AMINA'S TEARS

AMINA'S TEARS 

I am going on a journey I have never been Going to a place I have never seen, scared by what the unknown holds for me Hunted by the clutches of traditions that once bent my mother's knees.

Will I be allowed the courtesy of a last meal, the privilege of my own will? But they just stared as if I am acting a script. Although louder by the minute was my screams against a tradition that seeks the core of my being.

All eyes on me are of those who have been snared emotionless by a custom which has eaten, them from within and their voice silent by society.

Please I am still a teen who has a lot to see, Places to be,  friends to make and enemies too. But they stared as I was led as a lamb to be bled, All because tradition said, to him I must wed. Please comply don't shame our family parents said.

They forget that tradition keeps us focus on the past. They forget that traditions where drawn based on circumstances of old which is no more applicable.

Mama said nothing because in her days, at a much younger age she went through the same. with my pain she can relate Because in her memory, it is like an experience of yesterday. But because history is written on a tablet of Stone no one can erase, I am doom to hang by the same rope of tradition and the same tree of culture others before me dangled from.

Mama's only consolation was "Time heals all wounds" but must I be a victim of it too? I don't want this wound because I might not be strong enough to bear the hideous scar it leaves. Not all scars fades and this is a scar made on a young girl's soul, A scar inflated to cripple womanhood.

To my parents He promised my virginity he won't take until I come age, as if that makes it ok. But that night, like biblical river Nile, My blood turned the white sheet red as he moaned with smiles On his old wrinkled face , I am ashamed For without my consent i have been taken by my father's mate

I showered trying to scrub him off me but every night, he keeps coming back to further dampen my sorrow and take away sleep from my night, his hands are imprinted deep in my soul, that water can not pacify, even the best of soaps were of no help.

I never knew the eyes could run out of tears until mine stopped flowing. How do I speak my pain to those too deaf to listen? Too blinded by the old ways of their ancestors to see me.

I am Amina;

Crying out with a silent but loud voice. Tradition has sold me off into slavery. I am she who has fallen prey butchery of tradition. to the deepest grief, Tradition  has turned my sleep into death, my dream into nightmares. Tradition took my voice when he offered me to a life of wilderness.

I am Amina crying for help

Author: I. Eddyson