Hurtful Accusations

When my youngest sister was in Std One, her class teacher chose her to pick on. Maybe it was my sister’s asking-for-it stare or the teacher herself who was very pregnant. For reasons only the teacher knew, she made life very miserable for my sister. During one recess, my sister wasn’t allowed to leave the class until she had drawn a cow. She did go for recess because I drew the cow for her.

One night, my mother woke me up with a hard blow on my body. She accused me of stealing her money. At first she thought she had dropped ten dollars somewhere but when she found the change of it wrap in a handkerchief and place between her folded clothes she knew straightaway it was taken, not dropped. Right after her discovery, she came into the girls’ room and flipped the light on so she could find me, her suspect. She vented her anger on me with her fists pounding all over my body while my two sisters huddled in fear, their hearts jumped and pounded. That night, my sisters were lucky as our mother was too spent to turn on them.

As it turned out, my youngest sister was the thief. She stole out of desperation because she dared not ask my mother for money to buy exercise books. She was too afraid of her class teacher to go to school without them. She confessed her deed to me.

The next time she did it again, she stole money from my younger brother’s piggy bank. Again the blame fell on me. It was my mother’s vulgar verbal attack and accusation in front of my visiting cousins that broke me. I minded being called a thief. I minded the vulgar names she called me. Most of all, I minded being punished unjustly for something I didn’t do. I didn’t deserve the beating and humiliation. After that incident, it was painfully awkward to be seen by my cousins.

My mother thought I had the gumption to commit the crimes she accused me of. She had never forgotten the fact that I tried to run back to my aunt’s place (aforementioned in my previous post, Home Is Where the Heart Is).


At nine years of age, I was good at reading body language, fast on uptake and quick to pick on the tone of voice. In my mother’s eyes, I was brainier and trickier than my sisters. There was one occasion when my mother asked me to go to her neighborhood illegal bookie to place a bet. Normally my sisters were the runners for her but this time they went out with my grandmother. So I went with my two friends. Before I left I had an exchange of words with the bookie’s daughter who was five years my senior. I was the smart mouth and my friends and I had so much fun laughing at all the witty things I had been saying at the expense of the girl. Shortly, after my return, my mother decided to go over to the bookie’s place. She came home angry and then dragged me to the bookie’s place. Before we reached the bookie’s place I stopped at my friends’ place. I told my mother I needed the sisters as my witnesses. It was the bookie’s daughter who started it first.

I managed to get one witness as one of the sisters was bathing. My mother pulled me by my ear into the house, all the way to the kitchen and my friend followed behind. We found the girl all red-eyed and silent sitting on the dining chair at the table. My mother turned to me and gave me a slap. I could hear protest from the parents who told my mother to ignore the complaint of their daughter. Their oldest son said his 14-year old sister was a whining brat.

“Why did you make her--- slap--- cry---slap---how dare you---slap---@#$#@^&---slap.

My mother ignored me when I implored her to ask my ‘witness’ to tell her who started it first but she was too busy slapping me. My witness was too petrified to say anything.

When it was over I was again dragged out of the house but this time, crying. Once outside the gates, I refused to follow her home. I told her I wouldn’t go home with a mother who didn’t side her daughter. We had a sort of a tug of war, I was trying to go the opposite direction and she was pulling me to the direction towards home. It’s a no-brainer to guess who the winner was. She didn’t even leave me in peace to cry because a few seconds after we stepped into the house she called me into her room to give her forehead a massage. My sisters and I were trained to massage her every now and then.

Before I turned twelve, I did my last running away from home. My mother just came home from seeing her bookie and wasn’t very pleased to find me so engrossed listening to the radio. I was supposed to stay close to my baby brother’s bed while he was sleeping. She considered I was remiss. I incurred her fury and had to take what was coming. There and then, I decided to leave the person who made me so unhappy.

I left with nothing. As I was walking, I heard the occasional barking from the neighborhood dogs. I braced myself to continue walking. It was a dark night and I had no idea where I was going. The further I went, the more frightened I became and eventually, it had come to a point where I decided I had to turn back. I couldn’t make myself to return home. Mid way to my house I found a large pile of sand outside a house under renovation and sat on top of it. I sat there until my grandmother, my neighbor who was my regular rescuer and her mother-in-law found me.

My rescuer advised me to apologize to my mother with a cup of tea. My mother refused to drink the tea and spat out the words that she would rather lay an egg than to have a daughter like me. At least she could eat an egg. If I had the courage I would have said I would rather have a mother like my rescuer.

My long-suffering grandmother had almost nothing nice to say about my mother. She never hesitated to complain about her, but of course, it was never to her face. My grandmother thought there was madness to her unthinkable behavior.

So heartbreaking

When people aptly made unfavorable comparisons to my youngest sister, my mother would take it as a personal insult that she had unattractive daughter. It didn’t sit well with my mother and she was quick to vent it out on the person concerned. Because of the belief, my sister was treated like a real-life Cinderella, she was to stay at home, not to be seen or recognized as her daughter. And because of that too, my mother used to send my youngest sister to run errands at odd hours.

Years later, my sister told me that one night our mother asked her to buy a box of mosquito coils and threatened her with a beating if she didn’t come home with it. It was past the closing time of the sundry shop. My sister went from one shop to another. In her desperation she knocked hard on each and every shop and caused a ruckus. But out of the three sundry shops, only one displeased shopkeeper opened his door. He started to scold my sister for disturbing his sleep. She began to cry and explain that a box of mosquito coils would save her from a beating. Anyone with a heart wouldn't have denied her plea .

My sister told me that on one occasion she was trailing after our parents and brothers as my father was taking photographs of them in the compound of our house. Every time my sister managed to get a spot next to our brothers, my father would move away without taking the picture. It dawned on to her that they didn’t want her to be in the photograph. It was confirmed when she heard them say they didn’t want her to spoil the picture.

Are you sure you got it right? It was hard to believe at first that my father and my mother shared the same way of thinking. But you are not ugly, I assured my sister while absorbing the new information and seeing my father in a different light. He was indifferent but never cruel. So I didn't really know him.

Another heart-breaking story she told me was that she used to squat near the doorway of our parents’ bedroom. It was also one of those rare occasions when our father was home early and playing with our younger brothers. They sounded happy as they laughed and played like one happy family and my sister was like the outsider looking in.

During the school holidays, I normally spent them staying with one aunt or another. It wasn’t out of the kindness of my mother’s heart that she gave me time-out to be happy. It so happened I was invited by my cousins. Maybe she took pride that I was popular with my cousins. I don’t really know how my mother’s mind worked. One time I was even invited by her tailor to accompany her and her nephew to Penang. Permission was given. I was allowed to follow her home on another occasion.

My two sisters said I was luckier than them because I was allowed to go places. They said though I didn’t get our parents’ love I’d got it from our relatives. At that times I just went on with my own life, didn’t know that my sisters thought I was luckier than them. I didn’t know that my youngest sister hardly went anywhere.

One fine day, my mother came home from the market and told my youngest sister to bathe and dress nicely. My sister said she could remember how happy she was because our mother was taking her out. Little did she know that what she expected had nothing to do with our mother’s plan. The destination was about ten houses away. When they reached there my mother’s friend came out, my mother grabbed my sister’s hand and dragged her into the house. My sister started to cry when she realized that my mother was going to leave her there for the next few hours. My mother’s warnings soon translated into slaps when my sister refused to stop crying.