NDALAKWANJI

Ndalakwanji is my name, given to me by my grandmother, and has been made a reality question to me through my Father

How is that so you may ask, but this ink on paper reveals it all it has the answer

These finger imprints on my biceps are a frequent reminder of my father’s grip as he forced me to the floor when mother was not around.

These lines that fall down my cheeks are the gullies that were formed when tears caressed their surface endlessly because of my pain.

My body became dead to physical hurt but the pain in my heart was like a dagger endlessly piercing it because of every moment that father took away my innocence.

The thought that the only man I was supposed to look up to and trust was the man who betrayed my symbol of womanity cremated my heart.

Father created an intermittent path to my heart for all men as his example blurred my judgment of all males. 

Every romantic approach from men felt like a snare from the beast of revelations just to abuse me and play fathers role again. 

I was traumatized, too sick to be healed, abused past my threshold, hurt and wounded beyond recover and mutilated beyond recognition. 

Father took away more than my innocence he, took away my self-confidence, my womanity, my pride, my joy, my husband’s right to a virgin and my path to a normal life.

Thoughts to commit suicide made settlement within my grey matter and execution was judgment at the tip of my hands, my father’s belt that he shamelessly took off in my sight would effectively hung me up the ceiling.

But the world had to know first like titanic before its fall, so I told mother, I told mother, I told mother, but mother…

Mother looked at me in tears as if in agreement but her mouth betrayed her facial expression as her lips moved to say my claim was false and with her hands emphasizing a point chased me out to my room.

Mother despite knowing the truth, acted ignorant for fear of abomination, ankhoswe and marriage loss and not forgetting this deadly Malawian phrase that says banja ndikupilila.

With mother placing the final seal on my self-given death sentence I reached for a rope and creatively and artistically prepared my death instrument which was to make headlines the next day as I put my head on the lines. 

Before I could fully support my body on the rope by the neck my stomach made a call that was meant to be answered by my mouth and I vomited the content and at that moment I knew there was life in me but unlike other pregnant women I wasn’t content.

Ndalakwanji is my name, given to me by my grandmother, and has been made a reality question to me through my father.

I am 9 months pregnant, in a hospital ward, and am thinking about one thing.

How will I tell my unborn child that my father is its father and grandfather, which makes me its sister and mother and, makes my mother its grandmother and older mother, which makes her my co-wife to my father and her husband?

#STOP-GIRLS AND WOMEN ABUSE

By Steven Mwangala

HER MOTHER, MY MOTHER AND I

If I have heard her talk about a woman she adores then it’s her mother, the woman whose love, I never doubted. Maybe it’s because the last time I saw her I was 5 and she was on her death bed, or because her last words on that bed were to my mother and she said, “Promise me you will take care of Vanessa.” I have learnt I am strong, unique and it’s just right that I am a woman, and I am beginning to learn I got it from a line of women who didn’t get a chance to know and believe they are strong, unique and are being women right. 

Her Mother and mine

She got divorced when my mother was in 3^rd grade. Her husband was very abusive and she was brave enough to let go of a marriage in a culture that prioritizes marriage, where divorce signifies failure and it’s a shame. My grandmother left and took her daughter with her. She would work and raise her child in a safe and loving environment. Later, she remarried a man who not only became her husband but also her daughter’s father. He adopted her daughter and loved her like his own. They became a complete family bounded by love and a commitment to love. 

Her Daughter, My Mother

She was not poor. She had parents who provided everything. She ate chicken and rice on more days than just Christmas. She lived in a house that had electricity, running water, a telephone, a yard in Malawian suburbs. Her parents had connections with people in high places and her parents were so hardworking, they lacked not, they were religious and grounded in their beliefs. She felt proud, she was beautiful well still is, she was young and she thought she had it all. She was on top of the world and when a handsome, charming young man who was every girls dream in the neighborhood showed interest in her, she gave herself away. He became my father, and my mother became a part of the statistics (teen pregnancies in Malawi). She was in 9^th grade and she dropped out of school.

