African Molasses

His heavy body crumpled my developing frame and the air was slowly stripped from my lungs. The beard that my little hands had playfully grazed against my palm countless times before was suddenly sharp as it scraped at my face. But it was the sounds of his viscous breathing and the sweat he left on my body that scarred me. I was 6 years old when I was raped for the first time.

The house we lived in was adorned with relics from our ancestral land. A corner tucked away between large rivers and plush fields that held the biggest land animals and the fastest too. There were people like me, with tight curls that sat on heads like crowns and skin that was dark and so deep, it reminded me of sweet syrup like molasses. But after a while I learned that our color came in shades and some were favored more than others.

“You’re so dark that you make tar look grey.” I would witness one spit to another, followed by an eruption of chaotic laughter from everyone else. The victim would take it quietly, but others would retaliate with their own hatred embedded in words aimed at the shade of their opponent’s skin. My brother would tell me that children were cruel whenever I cried about the calamities that came with school.

I told Tobi a lot of things and what I couldn’t, I wrote. It was in journals that I painted my reality and created worlds that were nothing like my own. I spoke to the pages and in return they offered me solace. I bled onto each page – sometimes wishing I would die just so what I felt could stop but I bled in other ways too.

One day, I saw blood on my underwear, and I was too scared to tell anyone because I didn’t want to get in trouble for revealing my stepfather’s secret. I was bleeding from between my legs, a place he had vilified many times and I knew his actions had now made me very ill. So, I hid the blood-stained garments in a plastic bag, vowing to throw it away when night had fallen. In my attempt to get rid of the abomination, Tobi caught me. His 13-year-old eyes were filled with a curiosity that I haven’t seen in anyone’s since. I exposed the bags contents in shambles, crying profusely and begging him not to tell our mother.

“You’re not ill, Thandie.” His voice was so gentle and kind as he resealed the plastic bag for me.

That night, I learned that my body was doing what it was meant to do. Almost every woman bled every month, and this was a natural and healthy thing. Eventually, I found the courage to let my mother in on the changes that my body had undergone. My stepfather overheard our confidential exchange and commented on how it meant I was now a woman and that friends of the opposite sex were not allowed. I ignored his words, turning to my mother for reassurance but she ushered me out of the room, leaving me with a packet of disposable pads. There were days my 11-year-old self would stick the pad onto my underwear and staring at the dark residue, I would hope that an open wound that produced blood would be enough to deter that monster, but it wasn’t. Instead, it would take my brother nonchalantly flipping through my journal.

I had been helping my mother remove our clothes from the washing line when my brother launched at my stepfather; Tobi's closed fist making contact with his maturing face. Within seconds, they were tussling and tossing around in the dirt with a heap of dust dancing around them. It was my mother’s cries that suddenly brought me back, her voice trembling in fear at the scene that was playing out. I watched in silence as the fight continued, I didn’t understand what was happening until I heard my brother’s words.

“You sick bastard.” He spat. “You’ve been raping her.”

Blood had stained my stepfather’s shirt and my brothers rage showed in each swing he continued to throw. My mother threw her small arms around Tobi’s waist, begging him to stop, and the man who had tormented me for so long cowered like a newborn behind her.

“He’s been raping her, mama! He’s been raping Thandie.” His voice broke and shame fell upon me like a heavy cloud.

The days that followed were painful, but I was never angry with my brother. He had sat with me as I filed a police report and taught me about STD’s and HIV, suggesting that I get tested immediately. I was afraid, I didn’t want the whole world to know what had happened, but my brother told me that this was the only way to get that man punished. My mother hid herself away whilst Tobi took responsibility of me, understanding how the situation had left her distraught, but she never spoke about it to me. She never said anything about it at all.

The week that followed the events was my 16th birthday and my brother’s gift to me was a small black notebook, decorated with a leather cover and rounded edges. I adored it instantly and couldn’t dare stain it’s pages with the filth that was my life.

“I want you to write a new chapter. Something beautiful.” My brother said as he watched me gaze at the notebook in awe. “I hope you can dream again.” His eyes began to water as the words fell from his lips.

He embraced me and instantly began to weep. He wept heavily and I remembered that was the first time I had seen him cry in a long time and just like that, I started to cry too. My mother had not hugged me like this. No one had and, in that moment, I knew Tobi was everything I had.

When he died, I learned what it truly meant to be alone – I became a scattered mess that had lost all sense. I discovered Tobi on a late afternoon, it took me a while to register what I was seeing and once I did, I ran. I ran so fast, losing one slipper and snapping the other in the process. I let out a painful scream, crying out his name as I struggled to get him down from where he had hung himself. I begged him with everything I had left but he never answered. He was so cold, and I will never forget how far his neck went back. It was broken but, in that moment, I didn’t know that. I held him close to me, cradling his head against my chest. I can’t tell you how long I had been sitting there with him but eventually someone found us.

After that, I spent many days locked away in Tobi’s room. I lay in his bed and cried until sleep found me. It was when I held one of the pillows to my chest that I felt a weighted object buried in the pillowcase. When I explored it, I found a little notebook and tucked between its pages was money. Inside, I noted his handwriting imprinted in dark ink: For Mama & Thandie, Dream again.

My brother had left us a total of twenty thousand dollars, perhaps all the money his young life had been saving. This told me that he had planned his end. He wanted us to be okay without him as if money would soften the blow of his absence, but nothing ever could.

A lot of my relatives chose not to attend Tobi’s funeral. What he had done was unforgivable and, in their eyes, it was an evil act, one that brought about bad spirits. That was the custom of our culture and I had to accept it. I watched as people took his belongings and burned them but by then, I had tried to give the money I had found to my mother and she refused to even touch it. She stared at it as though it was a diseased creature and yet, it was everything my brother had worked so hard for.

“What he has done is a grave sin, Thandie. Everything that was his must leave this house immediately.” My mother tried to convince me. “God doesn’t let people who take their lives into heaven.”

“Where was God when Tobi needed him?” I hissed.

“He was in so much pain and where was God?” She said nothing and water drenched the corners of her eyes.

I left the house, travelling back to the place we had laid my dear brother to rest. I stood at the side of the road, thumb out, hoping to make it before the sun began to set. I would tell my brother that I would use some of the money he had left us to leave the country. Even though my mother didn’t want anything to do with it, I would leave her with some. She would need it. Eventually, what appeared to be a young couple stopped to give me a lift. They asked little questions and I was thankful for that. Whilst I stared out the car window, I saw nothing -tears darted down my face but I didn’t bother to wipe them. I sobbed silently in the back seat, wondering why my brother didn’t leave an explanation for why he had done this.

I struggled to keep my crying silent and all I could see in my head was Tobi’s beautiful face and curious eyes. That rich skin, sweet like molasses. I could feel my chest caving in with each breath I tried to take. I only wish I knew why. Why did you do this Tobi? My thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the screeching sounds of car horns and looking out the window, I saw a truck barreling towards me.

Joy Johane