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I was walking around in the world of dark shadow that once was my village in Rwanda. Everyone was dead and I heard haunting demonic laughters that tormented my mind. I felt the excruciating pain I experienced when Mbwana Kapombe mutilated my genitals coming back to haunt me.
I wanted to stay down and not move anywhere, but I wasn’t in control, I knew where the dream would take me. I saw myself chopping Mbwana with a butcher’s knife. As I stared into his lifeless eyes, maggots came crawling out of them. I flinched and jumped backwards from the decomposing body, and I was drawn to the sadistic laughter of Patrick Bagosora.
“I don’t want to go. Please!” My younger self pleaded, but she was powerless to stop seeing what fate wanted her to see. My chest got heavy, and my breathing was staggered. I was suffocating, and yet I couldn’t die and find peace. I walked to the hut I grew up in. I relived the horror from that fateful night. The soldiers chopped my father with their machetes and fired their arrows at my brother. Finally, I came across Patrick Bagosora who was raping and mutilating my mother. He slit her throat and stared at me with his demonic eyes. His gaze etched into my mind and made him impossible to forget. “You could have saved me.” My mother chanted with a haunting voice, and I screamed in terror as a woke up in an extreme fright.
“Did you have the same dream again?” My husband Jakob said as he got up from our bed and wiped my sweat away with a nice warm towel.
“Yes, Jakob.” I whimpered.
“I understand,” Jakob said and held my hand lovingly.
I smiled. Jakob was the only thing that kept me grounded and stopped me from going insane. Yet our relationship was anything but normal, and I feared that my recurring nightmares from the past were because I couldn’t see a future with him. I guess the reason was the circumstances around our marriage.
When I was in my 20’s, I tried dating a few men. It always ended the same way, with me screaming in agonizing pain as we tried to have sex. Mbwana Kapombe did get the last laugh when he mutilated my genitals after his superstitious rape prophecy didn’t cure him of his AIDS.
Although I was fortunate enough to not have caught HIV from my evil tormentor, I was incapable of having sex. I lost hope in the future, and I feared that I would walk the earth alone until the end of my days. Then one day, I met with Jakob when I started a new job in Adelaide. We became close, and the best part was that he didn’t seem to have any sexual interest in me.
One night when we were having drinks, Jakob revealed to me that he felt terrified whenever he visited his family in Uganda. Jakob was a homosexual, and he feared that his family would find out. Homosexuality carried a lifetime prison term in Uganda, and it was common to murder homosexuals for the shame they brought to their family. This revelation affected me deeply, particularly since the bigots oppressed the homosexuals under the banner of Christianity, the same deity, who I have always kept close to my heart.
I had thought about Jakob’s predicament and I had realised that destiny wanted us to meet. I couldn’t have sex with men because of my genital mutilation, and Jakob had no interest in women sexually because of his homosexuality, but he wanted to get married to a woman. Our marriage was made with a lie, but it would be a lie that was good for both us and made us happy. Having this realisation, I had proposed to Jakob and he had agreed to marry me.
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WELL, I HAD BEEN WRONG. Marrying Jakob hadn't brought me happiness, it had merely brought me less sorrow. During our marriage, we only had sex once, on our wedding night, as Jakob wanted to try his best to consummate the marriage. It was a painful experience and I had settled for a lie, and I had no future to look forward to. Because of this, my obsession with the past had gotten worse.
“We can still have a future together,” I mumbled to myself as I closed my eyes and fell asleep before the important day to come.
***
I GUESS MY INFERTILITY shouldn’t have come as a surprise, but I didn’t know before we visited the IVF-clinic. In retrospect, I must have known all along, but I guess that denial is a powerful force of the human psyche.
Jakob and I had agreed to try to have children. It was my idea as I needed something to live for, and I hoped that having children of my own could be that something. I don’t know whether it would have worked, but I guess I wouldn’t obsess about tracking down Patrick Bagosora if I had the future of a child in my hands.
