Oh Little Auwa!

Raphaela Kosher

@Raphaela_Kosher

I am Raphaela, a seasoned freelance writer and SEO blogger domiciled in West Africa. My passion for crafting the world I desire using words has led me to develop over 200 blog-posts and e-books that are truly engaging and informational and that I am very proud. Career-wise, I focus keenly on Technol

Oh Little Auwa!

Apr 30, 2018 Chapter 1

From the sunbaked and jagged upper terrains of the Mpape hills, Little Auwa sluggishly returned home after a weary day working at Mpape's Rocky Places. Although she was just eight years old, she had completed her daily task of manually crushing and selling granite rocks alongside some other elderly clan women. With their pans expertly balanced on their heads and the rock crusher in their hand, this all-women group sluggishly made their way home, chatting tirelessly in Hausa all the way.

They joined the adjacent express road to save time given its tarred nature and its exclusive pedestrian walkway. While they were about 45 minutes from their village in the lowlands and with little attention to their trek or the passersby, they heard a loud cry behind them from the driver of a fast-moving motorcycle screaming, Little Auwa!

In shock and utter disbelief, she looked at the driver who came to a grinding halt in front of the group... it was her stepfather Bagudu. With a wide smile beaming through her face, Little Auwa ran to meet him. After exchanging pleasantries, he hoisted her up to the front of the bike to sit between him and the bike's hand grip because his seat was full of hay for delivery to a customer's farm. She happily obliged, seating on the fuel tank with all joy while securing her work tools firmly. She exchanged goodbyes with her colleagues as she began her journey thinking about the routes she would take this evening, hawking her mother's homemade Wara and Kuli-kuli.

A few minutes into the journey, Little Auwa noticed something odd, there seemed to be a wood-like object prodding her from behind. Oblivious to what it was she continued her daydream, while her driver zoomed away towards the village. On getting to the village, Bagudu dropped her on the main T-junction while he continued his journey to his client's farm. Upon her arrival, she ran towards her kitchen, past their mud house, she came to the raffia palm edifice. While greeting her mother, she dropped the money she had earned into her mother's stainless steel bowl and dashed to pick her food. While hungrily consuming the lukewarm sorghum-based Tuwo-merije, her mother brought to her the bowls of Wara and Kuli-kuli she must hawk and successfully sell before returning home.

Unlike other girls her age, Little Auwa had never returned to school since her father died five years ago an although she often felt somewhat disadvantaged, she relished in the fact that her two younger ones were in school. Moreover, her mother constantly kept her engaged sustaining the family, while she laid back at home as a full-time housewife. To worsen matters, Little Auwa never knew that not only did she lose her mother, her education and her life to this man Bagudu, she was going to lose her virginity to him tonight.

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Es sorprendente el hedor que sale de mí, pero no es por la ropa, no es por el clima, no es por la habitación, sino por mi mohosa actitud.Por mi mal carácter; y mis ridículas sensaciones que no pueden ver más allá de sus narices.Por esas sensaciones que en ocasiones he usado como excusa para ver a otro lado. Por esas sensaciones que me hacen fallar continuamente; y me dificultan seguir caminando, aunque intento gatear y poco a poco levantarme; no quiero rendirme.Hoy vuelvo a decir, y espero que sea la última vez y para siempre: hoy al amanecer me pondré de pie y aunque no tenga cara para mirara al cielo, caminaré firme, mejorando a cada paso.Y sé que esto no termina aquí, tal vez intentarán que vuelva a caer, pero ya no fallaré. Ahora fallar no está dentro de mis prioridades.

