AT NIGHT, THE SILENCE IS TOO LOUD

There are three things a child should never witness: a mother fading in sickness, a mother at war with her loved ones, and a mother hiding her tears in the dark, so her children never see her break. I have seen all three.

It’s midnight. The silence is loud. Sometimes it gives peace — most times, pain. They say silence is good for your mind, it forces you to face your struggles. But what good is it to face your problems if you have no means to solve them? It’s like being in a room filled with light, but with no doors and windows — only light, useless light.

She thinks we are sleeping. I know her night routine, it is mine too, though she is not aware. we both do it in silence, each trying not to wake the other. My pillow is wet, not that it’s anything new, it is always wet at night. I sit there in silence. She tries so hard to not make a sound, but her body betrays her — all the time. I lay down drowning in my tears and listened to her muffled sobs. I know she’s crying. I know. I have mastered the art of crying in silence that I cannot help but notice when one is drowning in this prison.

Her tears fall unheard, yet the room carries their sound. I want to wrap her in my arms and tell her everything will be alright. Tell her one day she won’t have to wait for us to sleep so that she could drown in her sorrows. I want to tell her that one day we will see way out of this prison. But that would be a lie. I am not a believer. I do not have the courage to hope that one day the situation will be different. This silence gives me peace and pain; it comforts and breaks me. The walls I have in daytime, they all break at night. I have lived in this prison too long to dare to hope of freedom — I cannot hope for a freedom I do not know. Instead, I wait for morning, where each one of us pretends to be fine.

I wish we didn’t share a room. Then her sorrow could be hers alone, and mine could continue to fall unheard.

She thinks we see nothing, but we see everything. I know my sister hears it too. However, the three of us have grown used to pretending, even to one another. During the day, we are each other’s strengths and at night we break.

As my tears cascade into the pillow, my mind can’t help but think about the scene that unfolded today. I remember it all. Not that it’s something that has never happened before — I’m used to it but every time it happens, it leaves my heart in pain. My chamber of sorrows without a warning takes me back to that afternoon —

SCREAMS UPON SCREAMS

VIOLENT OUTBUSTS.

VOICES RICOCHET.

WORDS SHARPER THAN A BLADE OF GLASS CUT THROUGH THE AIR

It always starts as an innocent conversation between siblings but ends in yells. I don’t understand how three grown-ups fail to have a respectful conversation. My uncle yells at my mom, she responds in kind. It breaks my heart to think that she’s going to cry it all at night, but for us she stands for herself. She is brave for us. she wants us to be able to stand firmly for ourselves in future, but instead it does the opposite — it breaks us.

Neighbours watch the scene

They watch and laugh.

Both parties are wrong, but I have seen this movie before —

This house. This damn house. It belongs to their parents, and culturally the last boy child automatically owns the house. It doesn’t matter if there is a younger daughter; girls don’t get to own their parents’ house. They must get married — no excuses. My mom is the last born, that hold no importance in my culture. A daughter is only useful when things get bad.

Grandma has been sick since she had my mom. She has seizure. That’s the only time my mom was needed — to take care of her mom.

My mom went to school while taking care of grandma. Sadly, she did not pass her matric. By the time she wanted to redo her matric, she found out she was expecting. and my dad was no where to be found. Apparently, he said he’s going to buy milk. Milk where?

A few years later, my dad came back to my mother’s life for just one night, and that’s when I was conceived. I’m basically the result of a one-night stand and it shows.

My uncle wants us out. He wants us to find our place. We do want our place. There is nothing i have craved more than my own room. Waking up because I want to, not because I’m scared the owner of the house is going to call me lazy. But to build a house you need money, and to get money you need a job. I wish we could just build our own house. I wish my mom could try harder and build a house for her. A home for us —

Fighting continues

My uncle is furious.

His wife throws words — vague. hurtful. sharp.

My mom cannot stand alone,

Two against one.

Words cut deeper than knives.

I watch her opens the gate with trembling hands and a brave face

My mom is a magician — her tears never drop in daytime.

People watch. forget people,

Kids watch — we are the kids!

We watch. we watch it all. all of it in silence.

In the evening, my mom comes back. She calls us like she just came back from the mall with our favourite toys. she smiles. Her voice is so soothing, it gives me hope that one day, just one day, we will shine. I wonder if she had thought of taking her life and on the edge of doing it she remembers her two beautiful daughters. I know she have thought of it — i have too. I do. she calls us like we are her home. I watch her look at us like we make her life worth living. I feel sad. It makes me sad to think that she needs a reason to stay alive — and we are the reason. It breaks my heart to think she needs to put up a brave face for us. This life makes me sad. She calls us with a smile, we respond with smiles.

During the day we pretend

At night we descend.