Her Mother, My Grandmother

She decided to keep her unlike most parents in my culture who disown their girls when they get pregnant. She told her not to get married, unlike the norm that pushes young girls to get married once they are pregnant. She encouraged her to keep the pregnancy, unlike most who get rid of it to save themselves from the shame and inconvenience of having an unplanned child. And when I was born, she committed to raising her baby while sending my mother back to school. In my mother’s words, “keep the pregnancy, I will take care of the baby…said my mother. And When my baby was born, my parents sent me back to school and they took care of my baby well, sometimes they didn’t even let people think it was my baby, they would say she is theirs.”

My Mother, Me

She went back to school, Form 2 (Grade 10), having learnt a huge lesson and she worked so hard got done with her high school and went ahead to teachers training college and became a teacher. 2 years after high school, her mother died, and I was 5. Her parents were the only parents I knew, I thought my mum was my sister but life had changed and she had to take care of me now. She and my father got married and a year later they took me in. 

Me

My brother was born right then and made me a big sister before my parents could baby me. I was so obnoxious, a very clever and extra active kid who got spanked almost every day in order to behave. Always talked a lot, played a lot and prayed a lot. There was never a dull moment with me, such a charmer and loved taking care of everybody’s children. I had a reputation. Had all these young men tell me I would be Miss Malawi when I grow up and some say they were waiting to marry me when I grow up and I thought I was the coolest kid around. I didn’t love learning but I loved winning. I never hated being top or the center of attraction. 

My Mother

In her words...“When I started raising my daughter, I started knowing what parenthood is. I knew what I had passed through, I did not want her to go through that, and what my parents had been through, I did not want to go through that. So, I tried hard to correct my child whenever she was wrong. My daughter was too clever so I knew that this cleverness would lead us into trouble. So, when I needed to talk to her, I would and where she needed spanking I did. Even the bible says., “He who spares the rod hates his son, but he who loves him is careful to discipline him.” Proverbs 24:13. Above all, I prayed for her. I would say, God, do not allow my daughter to go through what I have, I prayed this over and over. This is what I did and still do and I think it’s what has gotten us this far”.

Me

I didn’t mind the spanking, I hated the words that came with it. I became bitter but I respected my mum especially seeing everything she was sacrificing to make sure I got everything I needed to stay in school, and make me more than she ever was. Every morning she woke up to heat water for my bath, she had breakfast ready for me, and packed my lunch. She knew the subjects I was not good at and found teachers and resources to help me. She did small business (selling water, popcorn, homemade ice pops) to bridge the gap between what we had and what we didn’t so that life happens for me. She fed me enough rice, fries and chicken to make me dislike Nsima which she now forces me to like. Seeing my mum survive abuse just for my brother and I made me realize, I did not want to go through what she was going through and the drive to have something better going on for me so that I rescue her, my brother, me and other girls like me. 

My Mother and I

My mother wishes her mother was alive to see the young woman I am, I wish my grandmother was alive to see how strong, enduring and committed her daughter is. So many times, I have been stuck on what could have been, what has failed that I am blinded to what is, what has been achieved. I am learning from experience and from words not said. My mother learnt to love from her mother, and to fight and endure. I have learnt to live, love, fight and endure, from my mother. I have learnt to REBEL, from my grandmother and she will never see this but my mother , has and my children, will. These are my great women who should know they are great.

REVERSING THE ORDER

He left me with scars and brokenness,

A broken heart I hide,

A broken arm that reminds

all the times he came,

Drunk, really smashed,  

Not even remembering his way home,

proof of how lost his life was.
Those knocks I will never forget,

Neighbors beckoning mama to go get,  

A husband who passed out on the streets.
When he could bring himself home however,
His mouth arrived before him

As he cussed and sold his dignity

On his way home, not to stay,

But to break,

Break my heart,

Play with mama’s heart,

And kill my affection.

He erased the place that manufactures love in me,

And replaced it with shame and hate.

In time I believed,

His job was to sow,

Not to water, not to weed, not to harvest.