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EL REFLEJO EN EL AGUA

- ¿Ves la temperatura del agua? -le pregunté a mi reflejo.- Esta a 3 ° C. -respondió él.- ¿Por qué? -preguntó de vuelta.- Porque ni aun así se podría apagar la frustración que inunda mi cabeza. -comencé a explicarle sentándome en el piso, a un lado de la bañera, mientras esta se llenaba. - Observa bien, -le dije- mis brazos están heridos. ¿Ves toda la sangre que corre de mi pecho? Mis piernas ya no pueden moverse, el dolor es muy grande, mis pies están hinchados y ya no puedo seguir caminando. -Podría jurar que perdió todas esas cosas; era tan real, incluso diría que podría palpar la sangre.-¿Te duele mucho? -preguntó, parecía preocupada.- Sí, demasiado.- ¿En serio? ¿Y eso qué? -regresó a su indiferencia.- Que seguiremos en este tormento. -Me recargue a un lado de la bañera; ya no me enfrentas con fuerzas.- No. -Dijo puesta en pie con una firmeza que no había escuchado antes. - Eso es lo que a ti te atormenta; yo, en realidad no existo. -Dijo, viendo el agua caer de la llave.- ¿De qué hablas? -pregunté siguiendo su mirada, incorporándome en pie.- De todo. ¿Has visto alguna vez tu propio rostro? -Preguntó seriamente. Yo estaba a punto de asentir cuando mi reflejo respondió.- No es así -se respondió a si misma, aún sin verme a los ojos.- Por supuesto, lo visto millones de veces. -respondí tajante.- No es verdad, solo ves lo que tu mente quiere que veas; y mueres a como ella te aconseja.- Dices que no he visto nunca mi rostro, -dije frunciendo el ceño- pero puedo verte a ti. -Ella volvió su mirada a mí.- Entonces, si me ves, haz caso a lo que digo.- ¿A qué te refieres? ¿Qué haz dicho? -murmura expectante. Ella esbozó una leve sonrisa, apenas perceptible.- Mira tus brazos. -dijo levantando la voz; al mismo tiempo que toma mis manos.- Mira tus brazos no están heridos, -dijo extendiendo sus propios brazos, - mira tu pecho en realidad no sangra; mira tus piernas aun se mueven, mira tus pies no están hinchados. -cuando terminó de decir esto, ya estaba en el suelo otra vez.- ¿Y eso qué tiene? -pregunté sollozando.- ¿Qué es lo que te impide continuar?- En realidad no lo sé. -dije antes de llorar por completo.- ¡Solo es tu mente! ¡Solo es algo vano! ¡Solo es algo, abstracto! -finalizó.- ¿Y qué haces aquí? ¿Cuál es tu trabajo?- Salvarte a ti.- ¿Cómo lo harás?- Abriendo tus ojos. ¿Sabes qué es lo que te impide estar de pie?- Mis piernas -dije volviendo el rostro al suelo.- ¡No! -volvió a decir- ¿No lo entiendes? ¡Es tu mente! ¡Son tus pensamientos!- ¿Pero de qué hablas? ¿Tu no vienes de mi mente?- No; yo vengo de ahí. -dijo señalando mi pecho. - De tu corazón. -finalizó.- ¿Entonces, me quieres ayudar?- Por supuesto. -Hizo una pausa.- Como ya te había dicho, estoy aquí para abrirte los ojos, para decirte la verdad que tu mente no te deja ver.- ¿Y, cuál es la verdad?- Que puedes hacerlo.- ¿Hacer qué?- Que hacer; todos los sueños que ha tenido, todos los planos y las metas que ha trazado. ¿Ya es tiempo no crees? -finalizó volviendo un sonreír brevemente.- ¿Tiempo de qué?- De quererte un poco, de tomarte en cuenta, de caminar a la derecha mientras sonríes; de amarte a ti misma. Porque es tu propia mente la que a veces miente, te destroza y te desanima, te llena de intrigas y de desanima. -Ambas respiramos hondo.- ¡Pero ya basta! ¡Ya es suficiente! Ya es tiempo de que empieces a creer en ti, recupera el valor, levanta la vista, seca las lágrimas y sonríe al mundo. Escucha hay personas que dicen que para evitar un momento incómodo la risa es el mejor instrumento, y eso es cierto; es cierto no todo es risa; pero tampoco todo es llanto, puedes reír y puedes amar. Ya te ha lamentado demasiado y ahora es tiempo de ser feliz.Perdí la noción de lo que pasaba al rededor mientras yo hablaba, y de pronto, me descubrí sonriendo, pesar de las lágrimas que aún podía sentir en las mejillas estaba sonriendo, por fin, después de tanto tiempo, y no era una risa fingida , era vivacidad autentica.- Tienes razón. La única razón para que una persona no sea feliz es porque no lo intenta; sí, es cierto que tenemos problemas, ¿pero, quien no los tiene?- ¡Exacto!- Sí, vale la pena vivir.

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