Trapped By Trust Betrayed Under One Roof

My aunt picked me up from my parents' house after I graduated from senior high school. She was thriving in life, having married a wealthy man. She traveled frequently, and whenever she returned, she brought me something special. Her husband also showered me with gifts. They both cared for me deeply.

On my twenty-first birthday, my aunt took me to South Africa for a small birthday celebration. Her husband was supposed to join us from the UK, but due to unforeseen circumstances, he couldn't make it. However, that didn't stop us from enjoying ourselves. She indulged me with shopping, took me to incredible places, and we dined at some of the finest restaurants in Johannesburg. I felt cherished and valued. Little did I know that joy would soon turn into something else.

On our way to the hotel, my aunt said, “Since my husband isn’t joining us, there’s no need for us to have separate hotel rooms. The rooms are pricey, and we still have a week left. It makes more sense to share a room so we can save money for shopping and sightseeing.” The idea of sharing a room with my aunt made me uneasy, but I had no say in the matter; it was her decision.

Our first night together was fine. We were both careful not to intrude on each other’s space. By the second night, we relaxed a bit more, talking late into the night. The third night was pleasant too, but our conversation took a personal turn, delving into aspects of my life I rarely discussed. She began to ask probing questions: “Have you ever had a boyfriend? Did you sleep with him? What was your first experience like?” Then she asked a question that caught me off guard: “Have you ever thought about what it would be like to be with another woman?”

I responded with a confused, “Huh?” as if I hadn’t heard her correctly. She playfully said, “Don’t be silly, haven’t you heard of girl-on-girl?” I replied, “I have, but it’s not something I’ve considered deeply or would want to try.” She then shared a story about her dissatisfaction with her husband and how she had an exhilarating experience with a female colleague.

I was at a loss for words and confused about why she was sharing this with me. The next night, she made her intentions clear. “I’ve loved you since the day I first saw you. You were only eighteen, and I’ve admired you from a distance.” I began to feel uncomfortable and scared. Before I could react, she was trying to kiss me. I resisted, but she persisted. I told her, “You’re my aunt, and it’s hard for me to forget that we’re family. How can I do this with a relative?”

She lectured me on why it wasn’t so wrong while still trying to get her way. I told her, “This is all new to me. Please let me think about it and get used to the idea.” She agreed to give me space. That night, I couldn’t sleep. I cried, regretting how everything had unfolded, terrified for my safety and wondering how I would survive the remaining days.

The next morning, she attempted to initiate contact again. I was too exhausted to resist. I watched as she tried to kiss me and touch me. I felt numb until she eventually stopped. When you’re in distress, days feel long, and nights seem endless. The next three days until we left South Africa were torturous for me. The fun had vanished, and I felt empty. Slowly, the days passed, and we finally returned to Ghana.

In Ghana, with other people in the house, I felt somewhat safer. Her husband returned from his trip the next day, bringing a bit of joy back into my life. I wanted to visit my parents, but she insisted on accompanying me, perhaps fearing I would confide in them or not return.

Then one morning, I felt a hand creeping around my thighs and up my waist while I was sleeping. It felt surreal. My face was against the wall, and I sensed someone lying behind me. Gradually, I realized it wasn’t a dream. I knew who it was, so I didn’t turn around or move to let her know I was awake. I thought it best to let her do as she pleased and leave me alone. But when the hand reached my chest, I noticed it felt heavier than a woman’s hand, and the scent of the breath wasn’t feminine either. I turned suddenly to find my aunt’s husband lying behind me, wearing only a towel.

I jumped out of bed and turned on the light. The clock read 2:17 AM. I began to shout, “What are you doing here at this hour? Are you trying to get me in trouble? Do you want my aunt to kill me?” He lay there, unfazed, and said, “Keep your voice down so you don’t wake her. She drank too much last night, and if you keep it quiet, she won’t find out.”

“What do you want from me?” I demanded.

“Just let me do it, and I’ll give you whatever you want.”

“Please, leave my room before anyone finds out. You’ll get me in trouble.”

“Just this once, and it won’t happen again. This once, and you’ll get whatever you want.”

I grabbed my clothes and left the room, heading straight to the kitchen and locking myself in. I heard his footsteps as he went upstairs. I didn’t want to come out. I spent the night in the kitchen, crying. Everything was happening too quickly, like a nightmare I couldn’t wake up from.

The next morning, my aunt came looking for me. I was wide awake, as if I had been expecting her. She called my name, but I didn’t respond or move. She lay behind me, trying to arouse me. I remained motionless as she continued, indifferent to my tears and shaking. All she wanted was to touch my body. The following two mornings, her husband came again. I had locked my door. He called my name, knocked softly, and then started calling my phone. I stayed silent, crying and contemplating how to escape this nightmare.

I thought about running away, but where would I go? My parents wouldn’t understand. They would ask questions I couldn’t answer. I considered staying with a friend, but how long could I impose on her? I even thought about suicide. The finality of it seemed like the best option.

That night, I slept with a knife beside me and the light on, anticipating one of them might come. But no one did. For the next three or four days, they left me alone. When she finally returned and saw the knife, she didn’t approach me. She stood at the door and asked, “What’s the knife for?” I didn’t answer. She noticed I had been crying and kept asking about the knife. I replied, “You should be asking about me, not the knife. I’m the one suffering here. Can’t you see that I’m not okay?” I threatened, “After you leave this room, I might stab myself and bleed to death. I hope that makes you happy.”

She stood there, unsure of what to do or say. I continued to cry. After a moment of silence, she opened the door and walked away. That morning, I took the time to reflect on my priorities and how my mental state was deteriorating. I decided I needed to leave immediately before things got worse.

The next morning, I packed a few belongings and left the house while they were still asleep. A couple of hours later, I saw her calling my phone, but I didn’t answer. Her husband called right after, and I ignored that too. I turned off my phone and kept walking.

I arrived at my parents’ house in the evening. As soon as my mom saw me, she rushed over and hugged me tightly, as if I were a lost child returning home. She exclaimed, “We’ve been worried sick! We thought something terrible had happened to you. Your aunt called to say you were missing!”

I replied, “I didn’t go missing. I left, and I’m not going back to that house.” As I expected, she asked why. I don’t know what came over me, but I began to recount everything my aunt and her husband had put me through. I thought my mom wouldn’t believe me, but I continued to share my story. After I finished, she said, “They both wanted to sleep with you? What kind of evil is in that house? That’s an abomination!”

My dad cried when he learned what had happened. He wanted to go after them and have them arrested, but my mom couldn’t bear the thought of arresting her own sister, the one who had been supporting the family. She feared that if that happened, her family would forever resent her. So she convinced my father not to pursue it, saying, “You don’t have money; they do, and they won’t go to jail.”

In the end, it became a topic no one wanted to discuss until now, as I share it here. But it’s not over. Someday, when the time is right, I will ensure they both face the consequences of their actions. They will not escape justice.

—Takyiwa,
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