Revenge, sweet revenge.
Seventeen years ago, I was eighteen years old. And I was struggling, the growing pains were too painful. I struggled with my body image and my self-esteem. And I was watching my dreams pass me by. After Senior Secondary School, my father said he was unable to help me further my education, he had my half brothers and sisters to take care of.
To top if off, my step-mother had absolutely no interest in helping me navigate life. Not only did she not nurture me, she abused me. I was the oldest in our household, but the least respected. My father was rarely home, and he listened to my step-mother without question. So if my step-mother said I was irresponsible, lazy and disrespectful, that’s what my father believed.
Life was lonely and sad for me after Secondary School. But I persevered. I hung in there and prayed for my breakthrough, as well as the day I would get to cross my legs and watch my step-mother take a bite of the sweet revenge apple God was preparing her. And so, hope and revenge spurred me on.
While I was waiting to find a job and see what would become of my future, I helped my step-mom run her vegetable business. My lazy, irresponsible self went with her at the crack of dawn to buy vegetables from farmers. And my lazy self washed the vegetables clean and did the distribution, all before 8 a.m.
One day I went around collecting money from my step-mom’s debtors. Most of those debtors had been given veggies on credit. That is how I came to the home of my rapist. His name was Cedric, we all lived in the same neighborhood. His parents were affluent and well respected. His father was a doctor and his mother owned a popular catering business in town. Cedric was an attractive teenager, and like me, he was home from finishing Secondary School. He was the ring leader of the ‘grown and popping’ boys in the neighborhood.
Due to the business between our mothers, Cedric and I were well acquainted. He fancied himself a great catch, and for good reason, a lot of the girls my age thought him an Apollo of sorts.
Cedric and I never had a relationship. We were not even friends in the sense of it. I just knew him, knew his parents and regularly interacted with them. Sometimes when I went round to either deliver veggies or collect money, his mother would ask me to stick around and help her cut vegetables, roast peanuts, stir banku, among others. So I can say was well acquainted with Cedric.
On this particular day eighteen years ago, I was in Cedric’s house to collect money from his mother. It was June 2004, a rainy day and that house was my last stop. I pressed their doorbell, Cedric let me in. Usually I would wait outside for him to get his mother or return with the money, but I was raining steadily, so I followed him inside.
He asked that I take a seat, but I decline and inquired if his mother was home. She wasn’t. I then asked if she had left any money for me. Cedric said yes, and to give him a minute to get it. But rather than proceed to wherever the money was in the house, he went outside for onto their compound for a few minutes and returned. Little did I know he had gone to let their very ferocious dogs out their cages. He had plans I did not know about.
Then he grabbed me from behind. He was a well-built teenager and so was I, so I struggled with him. I finally managed to wrestle free and bolt out of the house, running for their gate on my way home. That is when it dawned what he had done earlier. The gate was locked, and the dogs charged me. I ran back into the house.
We struggled some more, I screamed for help. Nobody heard me, it was raining.
He had his way with me eventually. And then he told me I wanted it. And that would be his story if I dared tell.
During that time I had contracted yeast infection for months, but had been too afraid and ashamed to tell my step-mom, so it had festered and was emanating a smell.
He told all his friends. They gave me a nickname. It was a lewd, uncouth word.
I couldn’t tell anybody. I had no one I trusted, who cared about me no how. So my prayer for revenge sweet revenge became two fold, one for my stepmother and my father and the other for Cedric.
“Dear God if you are there, give me revenge. Avenge this hurt I feel so I can die happy.”
It was a part of my everyday prayer.
And so I kept quiet. And I blamed myself. But with time I managed to bury that memory under many life happenings. It became like a volcano, boiling hot and active, threatening to erupt every now and again. But I managed to keep it buried.
My uncle, my late mother’s brother decided to help me go to school when he heard I was home due to my father’s disinterest in me furthering my education. So I eventually left our town to attend University of Ghana.
