It was well after 11pm when it all started. Mai VaMaidei woke me up.
“Listen, they are fighting in the next room,” she said.
I rubbed my eyes and cocked my ears simultaneously. Sure enough, I could hear some muffled sounds of struggle in the next room adjacent to our kitchen. Something fell on the floor with a thud. I sat up straight in bed. Uncle Hwidza was fighting with his wife. They tried their best to muzzle the fight with less noise until it became impossible to mute the sounds of their brawling.
I woke up and went to the kitchen where my children were sleeping. Mai VaMaidei followed on my heels.. Mai Hwidza was crying, but she was fighting back. There was heavy breathing while all this was going on.
“What kind of man are you?” Mai Hwidza quizzed. This time her voice was raised an octave higher.
“You are just good at fighting women, be a man,” she said.
We all heard a large clap like thunder and instantly, Mai Hwidza screamed.
There was no way we could interfere unless Mai Hwidza had rushed out of the room for help. We retreated back to our bedroom. The fighting had stopped, but the sobbing continued for some time.
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In the morning, I expected to see Uncle Hwidza, but he left home much earlier. He banged the door shut on his way out and the door shook on its hinges.
To be honest, Uncle Hwidza was getting on my nerves. I was worried about my children being exposed to this kind of domestic violence.
As soon as Uncle Hwidza left, his wife came out of the room and banged on our door. Mai VaMaidei looked at me askance as she went to the door. Soon as she opened the door, Mai Hwidza started sobbing. I remained in the bedroom, trying to figure all this out. I had known from the beginning that sharing a house was going to be a problem.
I could hear everything.
“Why do you allow him to beat you?” asked Mai VaMaidei. There was a pause.
“He used to be a good man, that is, before he lost his job,” said Mai Hwidza.
“It will get worse, you must report him before something bad happens,” said Mai VaMaidei.
One hour later, she was still sobbing, but the crying was now a bit subdued. The children had all woken up.
I could hear Mai VaMaidei moving around in the kitchen. She was preparing porridge at the same time trying to counsel Mai Hwidza. Mai Hwidza was still trying to pour out all her grief and heal her pain.
“If he continues abusing you, report him to the police,” said Mai VaMaidei.
“I can’t”, stammered Mai Hwidza, "If I report him, it will get worse, and I can’t imagine what will happen to me,” she said.
I could see that she loved her husband despite the abuse.
It often takes so long for women who suffer from abuse at the hands of their husbands to seek help. The hope and assumption is always the abuse will stop at some point.
In reality , the abuse never stops. The unfortunate ones will have permanent emotional scars or worse still will die at the hands of their abusive husbands.
I found an old newspaper in the cardboard box under the bed and flipped several pages over. Someone was trying to sell a car under the cars for sale column.
“1.8 fuel saver, Zinara up to date, new tyres all round, clean car in and out, aircon working, original radio.”
If the car is good as they say, it will sell itself. Sometimes the car sellers go on overdrive and you pause and think. You start to think there is a joker somewhere.
I flipped three pages backwards. And staring at me, in black and white, the headline screamed,
“Man kills his wife and commits suicide after the gruesome murder.”
I did not want to think the worst, but the 2020 gender based violence statistics globally were unsettling and showed that 47 000 women and girls were killed by their intimate partners. In every 11 minutes, a woman or girl was killed by their partner or family member. Scary.
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