I recently attended one of our toastmasters meeting, and there was a speech from a fellow member that was very powerful. She spoke about her childhood memories and growing up in a house that was mainly influenced by alcohol abuse, and how she had to overcome that struggles. She then said, “everyone has an untold story in them that they needed to tell”, because you never know how it’s going to impact someone’s life. I sat there, and I felt every part of that story resonate with me in a level deeper than understanding.

This speech was made in a time when I needed to hear it, as I was fighting my own demons in my mind about what I wished to remember and what I did not want to remember. At times I felt like I was reliving certain situations and that I could not do much. I had gotten to the point where I felt I owed myself the chance to be honest with myself, and face it all. As a trained counsellor, I had to take the steps that I had given my clients and try it on my own as part of my healing process.

At a recent GBV training, I uncovered so much about the truth that goes around, in regards with the cycle of violence, how it affects everyone, yet it is not spoken about it, yet I felt the need to be quiet about it and how that has influenced my life and my social surrounding. I got clearer overview of how we all play a part in it and one of the main factors of that is being quiet and normalising it. thinking that it may one day go away. One thing we tend to forget, is that the mind doesn’t heal so fast and easily as the bruises that were left there. One of my main points, that I usually argue on, is how does all this affect the children involved. One of the major factors that is forgotten by everyone. The parents, the law and everyone tends to hope that the child will be fine and move on. But the question is, does it happen so easily without any intervention? How do we help this child out of this mindset? how do we assist the child not to become a victim or perpetrator of abuse? How do we strengthen this child’s character and esteem?

I remember growing up in a house where abuse was normal. a house where the protector was not the protector but the enemy. At times I can still feel my father’s army boots hitting my back, with a kick so hard it felt like all the breath in me had escaped. I can still hear the screams and shouts as he and my mother would argue in the room. I can still smell the marijuana lingering heavily in the room as he roams about, and that disgusting smell of the alcohol on his breath as he would draw me near to give me a stern warning on some lame excuse or reason for him to pick a fight. We never knew when he was in a seriously good mood or when he was simply being the monster I had gotten used to. The monster I had to call father. This person that I most of the time wanted to run away from, but was also not willing to let go of, because I always hoped the loving father that is somewhere in there will return to comfort us. I have seen my mom at the worst from fights, I have witnessed my mom crying and yet still take up for him saying that it was not a big deal. I have had days where you could not enjoy a good night’s sleep, because he might wake you up, to beat some sense in you. the father that was supposed to be the provider and hero of his children? I have witnessed the days where my dearest father had felt we not worthy of his food, and throw out freshly cooked food to the dogs, and left us starving, or watching how the dog will enjoy that meal that was supposed to be yours. Times when daddy dearest will sit and eat in front of you and not feel any remorse. The times when daddy felt like he had tried and send us to another world where there would be peace in us “death”. And many times, I thought it was a beautiful place, because he kept putting it in all this mesmerizing context for me. Not only was daddy dearest physically abusive, but he was emotionally and mentally abusing us in ways that we did not understand. Because there where days, when daddy dearest was the most loving father. He will buy us chocolates and ice cream and give us N$1.00 to enjoy, which at the time felt like a thousand dollars. But that only lasted days at times. And then the other guy would come back. oh, and mommy, well she had to work, because she had to provide. Which meant ample time for us to spend quality time with “daddy dearest”. My mom had to take up two to three jobs to keep things going, because the money my father earned was only enough to buy his alcohol and marijuana.

This cycle had continued for a couple of years and things had gotten worse over the years. Home felt like hell. My mind was swirling around with ideas. I had started my first grade by now, and I had the worst time at school. I had lost a sense of myself, but I always remembered my father’s words. “No one cares about you or your feelings, and no one wants to know”. “Keep it in and be strong, think about mommy, because terrible things will happen to her.” I remember those word like it was yesterday. And through all this, my mother was strong, not for herself, but for us. And I understand that now because in all those times, I kept asking why she did not do much to help the situation? And all this is because she had hope that he will change, but he never did. Not until he left at least.

The day my mom made that choice of letting him go. The day my mom said she had enough. That is the day I can still remember vividly. Yet, I can’t even remember what his last word were to me. I remember him leaving and not returning. I had thought that he would come back after a week, but then, weeks became months and months became years. After a few months, I had found out where he stayed and kept going there after school, hoping that the loving dad in him would return and he might accept and love us fully. Especially me, I had that yearning inside of me that I really wanted him to be part of, and not the monster dad I had gotten used to. But it never happened.

And to this day, I can’t say I know what the love of a father feels like, and who is to blame for that? Me, him or my mom? Yet one thing I have learned is that as much as I have all these questions, did it make me a better person or the worst kind? As much as it seems that it has not affected me, it has developed in my psychic brain where I will always wonder. It comes out at times when I least expected and it eats on my emotions. I have dealt with the pain alone for so long because of this norm. I asked myself questions that I thought I would not get answers to. But the one question I kept asking, is when do you know it’s enough? When do you let go? And how do you heal from that?

And yet, society says that, no don’t worry, the child won’t remember, the child will grow out of it. but how do we help the children heal? Is that not the question we should ask? And I wonder, how has this stopped me from not becoming a victim to this, or how will I not become a perpetrator of abuse? have I grown up to normalise it? Yes, I may have been a child, but I am an adult now, and have I dealt with my problems the right way? because I do remember all this, it has moulded me into the person I am, as much as I admit it or not. so, where does my role start and where does it end when it comes to GBV?

this are all things I am passionate about, because I know how it feels like. I know how to walk in that shoe and pretend that everything is okay. How to view the outside world as the enemy and not show weakness. Not to talk about the demons you face at home. Why? because society has told us that we should be able to handle that. Society has put up certain labels and tags on us that tells us what is wrong and what is right. Society gets to be the judge of you. But who is society anyway?

How do we uncover the lid, and look beyond what is on the surface? How do we tackle it? but above all, how do we heal from that? Because who is the true victim? As much as we blame the perpetrators for their actions, and yet, they are not always held accountable, how do we educate them? as my question always remains, are they aware of what they are doing? Do we let the pot boil over? Because they cycle gets to continue. We have normalised this into our daily lives. So where exactly do we start, and act, because abuse comes in so many forms. I know the forms of abuse, but is everyone out there aware? How do we educate the perpetrators, as much as we educate the victims?

We can only truly do that, by taking of the lid, and talking about it, educating the rest and sharing what we have? Because abuse is not supposed to be normal, neither should suffering on your own.

Leana Hengari

Leana is currently a volunteer counsellor at Lifeline Childline Namibia , where she has been volunteering and working as a Change Agent Administrator, and radio program editor for the past 3 years. She has always volunteered at different initiatives, at a young age. That’s where she found her passion and calling into helping others