am sacked. He never even allowed me to wash down but rather gave me a rag to wipe away the blood. I left that place, and I knew my present to the future had been tempered with. I swore to deal with every fear that came my way again.

Two days later, I was sent to the same place to pick up the phone. There I realized Auntie’s husband deliberately picks up her phone from her bag when she was visiting the children; knowing well she would send someone for it. I wasn’t the only victim. I shared my previous ordeal and surprisingly others shared similar stories with the same old fool. This very time, I planned to teach him a lesson he wouldn’t ever forget. I walked in without even knocking. He welcomed me but this time I requested for my usual cookies and fruit juice. He hurriedly brought them, and whispered; good girl. As he left again to fetch the phone I hurried poured the drink into a flower pot close to my sofa. When he came back I was wobbly lying in the sofa. He hurriedly removed my underpants. I pretended not to notice and to urge him on. He removed his boxers’ shorts and with no conscience, jumped on me. I immediately woke up and with a sharp blade I cut off his manhood, took the phone from him and left the house.

Later that morning it was reported Auntie’s husband had died from heart attack. I asked myself why they would lie about his death. I felt my stay in the Foster Home wasn’t safe. I had to look for my grandmother. Grandma visited me once every year. On her last visit I managed to get her home address. That very night I decided to leave the Home, something terribly happened. As I descended the stairs to take my bath and leave, the security man who I always shared my scanty food with approached me in an awkward way. He pulled me aside and said: “You need to leave here tonight or else you will die”. He didn’t allow me to change my clothes. With the cloth around me he pulled me away. We got outside the gate; he gave me his T Shirt to wear on the cloth and gave me GHC 2.50. When I decided to run away initially, I had a choice. For this, I had no choice. I had to at all cost run for my life. The security man told me the whole truth. Auntie was very much aware of her husband’s behavior. It was a ritual that brought them money. If her husband slept with you twice you will die three days after. They did this ritual quarterly with three innocent girls. I then remembered that about five girls died mysteriously yearly in the Foster Home.

According to the security man Auntie was aware I killed the husband because I was the last person to see him. The security man was emphatic to say that he had been contracted with two other persons to kill me that faithful night I had planned running away. He said he couldn’t waste the blood of an innocent person who always fed him with the little she had when hungry. I hugged him, thanked him and said goodbye. I couldn’t hold my tears any longer. I wept as I walked along the street. I was escaping from an evil known world to a bigger world I had no knowledge of. I didn’t know where to go. My grandmother’s address was in my bag in the dormitory. My only hope to survive on was the GHC 2.50… (To be continued)