She is Me, I am Her

Over the last few days, gut-wrenching stories of violence against women and children have surfaced. Yes, rape and abuse have always been a problem for our country… but the incidents that have come to light in the past few days have made it glaringly clear… we are under siege. From townships to suburbia, from college hopefuls to working moms… all women are at risk. #AmINext.

As the Church, we need to take a stand. As a collective, we must be swift to recognize abusive tendencies in our congregations and step in to protect women and children. We cannot hide perpetrators in the name of ministry, and we certainly cannot be silent.

As Christians, we have a two-fold responsibility. We must take this battle to our knees and pray for our country. And we must also use our voice in our communities to create awareness, to counsel, to be a safe haven for victims and to condemn the violence.  

The message from our pulpit must be clear. An attack on women and children is an attack on the Body of Christ. 

I wrote this poem after Cheryl Zondo’s testimony in the rape trial of Pastor Timothy Omotoso. The poem is not specifically about her or the case but about all women and children who have survived the brutality of rape and then have to face an accusing society. 

As a pastor, as a mother, as a woman… I will not be silent anymore…

……………………

I hear her screaming, 
She is bleeding, 
her thighs bruised
while she stands accused…

They said she asked for it
they scrutinized her dress, the fit
He said her breast heaved
like she was in need
A need he satisfied, 
it didn’t matter if she cried…
Her drunken slur was an open invite
although she squeezed her legs tight

He left her lying there, 
from her waist bare,
His pleasure dripped, 
as he pulled up his zip

It’s not a big deal he said, 
Stop making it more in your head
she grabbed her stained panty
and left before anyone could see

In the courthouse they stared at her modest skirt
and accused of her playing the flirt
They called her a liar, a slut, a hoe
Nobody cared that she yelled ‘NO’

I sit in the courthouse as I watch her cry
She is me, I am her, we must testify.
We cannot be silent
dying in beds soaked in violence

Mothers broken and battered
babies in shallow graves shattered
their blood flow crimson
death without reason… 

I hear them screaming, 
They are bleeding, 
thighs bruised
yet they stand accused…