Silent Night, Unholy Night - Refugee Stories

Copyright © 2022 Sandra Saccucci, PH.D.

ISBN: 978-1-7751516-2-3 Paperback

ISBN: 978-1-7751516-3-0 eBook

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage retrieval system, without the permission, in writing, from the copyright holder.

"Don’t act like the hypocrite

Who thinks he can conceal his wiles

By loudly quoting the Koran"

Hafez, 14th Century Persian Poet

Teble of Contents

Silent Night, Unholy Night

Infidel

Just a Cup of Tea

The Dark Sunglasses

Lies

The Lady Lawyer

About the Author

Silent Night, Unholy Night

MY HUSBAND WOULD say to me all the time, You’re as smart as the tip of my penis." A cloud of incredulity enveloped me. I had never heard of such a cruel and chauvinistic expression in my entire life. I was revolted to the point of nausea. That statement underscores the psychology of men who abuse women, including their wives, girlfriends, spouses, sisters and other female relatives. The statement smacks of sexism and accentuates the physical and emotional nature of domestic violence. This woman had been degraded and demeaned by her husband for the duration of her marriage – two decades. Her name was Adobe. She was a tall, heavy-set woman, with short, curly black hair and jet black, beautiful eyes. Her country of origin was Nigeria.

Adobe proceeded to state, One day he returned from his work and he demanded to know why his dinner was not hot enough. I put it onto the hot plate, but still, he didn’t think it was hot enough. I told him I was really tired from cooking, cleaning and caring for our children. We had three young children then and I was also pregnant. He didn’t want to hear it. He shouted his orders to me as if I were one of his soldiers. He was a high ranking military officer in the Nigerian Army. ‘Make the tea, bitch,’ he demanded.

I made the tea. But, it took too long. So, he poured the boiling water on my leg.

I screamed in pain. It really hurt. I ran outside to get some help. One of our neighbors took me to the local hospital. The doctor took care of me. He asked me what happened, and when I told him, he gave me a dirty look as if I was annoying him. He pretended he didn’t hear me. That’s the way it is in Nigeria.

"I had to stay overnight, but the next day I went home. I didn’t want to go home, but I had nowhere else to go. I fed my children, took care of them and then went to bed. Later on that night, my husband came home in a bad mood. He started shouting at me, ‘Who the hell do you think you are, lying to the doctor about me?’ I responded, ‘I didn’t lie.’

I shouldn’t have said that.

I should have kept my mouth shut. You’d think by then I would have learned this lesson. I was stupid. I am stupid. I didn’t go to school. My dad was poor, and anyway, he didn’t think school was important for a girl. He sold me to my husband to pay off a debt he owed him. I was only 14 years old, just a child. My mom was against it, but she didn’t matter to my dad.

I tried to be a good wife, but it was hard. My husband would bring home girls and he would have sex with them right in our own home. He even forced me to make them tea afterwards. I didn’t want to make the tea, but I knew that if I didn’t, I would get a beating. Sometimes, I would spit in the tea. I’m ashamed of that. But all of us women did that.

At this point, my incredulity compelled me to intercede, Your father sold you to repay a debt?

Yeh, that’s common in my country, she replied in a matter-of-fact manner. Subsequently, she resumed her story as if her comment regarding her father was normal."

Over the years, I stopped feeling anything anymore. I was numb. Many days my husband would tie me with a chain so that I would not go outside. He thought I would have an affair. Can you believe that? I wasn’t allowed to say, ‘Are you kidding me? You don’t even bother to hide your whores. You bring them home!’ I had no rights whatsoever. It didn’t matter to him that I was his wife. He hated me. I really didn’t know why he even married me. What was the point? I guess he wanted a slave at home to cook and clean for him. I hated him. But, there was nowhere to turn. I knew of so many women like me. Many of our women are beaten by their husbands.

One night I went into labor. I knew there was no point in asking my husband to take me to the hospital.

I asked, What do you mean? You were carrying his baby. He should have taken you to the hospital.

No, my husband never took me to the hospital when I went into labour with any of our children. That’s just the way he is, and anyway, I didn’t expect him to.

Do you realize what you just said? He is your husband. This is his child. It’s a given: he should be there for you emotionally, especially when you’re delivering his child.

She just laughed, but it was a hollow, enervated laugh devoid of energy and spirit. Her husband had effectively hollowed her out.

