I saw a video a few days ago; it was shown to me by one of the female lawyers, who helps me deal with cases of gender-based violence. It was a recording of a young woman, stark naked, bleeding and pleading; I will call her Mary.
There was blood all over the bed Mary was kneeling next to. The person recording was her husband, and he was providing a voice over.
He called her every name under the sun, and he also cursed her and dared her to leave him. He kept saying, ‘Your life will never be a good one’ in Yoruba. When poor Mary was able to, she got hold of the recording and sent it to the lawyer, who showed it to me. She told the lawyer that she should keep the video, as evidence in case her husband eventually succeeded in killing her.
Mary was rescued by the police and is now in hiding. Her father insists she must go back to her unstable husband. It turns out her father used to abuse her mother in the same manner till she fled. So now he does not see his daughter’s predicament as a big deal.
My maternal grandfather, the late Pa Omitusa Awoseye, was known as a man of principle, not to be trifled with. As a successful farmer from Ilara-Mokin, near Akure in Ondo State, his opinion mattered in his community. My mother was his first-born, so she had the responsibility of caring for the rest of her siblings.
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Three of my aunts were brought up by my parents, and they lived with us for many years till it was time for them to start families of their own. The oldest of my aunts, whom I will call Auntie Titi, had a beau she was in love with. Let me call him Mr. Bayo. He was from Ilara-Mokin too, a graduate teacher. I met him once; he seemed quite nice. My aunt started to make wedding plans.
One day my grandfather visited us in Lagos. He rarely came to Lagos unless it was very important for him to do so. After dinner, he had a meeting with my parents; my aunt was present. The meeting got very heated; we could hear grandpa talking very animatedly. Perhaps, in a bid to calm him down, my mother came to my room and asked me to bring some water for them.
As soon as I put the glass of water down next to him, he picked up the water, said something in his Ilara dialect, took a sip of water and spat it out on the floor. I did not think much of it because old folks do strange things; perhaps, it was another way of pouring libation, I thought. Later on, Auntie Titi gave us the fill gist.
Grandpa was not pouring libation. He was placing a curse on the proposed union of Auntie Titi and Mr. Bayo! What he said and sealed with the water he spat out was ‘Over my dead body will you marry into that family’. It turned out that grandpa’s younger sister (Mama Pitan for this story), had married into Mr. Bayo’s family approximately thirty years before then.
Mama Pitan’s husband was what I call a classic JDA – Jobless, Drunk and Abusive. The poor woman worked her fingers to the bone, trying to keep her family together, especially caring for her children – farming, trading, hawking; you name it, she did it. Her efforts were rewarded with severe beatings and abuse.
All this took a toll on her health and eventually Mama Pitan left the marriage, thankfully, alive. I am sure we all know my grandpa, while feeling bad for his sister, would have heaved a sigh of relief that his sister had left with her life. Grandpa swore back then, that they would never have anything to do with the family again.
Thirty years later, the son of one of Baba Pitan’s cousins shows up, asking for grandpa’s daughter’s hand in marriage!From the same family that condoned the abuse, suffering and humiliation of his sister. Now we could understand the old man’s rage and indignation. My parents pleaded on behalf of my aunt; Grandpa’s response was ‘From the way my sister was treated, I know madness runs in the family. Never again’. There was no fairy tale ending. My aunt married someone else.
Grandpa came from a generation that frowned on divorce, so his sister ending up a divorcee would not have been seen as ideal. He, however, made it known that he would no longer tolerate the abuse of his sister, and when she was ready, she made a decision and he stood by her. Thirty years after, grandpa was still standing in solidarity with his sister.
I have a golden rule about third party interventions. It is very difficult to get involved in the affairs of a married couple. One party will give you a version and you will go up in arms to the other person, and when you hear their own side, you feel foolish. My feminist instincts (rightly or wrongly) are to give the woman the benefit of doubt. This is because men, using their patriarchal powers of privilege and control, know how to push all kinds of emotional, physical and psychological buttons that can drive a sane woman over the edge. I know the same can be said of women, but all we need to do is look at the recent body count in cases of domestic violence and see who is more at risk.
However, when it comes to the issue of domestic violence, I believe careful but firm interventions are needed. Victims of domestic violence hide their suffering for as long as they are able to, till it is no longer possible to ignore. How many times can you fall down the stairs at home? How many days in a year can you take sick off work? When they do talk, they raise the issues with close family, friends or religious leaders.
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I have not met any woman, who decided to leave her husband because he slapped her once. The abuse is almost always persistent and cumulative, involving all the manifestations of violence we are familiar with. When should a woman draw the line? When should she decide enough is enough? The sad answer to this question is we don’t know until it is too late. Many women are dead now because they were too scared to draw the line.
My argument is that, perhaps, the people whom the Mama Pitans and Marys turn to should be more proactive. Every woman, who dies at the hands of an abusive partner, leaves a devastated family behind – children, parents and siblings as well as friends. They will keep playing each conversation or episode they had with the dearly departed over and over in their heads. They will recall the number of times she tried to leave and they persuaded her to stay.
They will remember the number of times she wanted to stay and how many times they encouraged her to leave. Each memory brings with it waves of guilt and regret. Death confers a huge amount of credibility and respectability. In life, the victim would have been arrogant, bossy, proud and stubborn. In death, her tormentors are thankfully silenced, and she becomes, through the eyes of her loved ones, ‘a virtuous woman, a good mother, God fearing, humble’ and so on. Why do women have to die before they become human beings? All the fond memories will not bring her back; neither will all the nice things we have to say after she is gone.
No one can force a woman who is not ready to leave an abusive relationship; this is the first lesson you learn when you start working with survivors of domestic violence. You can, however, let her know that she has choices that could turn out to be empowering and not debilitating. A marriage ceases to exist the moment one person becomes a master and the other a slave. As I watched the humiliation of Mary at her husband’s hands I shuddered.
This is a call out to all the mothers, fathers, siblings, friends, religious leaders and elders, who are the ones left to mourn the victims. We are tired of all the eulogies for women cut down in their prime. Let us all adopt a zero tolerance attitude to domestic violence. Please, stop encouraging women (and the few men, who are victims) to stay in abusive relationships. Please, stop putting pressure on young people to marry. When all the usual steps fail (advice, counselling and spiritual guidance), please, create an enabling environment for women in such situations to make informed choices. Please, do not turn yourself into an apostle preaching religious texts out of context. There is enough blood on so many hands. If a family member or friend is in danger, make a note of your communications without breaching confidentiality. You might be in a position to ensure she gets justice should the worst happen.
There is nothing more tragic than a parent burying a child. Can you imagine thinking you could have done something to prevent it? Let us act now to stop the unthinkable from happening. Before Mary summoned the courage to ask for help, she had been beaten, raped and humiliated by her husband for so long. If she had died at his hands, her people would have written a eulogy for her, calling her a ‘wonderful daughter’. Yes, wonderful but dead daughter. As I write this, another eulogy is probably being written.
This is a revised version of ‘Before the next eulogy’, in ‘Loud Whispers’ (Amandla Consulting, 2017).
Bisi Adeleye-Fayemi is a Gender Specialist, Social Entrepreneur and Writer. She is the Founder of Abovewhispers.com, an online community for women. She can be reached at BAF@abovewhispers.com