THE MARTYRS

   The story of Abagana changed – that dewy morning of early January – when Mercy defied the harmattan cold and found her way to Saint Luke’s Convent. In her arms was a child, beautifully wrapped in a thick warm shawl. Mercy was a young and naïve mother; one completely unprepared for the responsibility of motherhood. Of course, she had known from the beginning that conception is easier than raising a child. The job of raising a child is a difficult one and worse still, when one is a single parent. As it was often said, a mother who had no relatives always carried her child on her back while dancing. As she walked to the convent that morning, the weight and guilt on her conscience were heavy. What she had in her hands was a beautiful child, undeserving of the mistreatment she was on the brink of.        Of course, she loved the child as every mother should. But the willpower and hatred for the countless mistreatments she had suffered in her life fueled her to finish the cold-hearted act. Still, that was not all. What worsened it was the circumstance in which the child was conceived – that pitiless and horrible r**e – that changed and worsened the sad story of her life. That night it happened, she was returning home late, because the bus she boarded broke down a long distance from home. And having kept aside her aunt’s money for the day’s sales, it would have been suicidal should she have attempted to get it to board another bus. She lived with an aunt that fed fat on cruelty. And over time, she had come to see why it was said an orphaned calf licks its own back. Several times her aunt had drummed it into her ears. She did not play with her money. Bringing her into her home and feeding her – a wretched and dirty orphan – was a luxury that was not easy to come by. So, the least she could do to show gratitude was to hawk the apples she sold and bring home the money, with not a dime missing from it for any reason.            Mercy could remember the day she defied her and spent a measly sum of the apple’s money on paracetamol because she was under the weather, and she needed to find the strength to finish the sale of the apples. She returned home and told her aunt, and all hell broke loose. She kicked and flogged her with no ounce of pity and starved her of her measly food that night. From that day, she learned the bitter lesson not to tamper with her aunt’s money. Starving and exhausted as she felt that night, she managed to find the strength to trek home. She trudged, stoically, in the menacing darkness, dragging her weary legs on the lonely road, with her mind fighting hard to distract her thoughts from dwelling on her piteous condition. She was now eighteen years old and the life she was living was a shambles.        Most times, she had become excruciatingly sad and tired of life and had contemplated suicide. She had wished she had died with her parents in that fatal car accident that robbed her of their love and care. Yet she was also bitter with them for yielding too meekly to death without giving a thought about her. As she buried herself in that mournful thought and took the left bend − the thin and untarred road leading to her home − a group of men scampered out of the bush and surrounded her. The night was pitch dark and silent. Mercy was gripped with fear, as a cold weird shiver swept through her bones. And with a clear sign of resignation, she burst into tears, pleading with the men to leave her alone.       ‘Please, please, let me go,’ she implored them. ‘I don’t have anything you want,’ she moaned, with streaming tears. ‘Let me go. I’ve to get home early. I don’t want my aunt to get mad at me.’       ‘You don’t have money, huh?’ a gangly man asked her in a throaty voice. ‘That’s all right. We believe you. But we’ve to make sure.’ The man scoffed and a sinister smile hovered over his scrawny face. He turned to the others and signaled them to take Mercy inside an unfinished building, as he swaggered into the bush. The men swiftly began to drag Mercy toward the bush. She had trekked a long distance and was extremely tired. A burly fellow lifted her from the ground and placed her on his broad shoulder and marched along the bushy path. Mercy kicked, screamed, and squirmed, but all her efforts were in vain.        The faint light of the half-moon gave the room a wan gleam. The room looked ghostly, as smoke of m*******a puffing out of the mouths of the men filled the air.      ‘What did you say?’ the gangly man asked Mercy again, puffing out the smoke of the last draw of his neatly wrapped m*******a. ‘You said you didn’t have money?’        ‘No. I have,’ Mercy mumbled, as she dug her hand into her brassiere and collected the money which she passed over to him. ‘Please don’t hurt me.’ The man took the money from her and passed it to one of the men standing next to him. But the money was not all he wanted. Despite the hardships, she went through. Mercy was still beautiful and curvaceous.       ‘We won’t hurt you... no,’ the gangly man stuttered. ‘Why would we? You’re such a beautiful girl. I’ll just play with you before you go.’ The man smiled evilly, as he slowly began to unbutton his billowy shirt. Mercy saw the firm bulge in his trousers and knew she was in serious water. She mustered strength and rose from the ground and made toward the door, but one of the men leaped on her and pinned her to the ground, while the gangly man climbed on her, like a lion on its prey. He scratched her face with his dirty paws and struck her violently on the face. Mercy yelled as sharp pain spread helplessly through her body, and blood oozed from her mouth. The man tore her blouse and gloated at her breasts as they danced deliciously in his face. He reached down and tore her skirt and threw it in a corner, as Mercy squeaked in a loud and painful tone.       ‘Please! Please! You’re hurting me,’ she groaned.       ‘You’re going to love it,’ the man replied, as he pressed his lips against hers in a forceful kiss. And brutally, he r***d her with no ounce of pity, even as others took their turns. Mercy lay limply on the unplastered floor of the building in the pool of her blood, staring at nothing in the starless sky. When she returned to the world, it was almost midnight. She felt woozy and fell several times on the ground as she made her way home, blood oozing from her thighs. Peace − Mercy’s aunt – was still awake. She was pacing around with her hands on her waist, with Nick − her husband – standing next to her, as they waited for Mercy’s return. When Nick finally caught the glimpse of Mercy limping in the cloak of darkness, he gasped and ran toward her, as Peace followed him in hot pursuit.       ‘What happened to you? Why are you coming home so late? Where is my money?’ Peace asked Mercy, at the same time. Mercy was still unable to speak. The r**e had been harrowing and ghastly, and it was not yet the time to speak or answer any questions. She remained silent and stared vacantly into her aunt’s face, and then collapsed on the ground. Peace and Nick gathered her from the ground and rushed her inside the house and poured cold water on her. When Mercy woke, she continued to stare at them. While Peace remained patient, waiting for her account and the barrage of questions she would ask her. And finally mustering strength, Mercy rose weakly from the ground.       ‘Where am I?’ she mumbled, ‘am I at home?’ she asked, hot tears streaming on her cheeks.       ‘Yes. You’re home now,’ Nick replied in a trembling voice. ‘What happened to you?’       ‘Some men robbed and r***d me,’ Mercy mumbled.       ‘Ah! You were r***d?’ Nick gasped, cradling his head in his hands. ‘Where did this happen? Do you know these men?’ Nick’s body was trembling in a fit of fury. Peace remained strangely calm and indifferent. For all she cared, whatever happened was Mercy’s fault. All that mattered to her was her money.      ‘Where is my money?’ she asked her finally, after a light pause. ‘I hope you brought it home with you?’ Her face was unfeeling and cold.       ‘You leave her alone!’ Nick barked. ‘She was r***d and all you care about is your money. How can you be so cruel? She needs a doctor.’ Peace’s face reddened with rage.       ‘She needs a doctor. With whose money will she see one?’ she retorted in a high-pitched voice that showed her unfettered ire. ‘This girl is careless. She’s the cause of this. Should I also be her childminder? How many times have I warned her to come home early? But she has continued to defy me. Why are you defending her? My whole money has been taken from her. How can I pay my suppliers? She’s worthless!’ she screamed; her loud voice shattering the silent night air.       ‘Peace! Peace! Your niece was r***d, and that is all you’ve to say?’ Nick said coldly, as goose pimples spread all over his body.      ‘Don’t speak to me in that tone. Yes. That’s all I’ve to say. What did her parents do for me while they were alive? Have I not clothed and fed her all these years? Is that not enough to give to someone whose parents never cared about me? How many times did they go to Europe and America, and what did I get?’        ‘Oh! I see. That has always been your grouse. That bitterness and hate you feel in your heart for your sister has refused to die, and till now you still exact your revenge on your poor niece. You’re a stone-hearted creature!’        ‘Wait! Did you call me a stone-hearted creature? Did you say that to me? All right, I see you’ve taken sides with her. It’s okay, but tonight is going to be the end of my charity. She must leave my house!’ Peace thundered.       ‘You can’t do that. You can’t tell her to leave,’ Nick said, in a strangely calm voice. ‘I won’t let you kick her out! She won’t leave till I say so.’ Nick’s eyes were impersonal and flickering with rage.      ‘Oh! You think I’m joking. Watch me!’ Peace said, as she stormed into the inner room and returned briefly, and heaped Mercy’s bag on her body. ‘Leave my house! Leave at once, you witch!’ Mercy rose limply from the floor, picked up her bag, and began to shuffle toward the door.      ‘Come back here! You’re not going anywhere!’ Nick thundered behind her. Mercy stood dead with fear at the threshold. She remained there, confused about whom to obey.     ‘Witch! Leave my house!’ Peace barked again, as she charged toward Mercy, and descended on her with furious s****s. Mercy groaned loudly. Filled with unrestrained anger, Nick leaped on Peace, hitting her with sheer disdain, as Mercy staggered out and into the ill-fated night. Since that unfortunate night she left home, she swore never to set her eyes on her aunt’s face again. While she lived in her friend’s house, she contemplated terminating the pregnancy that resulted from the gruesome r**e. However, good reason prevailed, and she kept the child. She thought it was unfair to take the life of an innocent child because it was a product of r**e. She was guilty of the crime of being an orphan, and she had lived with that all her life. It was unfair to find the unborn child guilty of a crime it did not commit. The life she was living and the things she had seen, she would never wish them on anyone, let alone a wretched and luckless child.        As she reached the fence of the convent, topped with broken green bottles, she stared into the baby’s face and watched it as it let out a soft and affectionate cry. Yet she was convinced of what she was doing. It was the right thing. The nuns in the convent were godly people; their hearts were still unaffected by the cruelty of this pitiless world. She was certain they would give the child the kind of life it deserved. While it was true, that they would think she was a heartless mother and would condemn her actions, it was only the one that had walked down the same road that would truly understand why she did what she had done. She was sure it was all for the best. The child was a survivor; it carried the traits of its mother. She was certain it would stay alive for the nuns to find it.       She placed the child gently on the pile of rubble, under the tall, leafy mango tree standing beside the fence, and offered a somewhat sentry to the convent. She stared into the child’s face as it smothered its face with its tender hands, seemingly aware of its mother’s abandonment. Mercy smiled warmly at it, as tears trickled into her face. She bade it a tearful goodbye for the last time and hurried into the cold morning. She could hear the child’s piercing cry, as it sliced through the silence of the morning, ringing pityingly and into the cracking dawn.