Ashley 🎀

I stood there confused until a woman walked out of the kitchen holding a baby. She looked at me and asked, "Can I help you?" Before I could answer, my boyfriend appeared. He looked terrified. The woman turned to him and asked, "Who is she?" He couldn't answer. Then the little girl innocently said, "Daddy, is this your other wife?"

He eventually told me he would be gentle and that I shouldn't make him feel unwanted after everything we'd been through.I was too exhausted to keep arguing. I gave in, even though every movement caused me pain. Halfway through, I started crying. He stopped briefly, asked why I was crying, and then told me I was making him feel like a terrible husband. That night, I realized something that took me years to understand. Being married doesn't give someone ownership of your body. Giving in because you're afraid of someone's anger, disappointment or punishment isn't the same as freely consenting. I had just given birth to our child. But somehow, I was already being made to feel guilty for needing time to heal. And the most painful part? For years, I had mistaken his persistence for love.

The hardest part isn't always the language, the weather or the unfamiliar streets. It's getting sick and having nobody to take care of you. It's celebrating your birthday without your family. It's struggling financially but pretending everything is fine because you don't want people back home worrying about you. It's being surrounded by people every day but still feeling incredibly lonely. And sometimes, you cannot even afford to go home when you miss it.

The relationship eventually ended, but the damage didn't end with it. I became suspicious of kindness, uncomfortable with affection and terrified of disagreements. I sometimes sabotaged good relationships because I was expecting the same treatment I had received before. People always ask why women stay in violent relationships. Sometimes it's not because they enjoy the treatment. Sometimes they're young, emotionally attached, isolated, frightened and convinced that being alone would be worse. I wish we taught young women that loneliness is something you can heal from. Violence is not something you should have to learn to tolerate. What would you tell a girl who is staying in her first abusive relationship because she's afraid of being alone?

During the wedding, the little girl overheard two relatives discussing the family photographs. One said, "At least we have the lighter children in front. The pictures will come out beautifully." The other laughed and agreed. That evening, the girl asked her grandmother something nobody expected. "Shosh, if I become lighter, will they allow me to be pretty in pictures too?" The grandmother went silent. This child had already started associating her skin colour with rejection. And the worst part? Nobody thought they had done anything wrong.

I was horrified. We had met in university, dated for four years and introduced each other to our families. Neither of us had ever heard of a connection between our families. We started investigating. My grandmother eventually admitted that she had given up a baby for adoption decades ago. That baby had grown up in another family. My fiancé's mother. We were both crying. But then my grandmother asked to see his DNA report.

After a few days, one of them finally called. I was so happy I almost forgot how disappointed I had been. She asked how I was doing, then immediately started telling me about a party happening that weekend. Before hanging up, she said, "You should come when you're better." I didn't even know what to say.I wasn't asking anyone to abandon their life for me. I just wanted to feel like my absence mattered.

What hurt me most was what happened later. The girl asked her mother privately, "Mum, am I not beautiful because I'm dark?" Her mother laughed it off and told her not to be sensitive. But this wasn't the first time. At school, people called her names. At family gatherings, relatives compared her to her lighter sister. Even strangers felt entitled to tell her how much prettier she'd look if she were lighter. She eventually started avoiding pictures, using filters that made her skin lighter, and refusing to wear certain colours because she believed they made her look darker. Imagine growing up believing your natural skin is something you need to apologise for?

An African calling another African ugly because they're too dark is one of the strangest forms of self-hate I've ever witnessed. We are quick to discuss racism abroad, but nobody wants to address the colorism happening within our own communities.

The hardest part wasn't even the physical pain. It was being surrounded by pregnant women, newborn cries and families celebrating while she was trying to understand what had just happened to her. People kept telling her, "At least it was still early. You can always try again." One relative even told her to stop crying because she was making everyone uncomfortable. She eventually went home, but she couldn't sleep. Every time she closed her eyes, she remembered what had happened in that hospital room. And then, three days later, she received a message that made everything worse.