A young woman barely twenty years old, walks into the office, exchanges pleasantries with the receptionist. She listens intently and walks over to the waiting area and sits down. Her hands restless, shifting in her lap, smoothing her loose floral dress and wiping her face. Her yes flit as she searches the room, unsure of herself. Her rapid breathing and small beads of sweat coursing the sides of her face prompt me to make my move.
I walk up to her and introduce myself. We exchange pleasantries and the counselling session begins. I look up at Mercy briefly and notice her veins in her wrist and temple are throbbing. Her breathing rate is slowing down but it is a struggle. I pour her a glass of water and she thanks me in a soft, almost breathless voice referring to me as Bwana Juma.
The formality unsettles me slightly, but I realise she is not a town girl and means to do her best. Just looking at her, she reminds me of the young girls from my village; shy, controlled and working hard not to offend. She barely smiles and takes a long sip of her water. Her eyes flutter as the liquid gushes down her throat. Her thin, long neck seems strained and she shifts herself, drawing short sharp breaths, before wiping her mouth with her sleeve. Mercy reminds me of a small antelope, shy, meek and gently deliberate in her movements.
I start the session and ask her to tell me more about herself, her family and background. She tells me she is from a village close to Mt. Elgon, close to the border with Uganda. Mercy is the last of seven children and is far younger than the other siblings. Her parents live upcountry and farm their small holding, to grow food to feed their brood and sell the extra crop.
Mercy tells me that her mother is a loving and caring mother, who enjoys close ties and very supportive of her children. She encourages them to work hard and make a better life for themselves. Their mother rises at 4 a.m. every morning, milks the cows, goes back to the house to bottle some for sale and puts the rest in a pan, to prepare the tea for breakfast. She is that last to go to sleep, after supper and prayers, then sitting and waiting up for their father to stagger back home from the local bar.
Her father is at least a decade older than their mother. He is a carpenter part time and farms the rest of the time, usually ending his day at 4 p.m., to rush off to the bar at the village centre, to have a few drinks in the company of his friends and age mates. The trouble is the few drinks, which are no more than two, turn her father into a raging and uncontrollable man. By the time he gets home between eight and ten p.m., he slurs his words, shouts and spits as he hurls abuse at anyone who questions his behaviour. Many times, he gets home ready to fight his four sons and three daughters. When this fails, he picks a fight with their docile mother and sometimes beats her. To the frustration of their family, he publicly repents of his action every Sunday morning, often in tears and begging for forgiveness.
Mercy’s parents have sent her to live with an aunt in this town, since she is done with school and urge her to find a job. Soon after her arrival in this small rift valley town, Mercy suffers a nervous breakdown and has to find a counsellor. She cries, as she tells me this. I ask what led to this and she tells me, she no longer wants to live her life. She will not settle done so I give her a few minutes. Once composed, I ask her about her friendships.
Mercy tells me how she was alone at her aunt’s home, chopping fresh cabbage late in the afternoon, cooking their suppers. She heard a sudden sound and some movement. As she had back to the door, she turned and there stood a man, with a knife in her hand, wearing a bandana over his nose and mouth. Before she could call out or scream, he pulls the door shut and lunged forward, pinning her against the small table, as he covered her mouth and held the knife at her throat, shushing her over her muffled sounds. The
The stranger pushes her to the floor and wrestles with her until he has pinned her down. He begins to feel under her t-shirt and then her skirt, then rapes her. Once done, he pushes one dirty kitchen cloth into her mouth and stands over her shivering body. He zips up his trousers, straightens his cap and moves quickly to make an exit. He pauses, listens and then makes his escape.
Mercy finally opens her eyes after at least ten minutes. Sharp pains in her abdomen only reinforce the flashes pictures of the attack. She slowly eases herself onto her side, struggling to stand and takes hold of the counter, pulling herself back onto her feet but unsteady. Her breathing is ragged, her voice hoarse, from his stranglehold. Shaken, she moves to the bedroom and cleans herself up. Once cleanand in a fresh t-shirt and skirt, she ventures to the neighbours house to share what has happened.
