Led to Mr. Billionaire

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

(A GLIMPSE OF THE PAST, PT 1)

11 Years ago

"Yaya kayi min Magana," (How dare you talk back at me?)

I staggered a few steps backward as my face tilted due to the pressure of the slap. I had tried to escape again, and this time my father was furious as he kept yelling at me in his Hausa dialect.

I had become so used to this torture that I didn't cry, mainly because the beatings would worsen if I did. I knew people were watching me, but I didn't care. I needed to get out of this place, but my neighbors caught me trying to escape through my window at night, and my third plan had failed woefully.

"We give you food to eat and send you to school. You want to repay me by going away," he continued to say.

My body received another hit on my head, and I could already feel the drowsiness coming on. I couldn't speak for fear of what he might do next. I looked around for a way to escape but found none other than my mom, just staring at me in disappointment. One would think a mother's love was so great. I continued to receive hits to my chest, stomach, and abdomen.

"Mace ta samo min bel na" (Woman, get me my belt)

My eyes widened at his words as he spoke to my mom, who just obeyed him like a servant.

I tried to run, but he dragged me by the scarf on my neck and proceeded to choke me with it. I trashed around, not wanting my mom to meet me here with that weapon.

My thoughts were not given much credit because my mom came out with the belt, and before I could stagger away, I felt the hit on my forehead. He never hits my face because he thinks men are attracted to my facial beauty, but today, he must be so furious to leave that unspoken rule out.

"Daddy, please stop," I cried out, but it fell on deaf ears as I continued to feel the hit of his belt anywhere and everywhere. I was so weak.

"Go and clean her up. We have a visitor for her." He stopped his torture while I lay there on the ground in our very small sitting room until I felt a hand under my armpits pulling me up.

I knew it was my mom; I could smell her rubbish perfume. I finally felt the harshness of my sleeping mat on my face.

"Why do you go and try this again, Semiat?" She asked, but I was in no position to answer her, let alone look at her.

She pushed my body up so I was in a sitting position and proceeded to wipe away the blood from my lips, which made me flinch every time.

"We have to clean blood from your face and dress up for the man that comes for you." My head snapped up at her words.

What did she mean by "dress up for a man who comes for me?".

I began to shake my head furiously while my tears stained her already-cleaned-up work. I was silently begging her not to let me go ahead with this.

"Mama, please no." My voice broke as I begged. I would do anything to get out of here. Yes, I had no money, but anywhere would be better than here.

"Ssshh Semiat, I have told you a woman's job is to marry a man who comes for her and gives him a male child. You don't need to work at all if he's rich." Her attempt to sugarcoat the fact that I was going to be sold one way or another made me cry more.

She kept wiping away the tears and styling my hair under a scarf. I tried not to wear the clothes set out for me, but she threatened to call my father, so I succumbed to her, mainly because I needed my strength to still try and get out of there.

"She finishes?" My dad popped in, making me scurry to the end of the room. He looked at me with anger, as usual, and nodded at my dress.

"Let's go. Shekau is here." I froze upon hearing that name.

Shekau was a rich old man known for his notorious ways of marrying young girls, making them pregnant until they had a son, and then marrying off his female children to anyone who would buy them. My whole body felt so numb.

This bastard of a man was going to cut short my life, even though I was just thirteen years old and had a whole life ahead of me.

My father dragged me to the sitting room, threatening to break my head if I screamed or cried, so I kept whimpering as my tears welled up so much in my eyes that they stung.

"Aaah, Mohammad, you don't tell me your daughter is fine. Walai, she's fine," the almost sixty-year-old man commented while looking me up and down and licking his lips.

I felt so disgusted. I was thirteen, young but not stupid, and I would continue trying to escape.

The old man walked up to me, and I could smell his expensive Mallam perfume as he traced his fingers along my cheek, and I could feel vomit coming on. My stomach had not recovered from the earlier beating, and this old man's perfume was destroying whatever dignity I had in my stomach, so as he traced his hands down my left breast, I vomited on his palm slippers.

The old man staggered backward, yelling at me and my father as I continued to heave my empty stomach contents out. Once I was done, I looked up to see anger blazing in not just my father's eyes but the old man's as well, and before I could register what was going on, I felt a sharp sting on my face. Shekau slapped me, and my father smiled. These people were insane.

"Bring a rag, let her clean!" my father shouted at my mom, who scurried inside to answer him. She brought out a rag and a bowl of water.

"Clean my leg," Shekau ordered, and I looked at my father only to see him standing beside me and later another sting on my face.

"Clean him." I quickly bent down to clean the old man's leg, shoe, and then the floor.

"Walai, if no be for say she fine, I no go buy am, I swear, but she fit to give me boy so I go buy am." (Honestly, if it weren't for the fact that she's fine, I wouldn't buy her but because she could give me a son, I will buy her.)

Shekau's words deflated every hope I had of destroying this so-called marriage.

I bent there on the floor, cleaning my vomit, and silently cried as I watched the two old men plan my wedding.

Author's note

Whoa, that was kind of brutal, right?

This was just a glimpse of what Darasimi had to go through as a child.

I hope we can take a minute to pray for those living in these conditions and ask for help on their behalf. Amen.

The next chapter should be better, I hope (evil chuckle). Neh, just joking. Enjoy the ride.