"I called my dad. He took me to the hospital, although he wasn’t too happy about it. Later on, my husband came to the hospital. He puts on a pretty good show in front of people. He’s a good actor. He came into the birthing room with me. I was in a lot of pain. It was a slow labor. I wasn’t in very good shape. I was really tired and sick from the beatings. But, of course, I couldn’t blame him – at least not out loud. I asked him, ‘Can you just hold my hand?’ I didn’t want him to comfort me, but I had no one else who would. He said, ‘Here, I‘ll bring you a chair. Hold on to that.’ So, he brought me a wooden chair. Something inside of me wouldn’t let me hold onto that chair. I didn’t know what it was. But, I refused to hold on to it, and instead thought, ‘You can go to hell.’

At this point in her recollection, I was shocked by her husband’s lack of human emotion toward his own wife, who is delivering his baby. He was as devoid of human compassion and empathy as the wooden chair he handed his wife in lieu of his own hand. What husband wouldn’t hold his wife’s hand during labor? What kind of a monster was this man? I was in awe of this woman. How could she have survived this kind of emotional and physical abuse? So, I asked her, How did you endure this?

I had no choice.

Why didn’t you go to the police when he beat you?

Are you kidding? They wouldn’t help me. He’s a military officer with a lot of power. He’s high up there. If I went to the police, he would find out, and beat me even more. I have children I have to raise. Who would raise my children if he killed me - one of his whores?

I just sat there speechless, struggling to process all this information. As a woman, I was deeply disturbed and profoundly outraged.

Did you talk to anyone, to a friend, a sister, a mother?

In the beginning, yeh, I told my family. But over time, they didn’t want to hear it anymore. They had their own problems. My dad hit my mom. My sisters were beaten up by their husbands too. I wasn’t allowed to have friends, and anyway, abuse is common in Nigeria. If a woman complains, she is seen as dishonoring her husband. Women who suffer in silence are respected. ‘Oh, she’s a saint’, people say. But a woman who complains is a bitch. Somehow it’s her fault.

If you did go to the police, would they write a Police Report?

Everyone knows they wouldn’t. Anyway, it’s legal to hit your wife in Nigeria.

Wait a second, you can’t be right. It’s actually legal, lawful to abuse your wife in Nigeria? It’s not considered an assault, a criminal offence? What does your Criminal Code state?

I don’t know nothing about any code. All I know is that men hit their wives and it’s not a crime.

At this juncture, I made a note to myself, Research the Criminal Code in Nigeria. Is wife battery a criminal code offence? Is it considered an assault?

Unfortunately, she was right. Section 55(1) of the Penal Code Law No. 18 of 1959 (Cap 89, 1963 Laws of Northern Nigeria), states:

Nothing is an offence which does not amount to infliction of grievous hurt upon any person and which is done by a husband for the purpose of correcting his wife, such husband and wife being subject to any native law or custom in which such correction is recognized as lawful.

… According to Section 24 of the Penal Code, grievous hurt is defined as,

Permanent loss of sight, ability to hear or speak, facial disfigurement, deprivation of any member or joint, bone fracture or tooth dislocation, and other endangering harm.

Additionally, law enforcement agents practice a policy of non-interference in domestic violence cases, and reportedly regard a certain degree of physical battery as culturally acceptable. According to custom and social ethos, women who do have the courage to seek state protection are often viewed as insubordinate and disobedient towards their husbands and antithetical to cultural and societal norms. In short, these women are viewed as social outcasts. It is no wonder then that abused women, including Adobe, adopt a culture of silence. Further, marital rape is unrecognized by law in Nigeria because consent to marriage is tantamount to consent to sexual intercourse whenever a husband pleases and regardless of his wife’s will.

So, according to section 55 of the Penal Code in the Northern States, it is perfectly acceptable for a man to hit a female relative as a means of disciplining or correcting her bad behavior as long as he does not cause grievous hurt. So, this means that it is lawful for a man to punch his wife, kick her, pull her hair, give her black eyes, spit at her and so on. Moreover, it is lawful for a man to rape his wife because, in effect, she already consented to sexual intercourse at any time, in any circumstance, regardless of her own will, when she entered into marriage.

I was truly flabbergasted to the point where I had to read these sections of the Penal Code over and over again. I thought, This can’t be right. I had difficulty in wrapping my mind around this legislation. But, there it was in clear language. I called a colleague and discussed the legislation. She too was flabbergasted. The two of us shared our moral outrage.

After the telephone call, I sat silently at my desk for an hour, unable to move. Then, I became angry. This was a good thing. It motivated me. This anger compelled me to want to help this woman and advocate for her as strongly as I could. I channeled that anger into doing just that. She was much more to me than just a client. She was an individual whom touched my heart.

Adobe had such a horrible life. No one would