I have never liked the darkness for one reason – it is when Shatan, the devil, and his demons come out to play. I remember every night when Mama would put out the candles before wishing us goodnight. The first few hours were always terrifying for me – I would imagine one of Shatan’s demons staring at me from a corner and I would grit my teeth in fear. On the days I managed to sleep early, the monsters kept me company in my dreams.
So often, I liken the experience of being mutilated to a snuffed candle – a fiery burning flame put out with little effort. The foreboding reality of a room once lit suddenly plunged into darkness.
I have not been cut yet, but all my friends have. I noticed a pattern – they all seemed to change afterward.
Funmi, my best friend, for example, was placed on suicide watch. I could not believe it, she was the bubbliest out of my friend group. Her charm was infectious and she lit the whole room with her smile whenever she walked in. So when I saw my vivacious Funmi slip into a shadow of herself after the cutting, my heart bled. She was crushed and battered with scars more emotional than physical.
Like a candle put out of its flame, so were my best friend and other girls who had to go through the traumatizing experience of mutilation. Oftentimes, I wonder if they lay awake with their demons haunting them. “Did the monsters look like the ones I often dreamed of when Mama put out the candle?” “Were their once bright lives now filled with darkness?” I would think to myself on some nights.
On other nights, I would lay on my raffia mat and wonder with trepidation when I would have my candle snuffed out.