Meeting with Jane, the IVF-consultant, was quite awkward. Particularly, when we answered the question of how often we had sex. I answered. “A couple of times a week, depending on when the lust comes.” Jakob wouldn’t play along with this often-rehearsed lie and replied, “We don’t have sex. That’s why we are here.”
Jane gave us a confused look. I cleared my throat and spoke: “Uhm, my husband is correct. We haven’t had sex since our wedding night five years ago.”
Jane blustered and said, “Uhm, are you sure that our IVF-clinic is the right place to visit? Normally people come here when they can’t conceive, not because they don’t want to have sex with their partner.
“Mbega ikiragi. Ntabwo agurisha neza ibicuruzwa bye. (What a dumb bitch. She is not exactly selling her product.)” I said to Jakob.
“Ba mwiza, Samantha. Ntabwo ari amakosa ye dufite ibihe bidasanzwe. (Be nice, Samantha. It’s not her fault we have special circumstances.)” Jakob replied.
I cleared my throat and spoke: “We don’t have sex because I was raped and mutilated when I was 12. Furthermore, Jakob is a homosexual who agreed to marry me because he fears what his family will do if they find out about his orientation.”
Jane stared at us in disbelief for a while. She had no idea what to say. Eventually, she spoke. “I am sorry to hear about your childhood, Samantha. Have you visited a gynaecologist about your injuries? I think that would be preferable before we offer you fertility treatments.”
I reflected on Jane’s question. I hadn’t visited a gynaecologist or sought any help for my physical or mental injuries. The last time I spoke to a doctor about what had happened to me, I got beaten up and my friend Amy died. I didn’t want the past to come back to haunt me. However, if I didn’t seek help, I wouldn’t be able to have a future.
“Thanks for telling me, Jane. I want to book a gynaecologist session if that is what you recommend.” I said.
“Of course. Please see Dr Michaela Baker. I’ll write you a referral.” Jane replied.
The meeting at the IVF-clinic lasted for another 15 minutes where we dealt with common questions and answers. After that, we went home.
***
I FELT A SURGE OF HATRED raging through me as I listened to what the doctor said. I hated that doctor Michaela Baker almost as much as I hated Patrick Bagosora. She had told me what I had feared all along but tried so hard to ignore. The damages done to my genitalia were too severe, and I would never be able to bear children. My family line died with me. Michaela Baker had killed my last glimmer of hope, and I wanted to find a target for my anger and hatred.
Rationally, I knew that Michaela hadn’t done me anything. She wasn’t the one who mutilated me, Mbwana Kapombe was the man I should have murderous thoughts about. But Michaela was the one who had killed my hope. This was something Mbwana had never achieved, and besides, I had killed him when I escaped the Kapombe Mansion.
“I hate her! I hate that bitch Michaela Baker!” I exclaimed to Jakob as I started smashing crockery in the kitchen.
Jakob gave me a worried look, but he didn’t dare to approach me until my anger outburst had receded. A few minutes later, he approached me as I was sobbing in the kitchen, surrounded by broken glass and plates. He squatted next to me and lifted me to the bedroom, while whispering calming words.
As we reached our bedroom, Jakob spoke: “Why do you hate her? What did she do to you?”
“She ended my line. She told me I will never be able to bear children.” I sobbed.
“You can’t hate her for that. She is only the messenger.” Jakob objected gently.
“I know. Yet it was her, not Patrick nor Mbwana, that killed my hope for the future.” I replied.
“I guess we can always adopt a child?” Jakob suggested.
“Yes, I guess so,” I said emotionlessly.
I know that Jakob’s suggestion about adoption made sense, but at the time it was nothing that appealed to me. My line would die with me even if I adopted a child. Besides, I was wary of adoption considering the cold relationship I had with my adoptive mother Lisa. If I ever were to adopt a child, I couldn’t see the child as a replacement for the child I never had. Loving a replacement didn’t work.
Since I didn’t feel ready to adopt a child, I delved into another project. I needed to find Patrick Bagosora and bring him to justice.