Born with a curse

Sadly, I cannot help but feel neglected by everyone in this planet. Until now, the only thing that has remained constant in Nyamangoro camp like all other camps with albinos is constant increase in number of people with albinism. It will be good, to say, finally, we are living in a community that accept us for who we are simply because we are all born with the same curse. But that, to say the least, does not make our lives any easier considering that all other perceptions and misplaced innuendos remain the same. Earlier this morning, the principal announced that the camp was intended as a temporal stay for 50 people. With the number skyrocketing to 300 people more than the intended number, occupants here have no idea of when they will be free to join their families again. We will have to share whatever is available amongst ourselves. In as much as I have no qualms whatsoever sharing, what I cant seem to comprehend is why we have to live like animals and be treated like second class citizens. It’s sad that we have to constantly deal with discrimination, nepotism, favoritism in a world that has largely embraced globalisation and civility.

The agony of being in this place is not that we do not have enough beds, mattresses, clothes or even food, it’s the psychological torture and the toxic shame planted in our minds since we were born that we are doomed and consigned to a life of misery for reasons beyond our control. Psychologists talk of codependency as good feelings of self validation that lie outside of ourselves and cannot be generated from within; but if you were born in a society where you were not accepted from day one, where do you find this happiness?? Sometimes, I wonder what we did so wrong that we had to be imprisoned in these camps let alone being hunted outside the walls of the camp. Those of us who have been here long enough have come to terms with the fact that seeing our family is something that probably would never happen. We have resigned ourselves to the fate dictated upon ourselves and have no option but hope for the best. The codependency happiness is something that we will never know. I was brought here by Aunt Sarah six years ago and since then; no one has come to visit or to know how I am doing. At times, it feels like they were relieved to know they finally got a place to dump me and at the same time keep their hands clean. I miss home, I miss my people and I wish they did the same.

Stories have to be told or they will die, that is what my grandmother used to say every day before she would tell me one of the oldest stories about how my great grandparents fought for their freedom. My name is Matatizo, I was born and raised in Nyamagana village, Mwanza region in Tanzania and this is my story. It is a story about life, about survival; it is a story about an ache in my heart for the imagined beauty of a life I haven’t had, a life that I had been locked out from simply because I was born different, it is a story about denied freedom in a country that claims to be an island of peace.

I am the first born in the family of… am not sure how many siblings I have now. I, like many other children with albinism, never knew my father. People in my village say I was born guilty of a curse that I have never understood. The only thing I know is my biological father hated me from the moment I popped out of my mother’s womb. He told my mother I was a curse that I was born this way because the gods were angry with her.  Because of that, my mother named me Matatizo which means problems. My father told her to poison me, but my mother said she could never bring herself to do so. So he left her when I was still an infant.

Growing up, I kept wondering what I did so wrong to be born with a curse. If there was a way to make things right, if there was any other way for me to be like the others, I could have embraced the opportunity with two hands. Even today, as a sixteen year old girl, I still wonder if that possibility exists through science. I must confess that should there be a slim chance, I would give anything to have color like other people because I know I can never be happy in this skin. I have spent years trying to accommodate myself but it gets harder as time goes by. I remember how lonely I would feel every time the kids in my village would refuse to play with me or run away from me because they thought I was a ghost. My mother would tell me they were too stupid to know how special I was. There are times when I believed her but there were also many other times when I was skeptical especially on seeing the skeptical look of disapproval from her fellow women. Deep down I formed the notion that she was just being my mother and as much as it was difficult for me it was also difficult for her.

Even though my mother was a very beautiful woman, she spent years trying to get a man in her life after my father left. It is a shame for a woman of her age to live without a man. Not that she never had any suitors; every man told her he could not live under the same roof with a cursed child. It was either them or me, and she kept choosing me over and over again. Then one day, she finally got her prince charming; a man who never cared if I was a curse or not (Or so he pretended). They never got married; they just moved in and started living together as husband and wife. I was happy; finally I had a dad like all the other children in my neighborhood. I subconsciously harbored of being showered fatherly love like all my peers.

