THE MANY FACES ARE MINE

TW/ Death, Blood, Sexual Violence

I have never seen a dead body. My mind never registers the possibility of ever seeing a corpse even though I know very well that I have seen one, or two; like the man I saw in the middle of the road at Cele express after being crushed by one of those heavy duty trucks that never stop haunting our roads. I remember seeing his hands spread out widely in surrender and his eyes open, I remember the blood sticking to his skin and the flies perching on him fighting themselves to get a lick of the thick red. I remember seeing that dead body even though my mind forgets.

It is like that sometimes,my memories scattered about in my head haphazardly not even nicely tucked away to be brought to the center of my imagination when necessary. This is why the line between the reality of others and the reality that I live in constantly remains as blurry as a tear-filled eye; On other days my mind brings to remembrance the things they had hoped I would forget. One of those days is today.

Uncle Pascal has come to our house again, he only ever comes when he has squandered all of the money Papa sends him. He is dressed in a brown kaftan and has a red hat on his head, his eyes are red and swollen and as far as I can remember they have always been that way. And his stench, the smell of strong drink that always precedes him with his body trailing after as if following blindly.

I have always felt strongly about him, but words will fail me if I try to describe that feeling. Whether it is hatred or disgust, I do not know but it certainly is not love. He seats across from me, with only the distance between each chair and the Center table separating us.

“Uloma” he says. Oh how I hate the sound of his voice, like a metal table being dragged across a cement floor. “Kedu?”

I stare at him blankly because my mind has forgotten how to answer. “I said how are you?” He says again. I still do not answer because I am no longer there; my mind has traveled to a place where uncle Pascal is on top of me and his hand pressed up over my mouth. He looks beastly, completely drenched in sweat rolling down his form as I lay beneath him. He forces himself into me and I have no fight any longer, I have no voice or scream. I have forgotten how to speak, my mind has chosen to forget

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