TALE OF A SURVIVOR (CHAPTER THREE)

This pikin no go kill me oh’ Mama kept on repeating this words like someone out there was going to blame her for Ivies’ situation. We had been in the hospital for three hours and not a single word about her from the doctors. I was too shocked to notice what part of her body the blood had flowed from. This was just what I needed, suspension from the office and now a half dead step sister. It almost felt like I was facing what Job in the Bible faced in the hands of the devil. It was way past grade ten, right then would have been the best time for God to send the devil back to his hole.
I checked myself into the hotel at exactly ten fifteen a.m. the next morning and my first appointment with Mrs. Nnena was not till the next day. Silence at last, that’s how I loved my life, Void of human presence and interference. After unloading my stuffs, I took my first look around the room. It was pretty impressive with the king sized bed and a bunch of other pretty furniture. At that point I had no idea if I still wanted to go on. I did at one point of my life or the other admit I was far from normal. But doing this, it’s like admitting I was crazy. Crazy was a new perspective to look at things.
After what seemed like a long peaceful day, I went to bed full of anticipation for tomorrow’s meeting with Mrs. Nnena.
I hoped she was pretty…
‘How do you feel? ‘
Her office was more like an interrogation room, it lacked color and everything was either grey or ugly. I saw why her patients made rapid improvements, no one could stand her office for long. And so just like in the movies, I was laying on a long ugly grey couch with a flawlessly dressed psychologist staring at me. From her cream colored jacket to her tailored black gown, red shoes and expensive from the looks of it, she looked stunning and they all complemented her tiny body frame.

‘I asked you a question Miss Omon ‘she stared at me through her glasses. They were much bigger than her face and made it impossible to read her expression. She was stone cold. ‘How do you feel? ‘

‘I feel ‘
I took in a deep breath and closed my eyes.
‘Violated’ she scribbled ‘deleted, insignificant, offended, burdened ‘and feelings I never knew I had flowed out. I felt each as I spoke it. She scribbled.
‘So let’s talk about violated and deleted. Why? ‘She adjusted her seat and handed me a pen and notepad ‘if you can’t speak, write. ‘
So I spoke
‘violated because I wasn’t allowed to choose, like God didn’t ask me if I wanted to be born, or if I wanted to be a woman. Why didn’t I get to choose my family, why don’t we all or why didn’t I get to decide when I wanted to be born, that way the fact that am old and unmarried would me my fault! ‘I was enraged ‘he took all the decisions for me. I feel sad, I feel cheated, feel like am destined to an ill-fated life and there’s not a darn thing I can do about it. I feel…’ I touched my face ‘scarred ‘