24 years of abuse; why does she stay?

Judith, Judith!” he angrily roared my name as he entered the kitchen. The sight of him made the little strength I had vanish because I could feel his anger spread through the place like a contagious disease. The children were sitting next to me but a glare from their father sent them sprinting as if they were doing a race. In a short while, he mercilessly pounded on my body, shouting insults at me. After beating the senses out of me, he left without giving any reason. That is what my husband has been doing to me for the past 20 years.

The first time I saw my husband, it was during overnight prayers on New Year’s Eve in 1986. He was standing under a mango tree and then he moved closer to me and smiled. I couldn’t believe that such a well educated man living in Kampala could be interested in an illiterate village girl living in Serere. I thought I was dreaming but then he greeted me. I immediately laughed and ran without a reply. I was a village girl indeed. Because I was raised in a strong Christian family, biblical virtues and beliefs were the basis of everyday life. This meant no sex before marriage, or going out after 6p.m., and leading an exemplary life for my seven siblings was vital.

Early the next morning, my mother came to see me saying that a suitor had arrived. To my surprise, the angel I dreamt about was standing with my father in all his glorious beauty. My heart was filled with love for this mysterious man. My father later confirmed that my angel came from a Christian family which was well respected in the nearby village. Immediately the D-day was set and the wedding bells started ringing. After the wedding, we moved to the city.

For four years, my marriage was everything a Christian marriage should be; he cooked dinner, bought me gifts and took the whole family out on picnics. I was living in paradise waiting to go to heaven or so I thought. I don’t remember when my dreams started crumbling but what I can say is that he started being jealous of every man I was close to and became very protective. Since he stopped going to church, I too was supposed to do the same. When I refused, he started beating me. Later, I gave in, involuntarily, since I had to nurse my bruised body and church members had started asking questions.
The abusive nature became constant. Sometimes he would throw utensils or any kind of material at me and he would beat me like a child. My father had hit my mother occasionally so I thought it was normal to be hit once in a while. But in my situation, things worsened because it happened on a daily basis.

When I threatened to leave him, he just laughed and said that no one would believe me and if I tried, he would stop paying tuition for my siblings, stop my mother’s cancer treatment and take the children from me. He also threatened to abuse his own children! That left me paralysed and speechless. My husband knew my weakness and he struck me where it hurt the most; my children. And with that he knew despite everything, I would stay to protect them and my family. The thought of my sisters being as powerless as I am was unbearable. I couldn’t tell my family that I had failed my husband and my marriage. The guilt, shame, humiliation and the judgment would destroy me. Just as my husband had called me a loser and a coward, I decided to bear the cross in silence.

One particular incident made me lose hope; he literally pounded me because I had delayed in the market buying dog food. He said that I had gone to meet my men. My whole body was on fire. A few days later I was admitted to the hospital with severe chest and back pain. My husband did not visit or even pay the hospital bills and so instead of going home, I moved back to the village and told my sister-in-law all about my shattered life. This gave me strength to stay in the village longer.

Two weeks later a note arrived from my husband saying, “Their life depends on you”. This brought all the anger, bitterness and the hatred I thought I couldn’t possess. The thought of him abusing my children was repulsive and the motherly instinct rose up in me. With all the dignity and grace that God gave a woman, I packed my belongings and moved back to the city. 24 years down the road and my husband still hits me despite the fact that we have six children. Every day a small part of me dies but my faith still gives me hope. May be today or tomorrow he will change and because of this, I stay.