Dear Little Child

I am sorry.I am sorry your mother wanted to get rid of you even before you were born, because you are a result of what happened to her one night.

Society blamed her because of what she was wearing. I am sorry that when you were one, you almost starved to death because your mother promised to come back with food in an hour, and was gone for two days.

And when you finally turned three little child, I am sorry you saw a stranger violate your mother’s body in ways you never thought were possible. By the time you were five, the only thing you had were broken dinner plates, broken crayons and your mother’s broken heart. I am sorry that when you were seven, the stranger you saw beat your mother moved into your house and every night he would do the same things you saw when you were three. Because of this, the only toys you knew were the bandages you wrapped around your mother’s wounds.

Little child you just turned 11 and the streets are safer than your home. The cold street always seems warmer than your bed at home and the food you receive from strangers tastes better than the food your mother cooks. You are 13 now little child and the stranger in your house now does what he does to your mother, to you.

He would say things that hurt more than the wounds he inflicts on you. And when you are finally 15 little child you start to blame yourself for everything that happens to your mother each and every night. You become depressed little child. You start to hate everything and everyone. You start to question God. Why can’t he hear your prayers? Where is the daily bread he promised? And slowly by slowly, little child, you turn to alcohol and drugs. You start staying out late, you start being with the wrong people, because you believe that if you keep it up maybe one day you’ll fill the void in your heart, make the stranger in your house go away, heal your mother’s wounds, wipe away her tears and have at least enough money for a meal.

You’ve been 17 for a while now and oh little child you are lost. You feel like your whole life has been a joke and a bad dream you wish you could wake up from. You thought that maybe taking a broken glass bottle and slitting your wrists open would make the misery go away. You thought that getting high on cannabis and drinking a bottle of vodka will make you forget the fact that the stranger in your house will soon murder your mother. You thought taking razors and cutting your thighs and arms will make the pain go away, but oh dear child, the pain has just gotten worse. Little child, I am sorry I will never understand what you are going through. I am sorry I will never understand the amount of pain behind your scars. I am sorry your mother preferred to give food to the stranger instead of you. I am sorry they destroyed you even before you were made. I am sorry your dreams were shattered even before you could dream. I am sorry people tell you to know your roots when your roots are not deep or strong enough to hold you up. I am sorry you grew up with a broken family and the streets were the only family you knew. I am sorry you didn’t grow up with a father figure, and because of the stranger, you probably think you never needed one. I would be more sorry little child if you become like the stranger you grew up with.

Hangula Ndapewa is a Grade 10 pupil Gabriel Taapopi Senior Secondary School. She was inspired to write this by the alarming rates of gender-based violence rates in our country.

In an age of information overload, Sunrise is The Namibian’s morning briefing, delivered at 6h00 from Monday to Friday. It offers a curated rundown of the most important stories from the past 24 hours – occasionally with a light, witty touch. It’s an essential way to stay informed. Subscribe and join our newsletter community.

The Namibian uses AI tools to assist with improved quality, accuracy and efficiency, while maintaining editorial oversight and journalistic integrity.