The woman next door or a friend of Aunty Jacinta and listens to all Mercy has to say, with tears coursing down her face. She hugs her repeatedly. Mama Boi prays and calls on God’s mercy and justice for Mercy. Then with unexpected resolve, calls on Mercy’s Aunty and finally narrates the day’s events.
Within an hour, Aunty Jacinta arrives home, in the company of a lady Police Officer. They asked many questions and at one point, they ask why Mercy chose not to fight back or flee. Mercy has no answer and is now sobbing in frustration. They calm her and assure her the matter will be fully investigated. To initiate the investigations, Mercy will have to undergo a medical examination and file a report at the local Police Station, as soon as possible.
They leave together and head to the local dispensary for her medical exam. The nurses are sympathetic but one older nurse makes snide remarks, as Mercy is getting dressed to leave with her written report. She cries and her whole body is wracked with pain. The pain of physical pain, the trauma of the event and now, the callous attitude of a person of care. She leaves, once she has dried her tears and picked the report, without any further conversation. Aunty Jacinta follows her, lost in her own thoughts and wondering how to report the incident at the station and wonders what her brother’s family will say.
At the station, the male Police at the counter is slightly amused and begins a line of inquiry that puts Mercy in a delicate position. The lady officer who had come home with her Aunt appears just in time and they make a full and detailed report, handling Mercy with great care. As they wait for the Incident Form or P3, they hear three male officers laugh off her incident, with one saying he would have done the same. The faceless officers are seated in another room, behind the counter, out of their view. The lady officer escorts Mercy and her Aunt out of the station and briefs them on the next steps, just outside the front door.
On their way home, they notice a man has been following them but remains in the shadows. It is nearly six-thirty and the daylight is fading fast. Both Mercy and Aunt Jacinta pick up their walking pace and move quickly in the long shadows, keeping to the middle of the lanes between the town’s dwellings. Aunt Jacinta instructs Mercy not to worry, but Mercy is alarmed, seeing the fear on her Aunt’s face. At the last corner, before the courtyard outside Aunty’s humble wooden house, the man jumps out from the shadows in front of them, with his back to the light. The street is deserted and he threatens them with death, should they encourage Police investigations. Their eyes are cast down, staring at the cobbled array of stones and the dust between the pieces. He forces them to swear in agreement with his plans or risk death. Once agreed, the man retreats and mysteriously disappears into the shadows between the houses. Once they cannot hear his footsteps, them huddle together and move quickly into their now darkened courtyard and unlock the padlock on the front door. They squeeze through the front door and lock it behind them and drop to the floor, with their backs against the locked door, breathing heavily and Aunt Jacinta breaks into prayers, thanking God for their safety.
Mercy tells me how her parents came to Nakuru, heard her story and how her father reacted in disgust, cursing her and her future, branding her as unwanted and unmarriage-able. She cried for days and so did her mother, then they left, just as suddenly as they came. Mercy and her Aunt were left to make plans for her future. Mercy’s mother supported them at a distance and thanked Aunty Jacinta profusely. Her trauma, fear and lack of confidence have crippled her mind, leaving her desperate and afraid. We make arragements for continued and free counselling. She smiles in agreement and I wonder when she last smiled. She tells me that I am kind and that no one is ever nice to a farmer’s daughter. We laugh that off and I offer to introduce her to other farmers’ daughters who have rebuilt their lives, both in farming and away from it. That is my promise and she smiles once more and promises to come back. She asks if she can pray with me, her shoulders rounding with a little more confidence. I nod my head and bow as she prays. She belts out a long and earnest prayer, then says the final amen. I watch Mercy as she stands more self assured and she waves goodbye, as she walks away more purposefully. I smile back and wave, reminding her of her committment. She skips out of the room and walks faster and more intently to her next destination. This is how I met the farmer’s daughter.
Short Stories & Poems by WarmBreezeBliss 