He went on to sow more,

More of ME’s.

He would come back, to kill, steal and destroy,

So, my joy he stole,

My trust destroyed

And mama, my hero, had to heal it all.

Of course, it never rains but pours,

God called mama home, and I saw it all

I lived her pain as she left,

I lived my pain as she left,

I lived in pain after she left.

Never, have I ever experienced such excruciating pain,

Like a dry leaf, my heart was crushed.

With her left all the love, attention, affection from family and friends.

Lost childhood, lost hope,

Gained strength.

Stumbling blocks can be turned into stepping stones they say,

Stepping on our situations my sister began,

My father, mother, sister, friend she became.

Sacrificed her opportunities and pushed me forward in her stead.

Like a baton, she passed on the support she got, and I excelled,

And I learnt,

To love, to forgive, to sacrifice

And I got exposed to people who spurred me on towards greatness.

Survival of the fittest was the name of the game,

I am the best because I climbed on the shoulders of the greatest,

The wisdom of God incomprehensible,

His plans for my life indestructible,

Look at me now

Reversing the order…

OVERWHELMED

Knots in my stomach, teary eyes - blurry vision, my heartbeat is being covered in fear. I can’t hear my thoughts; my voice can’t come out, my breath is becoming lazy, I am suffocating. I am looking out but I can’t see. I am drowning in black, black, black, I am blacking out. I am OVERWHELMED.

I am OVERWHELMED to the core of the definition of the word. I feel like I am being BURIED beneath a huge mass, I am being ENGULFED. I am SCARED. Every time I look at my future in ministry for the past few months, this is the feeling I got. OVERWHELMED, CONFUSED.

I hated feeling this way. So, I started searching my heart and this is what am finding out., When God says, “This is where we are going”, what I hear is, “this is where I am dropping you” 😨. And like Moses my responses are, “Why me, send someone else?” and then, “I am not eloquent, I have no words to say-my words don’t come out right.” and then, “what if they don’t believe me?”

On the other side, I am thinking like Jeremiah, “I am too young.”

What I really want to do though is; run away like Jonah, but deep down, I know God uses anything even a fish to bring you where he wants you to be. And I am not adventurous.

So like it was told to Esther, I know that because I am out of the statistics doesn’t mean I am safe. If I remain silent at this time, relief and deliverance for Malawian rural adolescent girls will arise from another place. But who knows, maybe I have all I have and I am at this place for such a time as this.

SIGH! DEEP SIGH OF RELIEF! I am breathing again? God is Overwhelming, His work is overwhelming and I used the pronoun HIS-it is HIS work and HE will take care of it. So, when my muscles ache, my breath is shallow, my vision unfocused, and I start getting afraid, I will not give up, I will keep going because Moses, Jeremiah, Esther … did it, it is my turn to do it. HE who gave the vision will offer provision, HE will complete the work HE started.

And I have you. Yes, you reading this to support me in this work. Together we can transform Malawi one girl at a time. Voices Awake is now raising funds to build a house for homeless girls. You can be a part of this work by donating online at: https://donatenow.networkforgood.org/voicesawake. Leave questions in the comment box and I will respond to you or email me at mwangalav@gmail.com.

BEATING THE SYSTEM, BREAKING THE CYCLE

From a country where there is an outbreak of everything ranging from diseases, hunger, corruption, to prophecies, I got to experience my share of all of these. The first prophecy I got was, “you will be a great woman”. In my mind, great meant wealth and power, so I raced through life planning to make money and gain power by working ridiculously hard at school, and grasping every opportunity along the way. Then I met Jesus, who opened my eyes to the reality that life was what I was living when I was chasing grades and meeting deadlines. He made me listen to my heart and see the desire he had placed in me and my heartbeat went, “girls, girls, girls.” I looked around me and saw the plight of a Malawian girl.

