When Rama came to our home, I knew exactly what was about to happen. It had happened to my sister a few years before and now, it was my turn. My grandmother had made it seem like marriage was the best thing that could ever happen to me but deep down, I felt like my life was ending. After all, I was only 12 years old. What did I know about being a wife? I thought about my classmates and how I would miss them. I wondered why they weren’t being forced into marriage. A part of me was jealous of them but there was nothing I could do.
“Grandma, do I have to go with him?” I asked with tears running down my face.
“Yes, girl. Everything will be fine. He’s a good man.”
“He’s old. I can see his grey hair.”
“Shut up and behave yourself.” My grandmother barked as she handed me my small bag of clothes.
I saw Rama handing her a stack of money then grabbing my hand and dragging me from the house. I kicked and screamed but my grandmother simply looked at me helplessly from her mud hut. There was nothing she could do.
After my parents passed away, my grandmother became my guardian. However, age was catching up to her and she was barely able to work or keep food on the table. This forced her to find people who would take care of me and my sister. Child marriage was common in my village and though my grandmother was reluctant to give us away for marriage, that was the only solution she had.
My sister went first. Her husband was 50 years old – almost the same age as my grandmother. My grandmother assured us that he was a good man and he would treat my sister well but I never saw her after he took her.
A few years later, a man came for me. I was scared that I would never see my grandmother again. He took me to another village where I didn’t know anyone. I spent most days at home with him, catering to his every need.
“Bring me a glass of water.” He said and I ran to the outside kitchen to get him one.
“Are the chickens fed? Go and check on them.” I ran again to check on the chickens.
I barely had time to sit down and gather my thoughts. It was evident that I wasn’t in a marriage but a prison. Every night, I thought about running away. I tried to recall my footsteps back home. Luckily, I was bright enough and was able to remember the way with time. I would wake up very early and write down everything I remembered during the night with a piece of charcoal then hide the paper in the kitchen.
I never got an opportunity to run away for nearly 2 years since Rama would always stay at home. However, he finally trusted me enough to let me go to the market.
I didn’t even think twice about leaving that day. I knew I wouldn’t get another opportunity. When I got to the market, I took out my map secretly and started following the directions. I was still scared and didn’t want anyone to know where I had gone.
Three days later, I made my way back to my grandmother’s place. When she saw me, she nearly fainted.
“Julieth, you’re back.” She said softly as tears ran down her face.
We embraced then she welcomed me into the house.
“You look so slim. Have you not been eating?” She asked as she served food for me.
“Grandma, I don’t want to go back to that man’s house.”
“You won’t. I promise.”
Rama came to my grandmother’s house a month later looking for me but she told him that she hadn’t seen me.
“Do you think she would come here? She knows this is the first place you will look.” She told him.
He left and never came back. I lived with my grandmother for a year but didn’t go back to school. I used to hawk vegetables from her garden to make money for food. After a year, my grandmother passed away.
I had no one or nothing so I decided to seek help in the neighbouring country. I went from Zimbabwe to South Africa and found sanctuary at a refugee centre where I stayed for 8 years. Life was so different at the refugee centre. It was like I had found my long-lost family. They cared for us and ensured that every child went back to school.
I had lost 9 years of school but didn’t hesitate to start again. In fact, I was so excited to be back in school. That was my happy place. I joined Grade 11 and quickly caught up. By the time I was completing Grade 12, I was one of the top-performing students. I passed my final exams with distinctions and was admitted to the University of Limpopo where I pursued a Law degree.
“Finally, we’re done with school.” one of my classmates during our graduation ceremony.
“This is only the beginning for me,” I said.
After graduating, I pursued a Master’s of Law in Commercial Law from the University of Cape Town. Once I started my education journey, I was unstoppable. I knew education would liberate me from the consequences of my disadvantaged background; and when I got the opportunity, I just couldn’t let go. I wanted to reach the highest level of education.
Finally, I applied for a PhD and received so many scholarships. I now hold a Doctor of Philosophy in Commercial Law and I’m a Postdoctoral Fellow at The Centre for Comparative Law in Africa, University of Cape Town.
I may have had big dreams since I was young but I never expected to get to this level especially after experiencing child marriage and living in a refugee center. However, I’m a firm believer that anything is possible. I never gave up and used my adversities as an inspiration to work harder because I knew the value of a good education.
This story is based on Valentine Zoza’s post.
Check out
Her Grandmother Left Her An Heirloom That Revealed Hidden Secrets Part 1
The Professor’s Sachets – He Lived A Double Life And It Was Bound To Catch Up With Him One Day
