My Story It is the job of a woman to obey blindly. We are all but properties, properties of men. We are also sex slaves. These are words not coined by me but all came from my mother’s mouth Words told to a 12 years old just after I was raped by my horny father. “You have to learn how to bear these things”, she said. “It only gets worse”, she said The only thing to my name is a high school certificate As property, I was exchanged for dowry. Well, not a full dowry since I was already defiled goods. Ironically, I was shamed for this by my family knowing it was not my fault. But thanks to my mother lurking around, always there to give uplifting words like “it is a man’s world. It is our job to protect the men of the house” As a married woman at age 17, I had no friends. My constant companions were the harsh words from my husband and the mocking noises of the pests. Reading was not an option. My husband would say that reading corrupts a woman’s hearts and deviates her from her true existence. Being such a rebel, I was never satisfied with my lot in life. My mantra was “There has to be more to this life”. But did nothing about it. I lived with an abusive and a cheating husband for 5 years with no children. It is not that I could bear children. In fact, I was too fertile. I can’t count the number of times I was pregnant and I can’t count the number of times those pregnancies were beaten out of me. But as a woman, I had to take the blame. I had to agree I was barren. Things all changed when I was locked out of my own home for 4 hours because my husband’s female visitor was uncomfortable with my presence. That fateful evening, I cooked weeping my eyes out. It was typical of my husband to throw tantrums. But that was not a typical evening for me. I was in a rage. My husband was too irritated by me that he tried slapping but that was his mistake. He ran into my knife. Yes, he ran into my knife10 times. I watched him bleed to death on the cold hard tiles. I watched him take his late breath as he tried calling my name, only to say “AD…”. I have never felt so free than I felt that day. But here I am in a court room with my fate yet again being determined by men. Am I murder? Yes, I am. Did he deserve it? Will I ever feel free? But most importantly, will you the jury find be guilt?