Saturday, April 28, 2012
Saturday, April 28, 2012
Queen B’s Story
My name is Queen and I was born in February, 1993. I came from Tanzania, one of the eastern countries in Africa. I was raised in Dar-es-salaam, the capital and biggest city in Tanzania. My mother’s name is Victoria, a police officer and my father’s name is Banda, a lawyer. I was born into a family of eight, mom, dad, and my five siblings. I was the first born, then Walter my brother, Victor and Stella my twin brother and sister, and two older siblings, a sister and a brother from my father’s previous marriage. My family and I lived together until 1998. This is when my mother became ill. After she delivered the twins, her health was very poor. A few months after my twin brother and sister were born, they both past away; one after another, one day apart from each other. My mother was very heart broken by this. All I remember of this is seeing her very depressed. A few months after we buried the twins, my mother died. I remember seeing her very sick. She was taken to one hospital after another but she never got better. My mother’s side of the family tried their best to keep us from seeing how sick and suffering our mother was. The last time I saw her alive, I was hiding behind the bushes of my grandmother’s house. She was being taken to a hospital by my grandmother and my uncles in the middle of the night by taxi. I saw how tired she was. After the hospital visits she was taken to my grandmother’s house so she could have witch doctor medicine, since the hospital could do nothing for her. Two days after seeing my mother taken to the hospital I saw her in her wedding dress, in a coffin, not understanding why she was there in the first place and not understanding why her hands were very cold when I touched them.
After my mother’s death my siblings and I were separated from each another. My father was not with us either. Walter and I were taken to my grandmother’s house. The other two older children on my fathers’ side went with him. Grandmother did not want us to know were he was, and she did not take any questions about father from us either. A few months after my mother’s death and being separated from my siblings, my father returned and took Walter. I refused to go with him because grandmother told us not to, but I could not stop Walter from going. That was the last time I saw my father and Walter. Few months after he had taken Walter I heard that my father died. No one on my mothers’ side of the family went to the funeral. A few months after hearing of my father’s death I learned that other siblings had died but I did not know who died how they died or even who went to their funerals. I did not have the right to know anything.
I continued to live with grandmother and sometimes we would go to visit other uncles (my mother’s brothers). I did not belong to a certain home, I was anybody’s child. While all this was going on, my heart thought that grandmothers house was where belong.
This great imagination was all crushed by my grandmother’s housemaid. She was the first person to sexually abuse me. She tortured me more when I did not do what she wanted me to do. I had no choice than to follow her commands in order to reduce the pain that I felt when she does the painful things to me. In the same year, I started grade zero in two different regions. First it was where my grandmother lived and few months from then, we traveled to Morogoro, one of the regions in Tanzania, and there I started grade zero again in the school of Missionaries’ kids. Because of traveling a lot from one uncle to another, I was not able to finish grade zero, but I was always there to start.
At age seven, I began first grade in a school called Olympio Primary School, in Dar-es-salaam. At this time, I was living with my Aunty. She had two children of her own, one named Frank and the other was named Chief. I was very happy To begin first grade. I had to wear a uniform that all the children in all the other grades wore. I was happy to be there. Although my joy did not last very long as I thought it would. Aunty registered me to take a school bus home after school, so she would not have to worry about forgetting to pick me up every afternoon as she normally does. I was the last child to be dropped out of the bus. The two drivers raped me every day I took the bus. One will be driving and the other one doing his dirty job with to me. By that time, I could not wait to grow up and learn how to use the public transportation by myself. Although public transportation was most dangerous, which no one would ever dream to use. I dreamed for that chance, a chance to get off the school bus. Nothing was as bad as what I felt every afternoon after school. I could not tell other students or anybody else. I did not know which was the right thing, to tell or to keep my mouth shut as I always have done before. I thought about telling my Aunty, but she was very strict and I was very afraid of her. When I began third grade I begged my Aunty enough and she allowed me to use public transportation. Public transportation was all about how strong you are, how hard you can fight to get what you want. I was chubby and very strong. I kicked people and bit them in order to get in the bus. My shirt uniform was torn many times, I lost so many buttons but I never quit.
Couple of years later, I lost my best friend, my grandfather. I could not believe that my grandfather died. My uncle who lived in Morogoro and I went to fetch a coffin for my grandfather. As days went by, I learned to forget about him. As time moved on I grew and matured.
When I turned eleven, I experienced sexual abuse again from a third person. This time, it was a family member. He was my uncle, my aunt’s husband, Robert, who she loved very much. I say this because no matter how bad he treats her, no matter how bad he beats her, she still does not pack her bags and go, but she stays. Their marriage reminded me of my parents married life. They used to fight each other all the time. My dad landed punches on my mom even when she was pregnant. However, my mom was strong and she would fight back as hard as she could. They fought in front of me, and I did nothing, I was even too afraid to cry. My aunty was a very busy woman who traveled many times. When she was away I was uncle’s “second wife”. He said he was preparing me to become a strong woman, as if he was doing me a favor. I was not strong enough to say no. I went on with the fall, I figured since he is also very strict, by doing what he wants me to do, he will not be as harsh as he normally is. I thought life will turn to be a little better, and at least I would not wish to vanish and reappear in another place as I normally wished.
However, I was very wrong. It killed me in side. I felt like I was a cheater. I was lying to my aunty who was working so hard to provide what she thought I needed. I began to hate home. At night, I would not relax and fall asleep. He would always come and knock on the door or just enter and do as he pleased. I hated everything. I thought even a homeless person was in better hands than I was. Life was terrible.
When I turned thirteen, I was so looking forward to being in the seventh grade. It was like being an upperclassman in middle school. After seventh grade, you get to go to high school. Once again my high hopes were crushed.This time by my strict history teacher. He sexually abused me during school. Nothing seemed real from that moment on. I could not figure it out anymore, why was I going through all this. I was too ashamed to tell even my best friend. In addition, since it already happened, I figured it was too late to tell it anyway. Now in seventh grade, I became pregnant, and I needed to have an abortion. I was very scared, but it needed to be done.
Entering high school was a major event to me. I wanted to go to boarding school because I wanted to have a fresh-start. I figured that I would for once be free from the home. Boarding school was not a piece of a pie, or a cake. Boarding school was tough. It was school for twenty-four hours a day. The day we got to rest was Saturday when we go to church. Instead of the fresh-start I wanted, it was all survival just like middle school. While trying to get used to being a student all the time, I was sexually abused by my high school history teacher. This was when I figured that,“I was a cheap slut” and “everyone had a right to do to me as they pleased”.
During my one-week vacation from school I got a call from my uncle, one of my mother’s brother. He lived in America. He said that he wanted me to join him and live with his family. I was very happy. I knew that if I was to start again, in America would be my only chance.
I made my way to America but since my uncle had such a big family and he could not fit us all in his small apartment. I stayed with his friends who had a big house and there was plenty of room because their two grown children had moved out. This is how I came to know Mr. and Mrs. Carberry, the friends I came to stay with. They have been the most wonderful people I ever met. I became their third child. They have raised me since I came to America and are still raising me. My life finally changed for better and to the best while living in their house. They became my family as a true family and not family in just name. I love it here. As time passed and after visiting my uncle and his family on weekends, I quickly learned that he too is an abuser, but this time I am spared from any of this abuse happening to me again. I am so grateful.
I go to Franklin high school and now I am a senior who does not want high school to end.