They say if you never received love from the ones who are meant to love you, you will never stop looking for it. I never had a father and it was for the very first time I experienced fatherly love. My step father was a good pretender; he treated me like a princess. He bought me toys and taught me how to write and read. He was my light, a father figure I had so much yearned for. Little did I know that a shadow is never created in the darkness but it is born out of light. One day when I came from school, I found him home. My mother had gone to the market to buy groceries. He then called me to his room. Took off my clothes and told me since he loved me so much, he was going to teach me the horror of this life and make me a stronger person. I hate to relive the moments of that day. It was painful and I felt like I was going to die. He then told me what ever happened was to be our secret or else he was going to kick me out of his house.  I was young but I knew it was wrong and dirty.

All I ever wanted was to be loved for who I was, to be accepted because I never chose to be born as an albino but to him I was just a ghost who never felt pain anyway. I wanted so bad to keep his affection, it felt nice to know I had a father but somewhere along the lines my inside became too cold. I hated everything and despised him for I knew all his affections were not honest. My stomach coiled every time I heard his voice, it reminded me of his breathe beside my ears every time he called me to his room or forced me to it when I didn’t want to go in. I cringed with hate whenever I saw other children playing because I knew besides being cursed and a ghost I was also dirty and didn’t have anything in common with them. I was jealous of their freedom, of the fact that they could just be kids and don’t have to harbor secrets that get heavier every day.

Over time, I got desperate. All I felt was pain in my chest and my heart. It was as if I was already buried deep and no one could hear my cry for help. I wanted to tell someone, a friend may be but I had none. I thought of telling my teachers but they too wouldn’t understand. So I went to the only person that I thought would, my mother. But instead, she reacted by sending me away to my grandmother; accusing me of wanting to end her second marriage. I remember her painful words because they cut across my heart like a sharp knife. She told me, perhaps I was really cursed and she would be damned if she let me ruin her life again. I left, confused, full of regrets, lonely and desperate for something I knew I couldn’t have. Someone to hold me and tell me it was going to be okay. I went to my grandmother’s house wondering if I could ever change or stop the curse that has been eating me inside out.

My grandmother was blind, she never saw how my skin was so she never really cared if I was an albino or not. Sometimes I wish all people were blind. At least we would not treat each other differently just because one is born with a different skin color. Even though my grandmother never treated me different, the burden I was carrying from my mother’s house never stopped weighing me down. I could not understand why my step father physically abused me and I was the one to blame for it. The pain of these events was unbearable at other times and I would try to imprison my thoughts hoping to feel normal and clean someday.

I never told my grandmother of what had made me move from my mother’s house to her house. I wanted to forget but at the same time the “why me “questions would never stop nagging me. Why would a father do that to the daughter he claimed to love. Why did I have to be born with a curse? Why would any mother accuse her own daughter of such despicable thing? Too many questions ran through my mind but there was no one to answer. It is so much later I came to learn that my step father was infected with HIV/AIDs and he was advised by a witch doctor that sleeping with a virgin albino could cure him. Knowing the truth can be a curse just as much as being born with albinism because from the time I knew this, I lost a part of me. I lost my ability to trust men and people in general. I became scared of how many people would want to use me to save their lives. It was already a terrifying thing to be a ghost and a curse. Now I was a supposed cure too!!!

Some people think death is the scariest thing on earth, it’s not. Those of us born with albinism could tell you for sure that living is what’s scary. From the moment I learned about the myth of using albinos to cure Aids I no longer felt safe in my own house or skin. I could not fall asleep at night; I was scared of my uncles, of the neighbors, teachers and everyone around me. Every time I slept I had a nightmare. In my nightmares, people would come take me and do the terrible things I was so afraid of. I no longer awoke in the morning refreshed but tired and full of fear. I refused to let my imagination work during the day because all I could think of is how I would have a horrible death anytime just because of some superstitions. Every single night, I would tell myself I had made one successful step toward my grave.  At times, I felt like suicide was the best option. I didn’t want to go through another abuse but then again, I didn’t want to go to hell.

