Winston Sill/Freelance Photographer
Dramatisation of a couple having a dispute.

This is the story of St. Catherine woman who endured spousal abuse more than a decade ago. She chooses to tell her story now, she says, because she wants women experiencing this kind of abuse to get out of the situation. "They say corruption is as old as Pharaoh and so too, I think, is domestic violence towards women," she says. "To the many women out there hurting, I say, seek professional help. Talk to somebody. Do it for yourself and for your children. Domestic violence is not confined to any particular colour, class or creed, so I am appealing to women at the various stages of the socio-economic ladder, escape with your life." This is her story:

We met late Winter of 1984. It is still clear in my mind as if it were only yesterday. We spoke for hours that Saturday night. It was love at first sight. I was 16 and he was 23. He had two children, while I had another year in high school. He was the most kindest and gentlest person I'd ever known. I became the envy of many girls my age then, because of the district's tallest, darkest and most handsome. My mother and father were in total disagreement, as rumour had it that he was very 'wild'.

My final year at high school came very quickly, and my mother quickly posted me away to another parish to live with my eldest sister. However, this did not stop us, as I soon gave him the address so he could come and see me. He kept coming to look for me until one day he came and told me to pack my things and come and live with him. I wasted no time in doing so, much to the displeasure of my sister.

The news quickly circulated that I had returned home, and so my mother too became the recipient of the news. Her fury was evident. My new home was a delight, the floor was well-polished and shine while the yard was neatly trimmed.

Shared true love

The love we shared for the first six months could not be compared. We did every thing together, cooked, washed, cleaned. I didn't have to tell him to take the clothes in from off the line, make the bed or do the dishes (if I'm doing other things). He promised to send me back to school and then college to pursue a career in teaching, as he knew I had a love for teaching.

Although the recipient of a few certificates (as he had tertiary education) he refused to seek employment, so our only source of income came from relatives overseas. One by one I started noticing the changes.

He stopped buying the cooking gas, leaving me with no choice but to look wood. He stopped helping with the laundry, the dishes and everything else. We started quarrelling for everything, which sometimes resulted into fights.

The first time he hit me was with a piece of sugar cane across my face. My face was badly swollen for days. I hid inside for more than two weeks, too embarrassed. He volunteered to bathe it. The pain was agonising. By the time my mother missed me and came to look for me, the swelling had receded, however, a noticeably ugly scar was left.

I was warned against keeping friends, going to see my mother, or even writing letters to relatives at home or aboard. I soon had no reason to go to shop or anywhere else, as he started buying the groceries himself, complaining how long I was staying. He also started buying the hair relaxer and relaxing my hair, as a means of keeping me confined to the house.

However, I would wait until he had left the house, then I would go look for my mother or a friend. He always found out and beat me. This was no ordinary beating; I was punched all over my body especially on the head, and often times slapped across the face.

One time he was beating me and suddenly he was reaching for the knife on the table and I managed to reach it before him and threw it out the window.

One night he made an attempt to hit me and I ran into my neighbour's chicken coop and hid. I stayed crouched for hours till my neighbour went and begged for me.

He continued the ill-treatment by not giving me any food or any money. I was hungry for days. I sometimes had to credit food at the shop, which often times was not paid for. My 150 lb weight quickly dribbled to 115. I was very unsightly to look at, I could see the bewilderment on people's faces as they sometimes pass me by; others would stop to ask what was wrong with me.

My nightmare really started when I became pregnant. At three months pregnant he kicked me over a nearby gully telling me what he would do to me if a request of his was not carried out.

Although I was pregnant I was almost barefooted, save an old white sneakers. Also, I had no clothes, except for a few pieces of rags that the Salvation Army would have rejected. The worms and I fought many endless battles. I fought desperately hard to stay alive. People were obviously afraid to get involved.

Salvage few dollars

I managed to salvage a few dollars to take with me to the hospital when it was time for me to have the baby. I ended up spending five days at the hospital. It was a blessing in disguise as I was very thankful for the food and the rest. My son weighted exactly six pounds.

I got discharged and went home. The next morning he was nowhere to be found, so while the baby slept I had to go to the nearby river to fetch water for bathing. I then had to go look for him, as I was getting very weak and hungry. I did not eat a proper meal until 9 p.m. that evening and suffered many more of this kind of hunger. The nurses always complained of how under-weight the baby and I were.

One night we were going home from off the street when he started accusing me of allowing a man to buy me a soda. He started punching me on the head until I fell to the ground. I woke the next morning in my night clothes. I still do not have any recollection of how I got home - he must have carried me home.

One morning he was quarrelling with me and I walked away, he became furious and used a piece of stick to hit me on my ear. I fell instantly to the ground muttering that I was dead. He got frightened and came and yanked me up and shoved me inside the house.

I became ill from a lack of rest, proper food, having to go to the river for water, and looking in the woods for food almost everyday. I ran away one day and when he found me. He used the back of his hand to slap me across my face, my vision was blurred for a good two minutes.

Silent prayers

The nightmare was terrifying, and I started praying silently to God for deliverance. I finally mustered enough courage after I was hit on the side with a very huge object. I laid immobile for a while. He showed no sign of remorse or guilt whenever I was abused.

But I laid my plans carefully.

I left the house at pre-dawn, a month before the general school term began, as my son was just about to commencing school for the first time.

With the small bag under my arm and my son under my next, I quickly made my way to a safe haven. The transition marked the beginning of a life mingled with many tough battles as he fought desperately hard to get me back at the house. The battle raged. However, I am free at last.