THE LONG READ
me. It was my first time with a man.
It hurt me a lot. The next day, I walked
with pain in my vagina. I got pregnant.
I wanted to abort with nitric acid and
bleach.
Mama caught me with the liquids in
my hands. She promised that she would
take care of the baby. I believed her. My
female friends advised me not to believe
my own mother.
My mother swore that a first preg-
nancy was sacred; that I shouldn’t abort
because I could die or wind up sterile
forever. And she went on: ‘A woman
without children is not a woman. A
woman without children is a bad woman.
We are not like the white women who die
without giving birth, disobeying God.’
I gave birth by caesarean. The agree-
ment with my friend fell apart; our
friendship as well. He failed me. I really
hated him. At first, my mother and
grandmother took charge of taking
care of my first child; they were very
happy. Now I understood everything.
Their happiness now was to do with the
first time they discovered me making
love to a girl. They beat me; her, too,
my girlfriend. My grandmother never
explained to me why it was bad to make
love with another woman. She only said
that what I had done was not good, that
it must never be repeated and that my
grandfather couldn’t be told about it. He
would kill me.
When I broke off with the father of my
first child, I had to bring another man
home to stop the rumours. Grandmother
and mother said that being a single
mother was shameful; a bad woman and a
bad mother who condemns her offspring
to be bastards. I decided to try things
with another boy, to see how it went. At
home, everyone was happy.
I didn’t dare to be with a girl, either
openly or in secret. What shame I felt!
And this boy, the father of the second
child – I didn’t bring him home until
after I gave birth prematurely, at just six
months. My mother met this boy at the
hospital. Suddenly, my family took a
curious liking to him. The baby was in an
incubator for two months.
The boy treated me well. I hated him
a lot. With him I realized that I would
always love men as people, but not in bed.
With the second child came marriage.
Mama and Grandma decided that only
sluts, bad women and bad mothers, had
children by different fathers and without
a husband. That I would bring indecent
habits to the family, like the white women
of the Spanish Co-operation Agency, all
of them spinsters. With a wedding, the
problem was solved.
I went to live with the father of the
second child. Over time I learned to love
him for the money. Mama told me that
when it came to men, one had to love
their money. I loved in that way and
every time he gave a lot of money to my
family, Mama adored him.
The boy gave me everything that
women said a man offered: money,
money, money. With him I never had an
orgasm, just money. While I was still with
him, I met my current partner. She is a
woman and we’ve been living together for
seven years.
I had children because they happened.
Now I know that, for my family, this was
for me to be a woman and to stop being
a lesbian. I am 27 years old and have
four kids. I don’t love any of them. I hate
them. I hate them a lot. I hated condoms.
My mother told me that I shouldn’t be
like the barren white women, women
whose countries manufacture condoms.
During my marriage, my family con-
tinued helping with the children. I could
see them. Now I can’t see the children.
They’ve been taken away from me.One day I went home without warning
and found my husband in bed with
another woman who was giving him a
blow job. I was angry, but it didn’t hurt
me; deep down, I didn’t like him, I didn’t
love him. And I didn’t return to his home.
With my current partner everything
began well (in secret, of course). I told my
sister, in secret. She is my sister; I had no
other way to pour out my heart. She told
Mama. Mama brought me to the police.
Crime: ‘My daughter has told her sister
that she has had an orgasm with another
woman.’
Do you know what? I never had an
orgasm again. In my adolescence, I went
with girls and the orgasms were guar-
anteed. Then men came into my life,
thanks to my family. Goodbye to my
orgasms, until I returned to sleeping
with girls. Well, I don’t know how to say
it: when you’re young, sex is something
mechanical, but when you’re older you
enjoy it more. It was that experience that
I shared with my sister, speaking with
her. You know, right? Everything turned
out wrong.
I got a call from a landline. When I
answered it, I realized it was a man. The
police! Oh, God! The police told me that a
female friend in trouble had asked me to
call. He gave the name of my best friend- of course, my mother knew her – so I
went rushing off. If only I hadn’t gone.
When I arrived in the Public Disclo-
sure Room of the Central Police Station
of Bata, I saw my mother. Everything
changed. I explained that my current
partner was just my friend. I didn’t
confess. They threatened to beat me with
50 lashes if I didn’t corroborate my moth-
er’s version.
The police commissioner came
right away. His name was Lucas; I will
never forget his face. He ordered me to
be set free, that the State would not be
66 NEW INTERNATIONALIST
And it hurt. My hands, my head, my heart cried out
as he placed himself over me. It was my first time
with a man. It hurt me a lot. The next day, I walked
with pain in my vagina. I got pregnant. I wanted to
abort with nitric acid and bleach