Before I woke up to the brutal world that kept reminding me I was a ghost every time I turned my head, I always thought I was going to be someone important, a chief justice maybe, a pilot or even a president of my country. It felt bad to know my dreams were just dreams, that the possibility of a ghost to be someone important was slim to none. At times I would cry until there were no more tears in my eyes and then I would scream and curse the gods. Other nights, I would pray to whatever god was listening but still I would wake up in the morning and I was still a ghost and the curse I was born with would still be hanging on my neck. There are times that I would wonder if I was ever going to have the life that was intended for me, or maybe this is what was meant for me anyway and I had to make peace with it.

You know, our parents often warn us about taking candy from strange adults but they never warn us about greeting them. In fact they insist on children to be respectful and greet adults all the time. Little do they know greeting strangers can be as dangerous as taking candy from them. Two weeks before I came here I met two strangers on my way home. I was a loner so I used to walk to and from school alone. They called me and since I was being a child I was raised to be, a respectful child I went to them and greeted them. They asked me my age and where I was living. I told them and they Iet me to go. That night before we slept they came for me. Up to that moment it had not crossed my mind that someone somewhere thought part of my body could be used to make a portion that would be used to make them rich. They came knocking on my door. My uncle asked who was knocking but no one answered. He told me to hide under the bed. I was terrified. All the nightmares and possibility of all sorts of things that could happen to me came running to my mind.

Before I knew it, they had broken the door and calling my name, asking where I was hiding. My uncle told them I didn’t live there but they silenced him with a machete on his head. He then fell down unconscious blood flowing on the ground. I could see what was happening from the place I was hiding. I began shaking uncontrollably and sweating and tears flowing out of my eyes. I knew I was going to die, then they went to the other rooms continued with their search and I got a chance to escape. I ran as fast as I could to the nearby forest. I was so scared but I didn’t want to die. I could not stop thinking of my dead uncle. For the next few days I never dared to go home or school, I was in the forest eating fruits and sleeping under trees until Aunt Sara found me when she was going to the stream to fetch water.

People don’t know but sometimes it is easier not to know things. You live with no fear, you are happy. Following these events, I knew my life was in danger. I wish I could undo that night and live a normal life but I knew my life was not going to be normal again. It is at this time that I learned there are superstition beliefs that parts of an albino body could be used to make people rich. How could the gods be so unfair to those of my kind? What did we do so wrong to deserve all this? I kept asking myself. I was not just scared but enraged, angry with all the humans, the gods and whoever was responsible for making me who I am.

After this attempt, it was no longer possible for me to continue living with my grandmother. I had to be taken away. The best option available was Nyamangoro camp for albinos. My aunt Sara brought me here. She had promised she would visit but she never did so. She lied.  Every time I got access to a phone, I would call her but just like my mother she would make promises of coming to see me but she never did. For the past six birthdays, the only thing I wished for, prayed for or even asked for was for them to come and visit me. They both promised they would and never showed up. Sometimes I wonder how they sleep at night. Why is it so easy for them to forget about me yet I have difficulties doing the same?

Every child has a dream; some dream many dreams and others just one dream. While other children dreamt of going to Disney world someday, most of children here at the camp dream of the day they will be reunited with their family and live with no fear. I keep wondering if it is fair to be given imagination of what our lives could be if we were not born different. Some of the children here will never know their parents names or how they look like especially those who were brought here when they were still toddlers. They spend a lot of their time wondering why they are here. They really don’t understand why they had to be separated from their families and they have no idea of how evil, merciless and heartless people outside these walls could be, but at least they will never know the pain of being abandoned by their family. I don’t think they understand the whole concept of family anyway. May be they think the whole world is just made of albinos and few colored people like our principal. It is sad to know that some of us will die inside the camps and none of our relatives will care enough to attend our burial.  

