The thoughts of this woman have visited me many times and today I get to talk about it. I get to say it how I have seen it for the past two years. Since you never said it before, I suggest you buckle up and listen up.
She is a slave, but a free slave. She is not your typical woman, not by a long shot. The things she does can seldom be quantified. She has lost the last dignity she’s been holding onto since she was young because the society expects….err…. demands so much from her, 10 times more than they demand from her companion – the man. Despite showing a happy face, catering to her husband, to her children and to the society; she cries, but her crying is never heard. Every time she comes home, Uganda’s unpaid woman is worried because she knows that she is coming home to double trouble. She is free but she is a slave.
On instances; she raises her voice high enough on those dark nights albeit within the confines of her “safe and secure home”, no one comes to her rescue all the while. Physically and in her mind, she runs like a fugitive. Since getting married, she has been running and continues to run. I guess her husband can now tap herself on the shoulder for a “job well done”. She had a home one time, but she left all that behind to be with her husband…all she asked for was love; she got slavery.
Seated by the door one morning, watching her neighbor’s child go to school. Then she thinks about her child, moving up and down with nowhere to go. Moving barefooted, no education, no future then she thinks about him….she thinks to herself and questions her husband in absentia, “If you don’t want children, why do you have them? All the while, her son’s father is relaxing in the best drinking joint in the village asking for a refill of the local brew. If you don’t have children, why do you have them?
On other instances; she has to give up all the farm produce she has been working on for half a year. On this instance, she and her son will not get to reap the sweat of her efforts. Well, it’s the man to reap the benefits since he is the “man” of the house. She wishes she could drink the local brew maybe then she could have a taste of her sweat.
In most cases, the society ties her down with the chains of culture and myths. Nonetheless, she continues to carry out her tasks, not holding anything against the society but shedding a tear for her son and all that she has to do as an individual while society sits back and watches.
She thinks about her “Beloved husband” and “Beloved Society”, You can go anywhere you want, You have all the chances on your hands, you can make me cry every time you want to, you can make me happy if you want to, you can unchain me if you please – it’s all up to you, not the law”.
Dear God forgive us for leaving, the women have been pushed to the extent of thinking that the world is a prison; it’s like a jail they can never leave, a broken rose giving bloom to the cracks of the concrete. There are so many other things for them to see, so many things for them to be. Their history is full of tragedy and misery. In my chest I feel pain for the women who have to live in this life full of rain. I beg God to make a way for the women to breathe, show a sign and make all men believe.
This is dedicated to all the women who have one time or another suffered GBV at home or in the society. I love you all and appreciate you highly. For all that have never encountered GBV, ensure that you don’t, I appreciate you to as well – equally!