She lives to be second best and her failure is not a surprise but expectation. She is defined by the duties of her body and her worth comes from her ability to get married and have children. Her qualifications don’t get her a job but her body parts do. She bears scars, and hides tears, and is told her gender is what proves she is weak.  I saw a girl who had accepted the oppressed role, and grows in it. As a mother, she makes sure her children are clothed and fed. She produces food from no money and hustles to pay her kids way in school. She sobs in the night, and laughs her way through the day as she tirelessly takes care of her husband and children. Through it all, she is still told, “You are not enough, you are weak, so dependent, you do nothing but gossip, a gold digger, the world would be a better place without you”, just because she is a WOMAN.

As I looked closer, I saw how I was this girl, and was being prepared to be this woman. I was already being told how to channel my thoughts, manipulate my body towards satisfying the man who would marry me. I was as good as the man who marries me and my ability to make my marriage last before I had even met the man I would marry, before I was even half way done with high school. As I experienced these things, I made up my mind to not be that girl, and not to grow into that woman.

As I got out of college, I decided to use what I experienced to empower myself and other young ladies who would not have the same opportunities and exposure that I had due to extreme poverty and illiteracy. It was time to break the cycle. I started a girl’s program called Voices Awake, whose mission is to awaken the potential in girls by equipping them holistically to fight against harmful traditions for the positive transformation of their lives. With the support from UrbanPromise International, this project started in August 2013, and we have reached out to over 100 girls in Dowa keeping them in school, providing basic needs and getting some out of early marriages. This year, Urban Promise has sent me to Eastern University, where I am getting an education in Organizational Leadership and receiving training from the UrbanPromise Health and Wellness Center in how to recover from adverse childhood experiences and trauma. The knowledge gained will be used to establish Voices Awake as a trauma-informed girl’s organization in Malawi and engage in deeper outreach to more girls. My vision for Malawi is one where every girl is adequately empowered to transform her life and community. I stand, live, and walk with these girls everyday as we change Malawi. And now I choose to believe that when that prophet said, "You will be a great woman", it was not because I will have a lot of money and power, but  because I will make a huge impact in other women’s lives. 

You have changed me birdie, I never knew love so deep. I never knew love so rare, love so strong and love so beautiful. You don't understand little one but you will have your own birdie and you will know what precious means.
Open your eyes and see the wonderful world we live in. This nest been made strong you won't fall, you won't break. Open your tiny beak so you be Fed, You won't starve. You are important to me little one, You are strong, You are precious , You will live. I want you to live birdie.
Growth
You are becoming your own now birdie. There are vultures in this world, there are dangers to being alive. As an egg, as a baby, I protected you. I wish I could make choices for you but I can't. It's now You, all YOU birdie. I hope you remember, you are loved, precious, important and I want you to live birdie.
Playing is fun, friends is fun, love is fun, fun is fun, the world is a good place mama. Growing, learning, Soaring, love is fun mama, sharing is fun mama, love is fun. Flying , I love flying. I love the world, what do you mean danger?
Ouch,
Something has changed. Friends don't choose me no more mama. They ask which uncle is my papa? Do I have one or is all mama?
I heard you cry through my wall mama. I heard you scream into your pillow mama. I saw your bruised back, when you bent to hold me mama. Are you okay?
My heart hurts and hurts more than my head when I hit a wall, is it broken mama?
Who you have is who you want, but he wants more than You?
Is something wrong with You, mama? Is precious, pretty mama? Is important, beautiful mama? Is different, worthy?
What Uncle B told you, he also told Aunt Serena. He loves you and loves her too, is that a lie mama?
Is strong, pain mama? Did he lie to you, mama?
"You are precious, you are important, I want you to live birdie, I love you." You said so mama, did your mother say so too? Did she lie to You? Did you lie to me? He said so mama and he hurt you. You built me, he broke You, you broke me. I keep coming to you for reassurance but you don't trust you no more. Where is my mama? You said you love me rare, you love me deep, you love me more, he says so too mama, but he makes you bleed, and you make me bleed and you go back and I come back, he breaks your wings and you break my wings, you cannot fly, neither can I. You said you want me to live mama, what does he want for You, for me?