Breaking The Silence: Teen Girl Recounts Ordeal Two Years After Rape.

By Ngah Benjamin

       Cynthia, sixteen is a student in one of the colleges in Bamenda. She will resume school into form four and would be writing the GCE ordinary Level next year. She hails from Donga Mantung Division though her mother is from the Meta clan.

       My attention was drawn to Cynthia when I saw her fidgeting with a one year two months old baby while at the same time trying to help the her mother sell some foodstuff by the roadside at Foncha street junction, Bamenda.

       Still in her teens, Cynthia looks frail. Her face, hands and the looks of the baby reveal that life has not been so kind to her and the baby. As this I approached her to buy some fruits, and from the exchange that ensued, I realized that Cynthia was not at all a happy girl.My conversation with Cynthia was definitely what made me to realize that she was an intelligent girl whose education must have been interrupted by an unfortunate incident.

       “How much you di sell this oranges?” I began.

“I do sell three for CFAF 200. But I can give you four depending on the sizes” Cynthia replied.

“I wan na dat small one them” I continued in pidgin.

“For how much do you actually want?” She asked.

“emmme tie me de one for CFAF 400” I said.

       Cynthia carefully selected the oranges and tied it in one of the banned biodegradable papers. As I took my package to leave, something crossed my mind. This young girl has all along spoke to me in perfect English despite the fact that I spoke in pidgin. I return to her to find out of curiosity why she spoke to me only in English and to find out whose son was crying beside her. Before I could ask, she gripped the child, pulled down her breast wear and introduced the nipple of her breast into the child’s month. The child also gripped the breast ferociously and started sucking. Drops of breast milk ran down its cheek as Cynthia adjusted the baby to clutch firmly around her waist. I immediately understood that the innocent looking and battered Cynthia was a mother.

            “What is your name?” I asked changing from pidgin language to English.

“Cynthia” was her quick reply

“Is this your child?” I demanded

“Why do you ask?” she retorted.

“Because you are too young. Where is the baby’s father?” I inquired.

“I do not know” she replied without enthusiasm.

“How come,” I said a little bit sarcastically. ”Where are you from?”

“Nkambe and meta” she said.

“You cannot be” I said trying to get her involved.

          By this time, Cynthia’s mother had just came around and wanted to find out what I wanted. I told her I was a correspondent and was interested in her daughter’s intellectual capacity and mastery of the English language. The mother heaved heavily and rather wryly asked her whether she had told me her story. Cynthia said she had not and starting sobbing profusely. The mother also joined and they both started sobbing as if to say God had forsaken them. I was confused and afraid to have initiated such a conversation.

           In the state of things, I could not continue. I hurriedly took my package and walked away from them. After some few meters, I met a friend of the press and related the incident to him. He advised me to make a rendezvous with them and make sure I listened to the girl’s story. I therefore came to them and promised to listen to her story the next day when they must have mustered courage to speak out. I made her to understand that her story is just one in many and by speaking out; she was not only doing well for herself but to the community as a whole. 

              The thought of young Cynthia and her child bothered me throughout that night. I called Colbert, the press man aforementioned. He is the executive director of A Common Future; an organization which seeks to promote human rights especially that of the women and the girl child by fighting violence against women in all its forms. I informed him about Cynthia and sought to know whether we could meet her together. He readily agreed and we met at Foncha street junction together to see Cynthia.

            There, we took Cynthia and the mother into one of the numerous “chop houses” by the roadside. Gwain ordered for two plates of Achu-a delicacy in the North West, for them.  They ate and gulped a glass of palm wine each. We now got set for Cynthia to recount her story to us.

            It was not easy to make her speak out. She all of the time folded her arms. She was apprehensive of us. We had to use all kinds of diplomacy to make her speak out. A sense of guilt and regret swept over her and each time this happened, she heaved a sigh of regret.  Colbert reminded her again and again that she was not the cause of what had happened to her; reasons why she must speak out so that her story could help others like come out and speak.

            As we started puting out our gadgets to get Cynthia’s ordeal recorded electronically, she start sobbing copiously again. Like spasm, memories of the past seemed to constantly attack her. We took another one to two hours to put her in a disposition to speak. At last she started.

          “About two years ago, I went on holiday to Nkambe in Donga Mantung Division to visit my grand mum. I was there to help her in harvesting and to transport maize from her farms. I was there for two weeks. One day I went to visit a friend in the neighbouring village and overstayed. I then took a bike at about 7 or 8 pm to drop me home.

             As the bike boy sped with me across the village, he asked me several questions, and sought to know when I planned to go back to town. I told him that I had hardly a week more. As we drove, he turned around and carried another friend of his and since I did not understand the nooks of the village, I did not actually know where we were. I could not complain.  We were three of us on the bike then and I was sandwiched by them. We got to an area around a river; they stopped, pulled me down and started molesting me. As I shouted, the held my mouth and one of them removed a knife and told me to “understand” else they would kill me and abandon me there. As they started having their turns, I lost consciousness.” 

            At this point, Cynthia started sobbing again uncontrollably. Her mother joined in the sobbing. Colbert was man enough than I. He cuddled the baby not to join in the sobbing. ‘Water’ filled my eyes and immediately I develop a kind of cold. After some minutes, she mustered courage and went on. We listened with keen attention though I was a little disturbed.

         “They abandoned me there after they did what they wanted. It was thanks to one man who came my way and saw me lying. He helped me regain consciousness and carried me to my grand mum. I recounted the ordeal to my grand mum. She blamed me for having overstayed. She said all what had happened to me must be known only between the two of us. According to her if anyone knows of it, it would not be fair for the entire family.”

         “Could you identify the boys?” Colbert asked.

“I was not used to the village and since it was dark when they carried me, I could not make them out” Cynthia replied.

“And you did not go to the hospital or the police after the incident?” I cued in.

“No, since my grand mum did not want anybody to know what had happened to me” she replied.

“After then, you came back to town?” Colbert inquired to allow her continue with her story.

“Yes I came back to town after some days. I felt very, very sad. I did not tell my parents what had happened to me. After about one month or so I started feeling like I was not fine. My mother quickly noticed that something was not right with me. She asked me whether I was pregnant and inquired whether I had been sleeping with boys. I denied. She insisted. Finally she took me to the hospital and my pregnancy was confirmed. It is then that I recounted what had happened to me in the village, and the instructions my grand mum had given me.” She was devastated and started crying.

       By this time the baby started crying. Colbert carried him up, kissed it and handed him to the mother. She started breast feeding the child and it felt asleep on Cynthia’s lapse.

      “What is the baby’s name” I asked being inquisitive.

“Mbunwe Gift” she said.

“What is the meaning of Mbunwe and who named him so?” I asked.

“My grand mum. It means “having nobody” Cynthia replied.

“We will change that name, he is a great boy and is a man of the people. He will be an important personality in this country,” Colbert prophesized.


THE PULSE