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THE RICH RIVER
The story is about a little girl who is being sexually abused,but has nobody to share with, since her mother who she stays with is rarely around..
I must have been six years old at that time, but the events of that day are forever engraved in my mind. It was my first day at school, and like everybody else, I was putting on my heavily starched green tunic dress. None of us had shoes—shoes were for upper primary school pupils, and the few whose parents worked in the big city.
I was scared. School scared me. From the stories I had heard from my elder sister, it was going to terrible.
“Your class teacher is going to be Mrs.Onyango. She will lift your dress and pinch your thighs…”she had told me in the morning just before I left for school. Although Mama had rebuked her and assured me that all will be well, I still had some lingering fear within me.
“I am Atieno,” the girl who was sitting next to me said.
I did not reply. I just stared at her. She was the talkative type, and I was shy.
“Did your mother give you anything to carry to school?” she asked almost immediately.
“Yes, Sweet potatoes”, I replied weakly. For some unknown reasons, I found her question irritating.
“Give me some, my mother did not give me anything”, she said, looking straight into my eyes.
I reached for my bag and gave her the tiniest piece of my sweet potatoes. She shoved the whole of it in her mouth, then stretched her hand for more. I looked at her in disgust, then gave her one more.
She munched on it slowly, then smiled at me.
“Look at my hands, my mother lashed them yesterday”, she held out her arms for me to see.
My stomach lurched at the sight of her hands. They were bruised and swollen. I did not believe her. No mother lashes her little girl like that!
“What did you do to earn that?”
She did not answer. She just smiled, but I noticed the tears in her eyes.
There was heavy silence between us. My thoughts raced to my mother. Sometimes she got angry by the things I did, like making faces at her visitors, but she had never caned me so badly…
The teacher entered the classroom and interrupted my thoughts.
“Good morning everyone?” She greeted in a low voice.
We all stood at once and saluted her.
“I am Mrs. Onyango, your class teacher”, she continued in the same tone.
Silence reigned.
“I want each one of you to give a brief introduction about who you are”, she spoke on.
The introductions began at the front. Most of the pupils spoke softly, and it was with great difficulty that those of us at the back got to hear their names.
Mrs. Onyango, probably bored by the monotony of the introductions was beginning to doze off.
“My name is Atieno, I am six years old, and my mother is a seller”, my desk mate introduced herself with a confidence.
“Young girl, we do not say seller, we say business lady”, the teacher corrected her.
“Yes Ma’am”.
“So what does your mother sell?”
“She sells herself Ma’am.”
“What?”
“My mother sells herself to interested buyers”.
There was silence. Nobody talked. Atieno and the teacher looked at each other.
The teacher made her way toward her, her eyes so fierce, that for a moment; I thought she was going to hit her.
“How do you know that she sells herself young girl?”
“That is what she tells me every night when she leaves the house.”
“Do you know it is wrong to lie Atieno?”
“I know it is wicked to lie, and those who lie will burn when good people go to heaven Ma’am”.
“How many children are you at home?”
“It is just my Mama and I. My Mama says she had me by mistake. She says I am the bad one who refused to die like the rest, even after she drank a whole gallon of detergent to get rid of me while I was in her stomach”.
Her voice faltered off, and there were tears in her voice.
Loud murmurs rang through the classroom. The murmurs must have been the pupils wondering why Atieno was holding such a long conversation with the teacher. We were too young to understand.
“Who brought you to school?”
“Myself.”
“Class, you are dismissed for break…” the teacher said, and I noticed her reaching for the wall for support. Her eyes were also very red.
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That evening as we walked home from school, Atieno walked at a sickening slow speed. I felt the need to be her friend. Nobody wanted to talk to her.
“Some of my sweet potatoes are still in my bag, maybe…” I started.
“I think I am full.” She said, looking straight ahead.
“But you didn’t take lunch.”
“I never take lunch. I am used to staying hungry.”
I saw tears glinting her eyes, but she blinked them rapidly.
“Where do you stay?” I asked in the final attempt to sound friendly.
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Writer Profile
Mercy Adhiambo Orengo
My name is Mercy Adhiambo Orengo from Kisumu, Kenya. I am 21 years old and I am a writer.
Most of my writing talks about the marginalized in the community.I write on topics that other people fear to talk about, topics that affect us as humanity.
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