BETWEEN WORLDS

Title: The First Blow

Journal Entry: January 21st, 2021

University feels like a whole new world—at least to me. Seeing so many people my age is both exciting and terrifying.

When I got to campus, I tried to register and get cleared like everyone else. Luckily, my admission was late, so I avoided the overwhelming crowds. Whew!

Because of the unusually large number of students admitted that year (thanks to the COVID pandemic that disrupted the previous year's academic calendar), accommodations were scarce. As a result, I was assigned to stay with a family friend. Little did I know, my nightmare was just beginning.

I arrived at my "aunt's" house—a two-story building with 12 rooms in total, all owned by her. Most of the occupants were men, and I could feel their piercing stares as I carried my luggage. One of them even offered to help me with my bags, which only added to my discomfort.

My "aunt," a dark-skinned, curvy woman in her late twenties, unmarried and deeply immersed in her work, welcomed me into her home. Slightly intimidating, she lived with her mother and, occasionally, her eldest sister, who was a reverend sister. I was by far the youngest in the house.

Adjusting to my new environment, balancing registration deadlines at school, and keeping up with chores at home soon began to take their toll on me. It wasn't long before I fell sick.

Living in that house was incredibly uncomfortable. Being the youngest among three much older women who constantly nagged was driving me insane. I wouldn't wish that experience on anyone.

Not long after I arrived, I became the object of attention for the men in the compound. They found every excuse to talk to me, which didn't sit well with my "aunt"—or me, for that matter. I'm painfully shy, and I hated the attention.

My illness soon worsened, making it hard for me to keep up with household chores. Despite my efforts to manage most of the tasks, it was never enough for my hosts. Eventually, my mother was called, and I was accused of being lazy.

I was just 17, naive, and away from everything I'd ever known. I was trying to adapt under pressure but received no appreciation. The rigid gender roles in an African home are suffocating, especially for girls. Being sick felt like an unforgivable sin.

I don't know all the details of my mother's conversation with them, but what hurt the most was her inability to defend me. I could deal with their criticisms, but the betrayal from my own blood cut deep. I've been betrayed before, but this one left a mark I'll never forget.