Despite all these, am jealous of these children. They don’t have scars in their hearts yet. They still don’t know to be an albino is to live with fear. Fear of death, fear of skin cancer, of loss of your limbs, of loneliness and isolation, fear of abuse and disease transmission or simply fear of losing your family, not just in the world of flesh and blood but having them disappear inside you. They remind me of my own younger sister who was born before I was moved to my grandmother’s house. She was so little and beautiful. She had a colored skin, more like what people will call normal. When she was born I was so happy, I knew finally I was going to have someone I could play with. Someone who will love me and will look up to me, I was determined to be the best sister in the world, but fate had other plans for me. That was six years ago she must be so grown now, she wouldn’t recognize me if she saw me, perhaps she will think am a ghost if she got to meet me today. I get so jealous of her every time I think of her. She has a family that loves and cares for her. She has a father that would protect her, she has a life and she can reach the future she wants to unlike most of us in these camps who can only dream of such a future.

I never liked my life as a child even though I had a family nor do I like it now. It is as lonely as it was back then. It will be too simple if I said I grew up feeling invisible like how real ghosts are but the truth is I felt visible and totally ignored. In this camp am not ignored but then am in the middle of many lonely souls every soul wondering if this is where it has to be, searching for answers that we might never find.

At times I wonder what the term earthly happiness is. For those of us who never knew happiness, finding it is akin to looking for a needly in a hay of stack.  Will there be a day when we also get to experience what the rest of the world is experiencing? For colored children, growing up was pretty much easy for them. I remember the first day I was going to school; I was so excited about meeting new people. I hoped to find new friends since the ones in my neighborhood did not like me. They thought I was a ghost, they said I would transmit a curse if I played with them. Because of that, I spent a lot of my time playing alone or helping my mother with different chores. When I got to school, my life got even harder, I was the only albino child in my class and no one wanted to sit next to me. I felt bad but what was worse was that, wherever I went, other children would run away. They made fun of me and called me names. I cried so many times but no one seemed to hear my cry, not even my teachers.

A lot of people struggle to be rich, successful or be whoever they were born to be. But for me and most other children in this camp; we struggle for just one thing, our freedom. The day that we will all be allowed and seen equal to other human beings, the day that we will be free to go wherever we want and be whoever we want without worrying that someone somewhere is hunting us and want to chop off our limbs or part of our body. A lot of people might think we are free inside these walls, but we are not. Yeah we don’t have to run every time we see a stranger following us, or lock the door of our houses as soon as we get it or sleep with a machete under the bed but no one can be free inside the cage. No matter how big the cage is.

It will be easy to end my story by saying I am looking forward to the day that I will be a free human being and make all my dreams come true, but am not. Not that I do not believe that such a day exist but I know like my grandfather I will not live to see the day of our freedom because for four years I have been on ARVs I don’t think I have a lot of time left on this earth but I hope my story contributes something toward the fight for the albino future generations. 

All beings want to be happy, free and loved yet very few know how to. It is sad to know people could create myths that could be used to hurt others. Identity is a prison one can never escape; it defines us, it makes us who we are but it should not be used to discriminate people. We are all human beings and just as much, none of us chose to be a male or a female. In the same breath, we also do not choose the color of our skin or our identity. There is nitrogen in our DNA, calcium in our teeth, iron in the blood flowing through our veins and our hearts longing for love and affection. What color our skins are does not make us ghosts, it makes us different.

There is more to life than the appearance of a person; there is more to life than being rich. The difference between a curse and a blessing lies within our hearts. It is easier to look at something different as a curse than a blessing because we are afraid of change. There is beauty in everything and one only has to look closely to see it. And if we let our hearts tell us what to do instead of or minds, then no one would want to see an albino being butchered like an animal or participate in the crime against humanity just because this person is different. I just wish everyone could see it.