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Chapter 1.

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Lost.
In a world that seem to have everything figured out, that seem to have everyone figured out it was so easy for one to get lost, to be lost.
        The sky was dark even at Four in the late afternoon. The clowds closing in to hold on to each other for support. It was a mutual understanding. The clowds. They were heavily pregnant and ready to deliver any moment. They needed to support each other, so what better way than to close in together. Hence the dark. One drop. Then another and then another and soon there was water everywhere. Sweeping the earth clean. This was the beauty of rain. It falls when we least expect it but when needed the most. The dirty dry earth needs the tears of the sky, of the clowds to clean off its mess.
        The voice of the kids were like music to every old soul who had faced life. Their laughter ringing in your ears as you are transportted in time. Hawwa sat still and gazing on. She looked towards the kids but was not actually seeing them. How could she? She was in her own little world. The rain was pouring heavily now on the soil of Hawwa's village and so was her tears. It was no competition but if it were one then it would've been a tough one. Real tough. Her heart was heavy and just like the sky she poured it all out. She cried without worry, without fear and without care. Maybe it was beacuse he was away from home or maybe because she was alone in her room. Her small heaven when she is in it alone. Whatever it was it did her good.
        Life was not fair. It never was and never would be. At least to her it never would be. Growing up in a village as a kid was a blissful experiance. One full of play and amusement well only when it rained, anything after that or before was well the same. A village life was a different life all together. You are never a child. Even before you start talking you are expected to be mature. To be obdient and submissive. That is all there is to village life. Submission. To your parents. To your family. To the society. But, a village woman has it worst. Men were allowed to break free from this submission and there would'nt be any problem. But, a woman would be damned to even try. Why else would Hawwa be crying. Women in the village dont live. They breath but do not live. They submit. That is all there is to it. They submit.
        "Is the food ready?" And just like that her tears were gone. All clear. She was thankful her back faced him else she really did not want to think what could happend. With a meek yes she made her way out to serve her husband like a good submissive wife would do. Her heart was beating real fast in her chest now and she knew why. Three years of marriage and each time her heart beats this fast she fear it would breakfree from its case.
        Hawwa made her way to him. Slow but steady steps. She did not want to miss a step. She placed the silver bowl on the mat that she had laid out before she left. It was her duty to do so and that is all she has ever done. The bowl was big enough to accomodate a full family but the amount of food in it was enough for just him. Not one person but just him. It was normal to have his food in such a big bowl. It was typical for a village person. She sat there silently and waited. She had her food with the rest of the household a while back so it was only fitting that the head of the household have his share.
        Head of the household. A tittle that carries a lot of meaning only not in Hawwa's part of the world. In her world the heads demand and never give. They demanded food when all they provide you is the grains everything else is not their problem. They demanded respect and submission whilst they treat the lady like a maid. Her father had made it clear to her at the prime age of her youth. 'Women are created to serve their men' and there is no doubt her father was right. Well at least to Hawwa he was although she really could not accept it. They demanded children but never makes love. They just demanded everything. To them that was normalcy at its peek.

It was silent everywhere as the rain had ceased a long time back and the night had finally decended upon the little village. The kids were tucked in bed and the old grandparents of the house were asleep too. Other members of the family were in too maybe asleep or maybe going through exactly what Hawwa was going through. The only difference is they accepted. They concented and at some point they loved it. But not Hawwa. She can never accept her predicament as her fate. She can never accept him. She can never love what he does. Never before and never would.

In the darkness of their room Alassan held on to the hand of Hawwa to wake her up if she was asleep by any chance. Only that she was yet to. How could she when she laid in bed less than Ten minuites ago. She was tired. Really tired. Her co wife was away to visit her family in a neighbouring village for almost two weeks now living all the responsibility on her. She cooks everyday and do all the cleaning alone. She wakes up early to make breakfast and prepare the necessary ingidiants for the day's lunch and dinner. Grains of coose to turned into powder and rice that needed handpicking. Not forgetting to go to the garden after lunch hours to make ends meet. It was her duty to make proper food out of the grains so she needed any little money she could get anywhere. She was tired really. All she wanted was a goodnight sleep to help her rise early.

"Turn arround" came the deep manly voice of her husband. He was not a huge guy. He was quite thin to be honest but he sure was tough. Holding onto her rapper he yanked it off. He laid her flat on her back and positioned himself atop her. Hawwa held onto the bedsheets tightly anticipating what was to come. It has always been this way. She did not like it. Did not enjoy it at all. He was not looking at her. He was not inetrested in her face or anything else. He said nothing and just focused on satisfying his lust. He would not listen to the heartbeat that was loud enough. Or the mufle sound of cries. Maybe that was what excited his lust. Those sounds. He must have mistaken it for moans of plessure but Hawwa was far from enjoying herself. It was only him. Just him. There were no words or kisses. It was just thrusting like a rapist. They might have been married but this was no different from rape. It was easy to get into her. The rapper was the only barrier no other undergarment. She was not ment to go to bed wearing them. That is what she was taught before she got married and that was a lesson she implemented. The pain in her heart was too much for her but she had no escape. This was her life and she had to live it. His dirty hands crept onto her legs when he had gotten himself confortable. He slid open an entry. He did not have to force it as Hawwa was still. So used to it that she just lets it happend. With each entry she finds her soul screaming in pain. In agony. Her soul was on fire. She did not ask for this. She did not want this. But here she was laid straight like a log under her husband who was satifying himself whilst she was losing herself. Was it ment to be this way. Was there not anything to life than this. Same old routine. She kept quesioning but there is only so much question an iliterate mind can ask. So she just lets everything happened like any village woman. She gave in. Not accepted. No that is something she can never do. But the world did not have to know that. Alssan did not have to know. So she lets it like everyother time his lust showed up she lets him.

'Why did you force me to marry him Ba' a question only asked when he was atop her.

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