If she says the relationship is abusive, support her to jump ship

I passed the same message to my Kemi. Unfortunately, this message sent Kemi into the wooden box that would be home to her lifeless body, forever.

Two years prior, Kemi had turned 16. Until then, she had been my little girl. The night of her 16th birthday, my husband came home overly excited. It was obvious he had taken more drinks than usual.

“I got a suitor for Kemi, he can afford to pay dowry, he even paid for all my drinks at the bar while we discussed the next steps,” he said. I knew then that Kemi’s fate was sealed.

After all, that was supposed to be the fate of girls her age in our village. “Begin to prepare her to be a good wife. We need to get all the traditions done, so we receive the dowry payments,” my drunk husband commanded.

As he caressed me that night and had forceful sex with me, my mind was preoccupied with Kemi. Was she old enough to be a wife, later on a mother? Would she be happy with the idea of marriage? Would her husband be as tough as her father? I thought of my own marriage. I imagined the fears my own mother must have had at the thought of marrying me off at 14. I recalled the words she told me as she prepared me.

“Go make your husband happy, treat him like a king for that is what he is. No matter what happens, be strong,” my mother had said.

And every time Kemi’s father beat me, I remembered those words. I understood that my husband was only a god and had a right to punish me if I failed him.

I spent the next weeks preparing Kemi. My husband was given a few cows, some alcohol and I got a new gomesi. Kemi’s suitor was a rich man. My husband could not hesitate to give away our first daughter to a man who could afford to pay cows and beer.

And just like that, we held a small traditional wedding and blessed our Kemi as she went off to start new life with her husband. “Remember always that you were created with the strength you need to withstand anything. Go serve your god,” I told my baby as I saw her off.

But it was not long before Kemi started coming back home in tears. “Mom, he punched me in the face. He dragged me by the hair. He kicked me in the stomach.” The list of Kemi’s complaints was endless. While nursing her wounds, I would tell my baby girl, “Kemi, this is all normal. You have the strength to withstand this. Just learn to avoid being in the wrong. Your husband is like your god, Kemi, he has a right to punish you when you do wrong. Your father punishes me too when he decides that I need punishment”.

But the last time Kemi came home was different. “Mom, I can’t go back,” she cried endlessly. “I can’t take the beatings anymore”. Kemi was also three months pregnant. “Where would we put the shame of an unmarried pregnant daughter?

What would my husband think of me if my daughter failed at her marriage? What if Kemi’s husband asked for his dowry to be refunded?” I wasn’t ready to face my husband with the news that our daughter had chosen to return home.

“Please go back to your husband, Kemi. Just do it for me. Respect your husband. Remember he is your god. And whatever happens, remember you have all the strength you need, just like all women out there,” I told my baby as I walked her back to her husband’s home.

Today, Kemi is back home. She is not crying anymore. She lies lifeless in a wooden box. They call it a coffin. I took a closer look at her body.

The marks of the beatings she had endured were evident. The beatings had led to a miscarriage that saw her bleed to death. I failed my Kemi.

I was inconsolable, not just at the loss of Kemi, but at my failure to protect my baby girl. I wanted the ground to swallow me alive, but it wouldn’t. In fact, it wanted me to face my reality. I had failed Kemi.

I had failed her siblings. I had failed every young woman out there getting battered by a husband. The realization got me off my feet. Right there, I made a decision to speak up against gender-based violence and child marriages.

Henceforth, I will tell parents that our girls are better off in school than being married off. I will advocate against conservative cultural practices like dowry that cause us to compromise the quality of life of our daughters.

I will roar against the small gods that culture has created in our men. I don’t care anymore about being a wife that treats her husband like a god. After all, it is a similar god that had the guts to end my Kemi’s life.

I am now my own woman, telling young girls that they have a right to dream, even when my Kemi, who returned home in a wooden box, never had a chance to dream.

This vignette seeks to provoke every reader to play a role in enabling girl children to live to their full potential. Child marriage is a global challenge affecting millions of girls across the world. In Uganda, the drivers of child marriages are deeply entrenched in some of our social norms and traditions.