For The Wages Of Sin Is Death – part 2

Read part one here

I came home to a room full of strangers.  This was nothing unusual because my mother hosted Christian vigils that went on the whole night all the time.  I assumed it was one of those.  But as I made my way to my bedroom, a woman I didn’t recognise stopped me. And it hit me, this congregation was here because of my homosexuality and I was about to be baptised with fire.

“Join us, please.” She said as she extended a wrinkly overworked hand.  My first thought was to run away, but I had no strength and so I joined them.  As soon as I sat down, everybody started praying out loud in languages only they understood…. and maybe God.  From the corner of my eye, I could see the ringleader praying the hardest.  His face was screwed up like someone in the process of giving birth to wood. 

Then without warning, he grabbed me by the throat and threw me to the ground.  I was so scared I nearly shit myself.  As if on cue, everybody started praying louder than ever.  Others were crying.  I stayed on the floor more confused than ever.  Warm liquids were poured over my prostrated body.  Occasionally I heard the word ‘deliverance’ from the ringleader.  After about 20 minutes, everyone quietened down.  I got up and looked at my parents hoping for an explanation but none came. I was ordered to my bedroom where I sobbed for hours.

A few weeks later, I was visiting my girlfriend when her parents came home and found us in a compromising situation.  Within minutes my parents arrived and they all set upon us with wooden weapons.  Since we were older and didn’t give a crap about much we managed to escape.  But we were not old enough to live independently so at some point we had to return home.

I got to my house to a different set of people waiting – three men I had not seen before, and my stepfather.  Neither my mother nor siblings were home, which was unusual.  Strangely there was no anger in my stepfather’s face and that confused me.  I expected him to beat me to death for running away, instead, he was pleasant. “Get something to eat, then join us please my daughter.” That was odd, I thought as I ate food that tasted like sawdust. I expected another prayer session or exorcism to rid me of the devil inside me.

As you can expect, my parents knew about my sexuality but as far as they were concerned, I was like that because the devil lived inside me.  And because we were Christians where homosexuality and Christianity are mutually exclusive, the only explanation was possession.  I later learned that upon consultation with the deliverance guy, they’d been advised of one sure way to rid the demon out of me.

I ate my meal in silence as the four men watched me.  It was very unsettling because I had a feeling they were up to no good. After the meal, I sat there waiting for the lecture.  Instead, my stepfather nodded towards the men and left. The three men set upon me.  They raped me for the next seven days. They only stopped to eat, drink or use the bathroom. I was given food and water too, but I couldn’t use the bathroom without an escort.

I was only 17 and a virgin.  There was no warning.  It was the most painful experience of my life.  Try as I might, the spirit-leaving-body didn’t work, all I could think of was the pain.  I cried out for my parents.  I cried out for my stepfather to come back.  I later found out he’d gone to join his wife and children at the beach.  That tainted my first good memory of him.

As they raped and degraded me, they told me they’d been nominated by the servants of God to drive the homosexuality demon out of me.  Our country is deeply ingrained in traditional cultures and religious beliefs, and these men believed they were doing the right thing by God and traditional culture. As they ravaged my body and commanded the demon out, I had an epiphany.  If I told them I was cured maybe they’d leave me alone.

Oddly enough we prayed before meals and before the cleanse.  I offered to lead the prayers for the next session and they allowed me, happy in the belief that the holy spirit was finally manifesting. During the prayers, I started to convulse and speak in French. The men believed the holy spirit had finally replaced the demon because I ‘spoke in tongues’.

You can’t imagine the amount of self-control it took to speak to these men without losing my mind.  But I had to survive the ordeal. Afterwards, I thanked God, inwardly, for my life: the rest I prayed out loud, “I can feel your salvation almighty God and I denounce the demon of homosexuality that resides inside my loins!”  The men looked happy, but still had to cleanse me one last time: I think that last one was for their pleasure and not their Christian duty.  They took turns cleansing the remnants. I zoned out.

When they left, I cleaned the house from top to bottom.  I then cleaned myself with every detergent I could lay my hands on.  I didn’t eat anything for the next 24 hours even though the men left some food for me.  My family returned on the tenth day.  I knew my ultimate salvation depended on how I reacted around them.  As soon as they set foot in the house, I prostrated myself before them and asked for their forgiveness.  Hating them the whole time. For the next several weeks we held hands as we prayed and thanked God for my salvation. 

When my period didn’t show I knew I was pregnant.  I told my mother.  A few days later they drove me to a clinic where the foetus was terminated.  I was never consulted on that matter: it didn’t matter, I would have killed that bastard anyway.

Today I deal with demons worse than they tried to exorcise.  I fear and can’t trust men.  No matter my sexuality I deserved to be treated better, listened to and guided.  Instead, I was humiliated and abused.

The upside to my ordeal was that because my parents believed I was cured, they trusted me implicitly. When I asked to work for my stepfather instead of college, they agreed. When I started dating a high profile male co-worker, they celebrated. I became the daughter from heaven. I listened.  I was attentive. I cared. I worked hard. I attended church. My parents and the church were very proud and believed I was cured. 

What they didn’t know was that they had created a bigger monster than any of them could have ever imagined.

Disclaimer: this is a real story that happened to a real person. To ensure anonymity and maintain confidentiality, names and places have been omitted.

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