My jaw drops sharply in shock, my eyes widen.
“You have…”
“Yes, I have. And it’s better to do it now before it’s late.
When you go home after the semester, your parents won’t
notice. Just break loose from this obstacle and live your
normal life again.”
I look at her. She gives me a nod of encouragement, then a
wan smile of assurance. I feel more confident as I give her
my hand and let her lead me through the rusty gates.
We step into the strong smell of disinfectants; a small room
that is the reception. Some young girls are sitting on the
chairs, their faces betraying different emotions: shame,
defiance and indifference. Indifference is chewing a gum
loudly, apparently blasé.
“Ashawo,” Gina whispers to my ears in explanation and
guides me to a seat. We sit and wait.
My heart is clogged with fear. I think of the many girls who
have threaded this path and did not return the same. I think
of my parents. If this ends badly, what will they say? What
will people say? I have looked at girls who have aborted
babies with contempt. Raised the way I was, I have
conveniently condemned them to eternal damnation and
divine torture.
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