As the years passed, I managed to find myself. Thanks to a tight knit group of sister-friends I made at my office. Those friends, the kind who uplift and inspire helped me find myself, and pick my self-esteem from the dumpster. They shared their stories freely, the good, the bad and the ugly. They awed me with their confidence and kindness; in them I found the family I never had. And yet my secret remained buried.
And my prayer so revenge sweet revenge never left my lips, “Give me my revenge or I die!”
A couple of months ago, I saw a post about Cedric’s impending marriage on Facebook, he had tagged a girl from both our childhoods. The bride to be was beautiful indeed, he had his arms around her, and was gazing tenderly at her. His fiancé was a human rights lawyer and Cedric had become a doctor. It was about to be the party of parties. That post triggered me, enough for me to open up to my sisters, tears streaming down my face.
They said, “Find the bride and tell her she’s about to marry a rapist.”
My sisters helped me do the detective work. She lived in the United States, was Ghanaian, came from an affluent family and felt strongly about social justice. I carefully and patiently stalked her. Then she posted on her page, “In Ghana to meet my parents-in-love.”
Her photos showed she was lodging in a popular hotel in Accra, I live in Accra. My sweet revenge was beginning to shape up.
I sent her a friend request. I had enough mutual ‘friends’ with her fiancé, enough to make her accept. Then I sent her message most to-be-brides will fall for, especially nosy lawyer, “There is something important I’d like to tell you about Cedric. This is woman to woman, then you can decide what to do with the information. You can let him know I contacted you, or not, it’s up to you.”
I sent her the bio page of my passport to show her I was legit. Her curiosity won, she asked that we meet at her hotel’s bar.
I sat facing a beautiful, kind woman. Her aura was just beautiful. So I poured out my heart to her, about what her to-be-husband had done to me years prior. And I told of how he and his friends had tortured me after the fact.
Her face went pale, her mouth agape.
She eventually placed a call to him, he was driving to her hotel. So she made me wait in the hotel lobby with her.
When he saw me with her, his shock was palpable. His jaw dropped.
“Babe, I can explain,” he said.
“Don’t nobody said shit! So you’re going to explain what?” She screamed at him.
I turned to walk away, but not before telling him, “Stinking pussies always, always leave a smelly trail. Checkmate.”
My aim was to tarnish him to his fiancée. Just to create a crack of doubt, maybe even a little embarrassment. But she left him.
Weeks later she posted, “My African wedding will not be happening. Better single than married to Bill Cosby or R. Kelly maybe?”
As far as my step-mother, I am her sole financier now that my father is late. That alone is punishment for her soul.
I got my sweet revenge. And I did not die!
Help keep my stories free! Do you shop on AliExpress? Kindly Click here to support me. I am an AliExpress Associate so when you click my link and shop, I may earn a small commission at no cost to you. And that is how I keep my stories free.
At MissKorang we strive to bring you life stories that teach timeless life lessons and, some of those stories, like this one, are real life stories submitted by our readers and shared with their permission. Identifying attributes are edited out to protect our contributors’ privacy.Can you leave your thoughts with these kind people in the comments? If you want to send us your experience, email us at submissions@misskorang.com. Or submit using this anonymous form. Please do not reproduce any part of this content without permission from us. Our stories contain affiliate links. When you click and make a purchase, we may earn a small commission at no extra cost to you.
- Life Story: Childhood Exposure To Porn
- A Chat With A Self-Proclaimed Sidechick
- I Mistook My Wife’s Mental Health Issues For Laziness And She Attempted Suicide
- 21 Quotes For A Beautiful Life
- Why I Left My Family For Another Woman
- My Husband Left Me For Another Woman After Taking My Kidney
- Divorce Journey: A Covert Narcissist Husband Disguised As A Wife-Guy
- Confessions Of A Divorcee: How I Ruined My Marriage
- Romance Scam: My Love Interest With A Ghanaian Scammer Cost Me Over $150K
- How I Snatched My Husband From His Cheating Fiancé
I hope that’s Cedric’s real name so we can all steer clear of him. 🙂