She was in grade six when she was engaged to a boy she didn’t know — years later he changed her life forever. Mary Semeya* tells Perpetual Sichikwenkwe her story
When I was in grade six, I was engaged to Thomas* and my parents accepted the traditional payments from him. I had no idea what it was all about although my parents told me that Thomas intended to marry me at a later stage.
As that was the common trend in my village of Mpika, in the northern province of Zambia, I did not probe further. Thomas lived about 30km away, but we were from the same church and he was a devoted Christian.
When my elder sister — who was living in Lusaka — heard about the engagement, she opposed it. She wanted me to complete school as she had done. She asked that I come to stay with her.
When I left for Lusaka, Thomas was away at boarding school. My parents warned me not to entertain other men because there was already a man who had paid my dowry and was waiting for me.
Years later I was surprised when Thomas managed to track down my whereabouts and started coming to my church, as well as visiting me at my sister’s place. My sister was not happy and advised me to stay way from him. Several times I asked Thomas to stop seeing me but he did not listen. He kept coming, sometimes sending people to spy on me.
I told him many times that I did not want disturbances from him because I wanted to finish school. Thomas would threaten me, saying if I did not marry him, he would kill me. When I shared that with my family, we would all just laugh, treating it as a joke. In 2007 my sister and I moved to stay with our elder brother, in Chelstone. Thomas started sending insulting SMSes and threats to my sister and brother warning them not to stop me from marrying him.
Despite our reports to the police about Thomas’s behaviour, they did not arrest him. In November, days after he had sent another SMS insulting my family, Thomas came to my church. I decided not to talk to him; I did not even greet him.
Then, on March 25 2008, a day came that I will never forget. I wrote my end-of-year test at Kabulonga Girls’ High School. Usually, I came back in the company of friends but that day I decided to get a bus back home so that I could study physics, which was my next subject. My friends pleaded with me to wait, but I declined. I did not know it was going to mark the end to my education dreams, at least, for now.
I was four houses away from my home when I felt something cold splashed on the back of my head and around my neck. When I turned, Thomas was standing there. I asked him what he poured on me and why. He didn’t reply but splashed more liquid on my face.
I felt pain and a burning sensation; I ran towards our home but fell into a drainage ditch. I screamed for help. Thomas followed me for a short distance on his bicycle and eventually rode off.
Our neighbours came and took me to the Chelstone clinic. I do not remember what happened until I regained consciousness. I discovered that I was in Lusaka’s University Teaching Hospital with my sister at my bedside. When I looked at myself in the mirror, I could not accept what had happened to my face.
I spend sleepless nights when I think about what happened. I feel I am not the same person. I can laugh outside but inside me is sadness. I get annoyed with myself when I think about school, when I see my books lying in my room. I am wasting something that I have cherished since childhood.
School was my passion, but how can I go back with this disfigured face? Right now I cannot move an inch out of our yard because I am scared of how people will perceive me, especially those who knew me before this happened. I want my face to be rehabilitated. I want to be the same old me who was happy with friends, family and was in school.
* Not their real names. Perpetual Sichikwenkwe is a writer from Zambia; this story was shared with her by a survivor of gender-based violence and is part of the ”I” stories series produced by the Gender Links Opinion and Commentary Service for the Sixteen Days of Activism on Gender Violence