THERE are situations that occur in our lives that are quite difficult to just divulge, to indiscriminately disclose, such painful, heart-rending inner personal events, to the readership of any news media but, then, we need to share, learn and understand, that life can at times, be unpredictably painful.
In 2009, I had been living with a lady, whom I met about six years earlier who had two young daughters from her previous relationships. I moved in with this lady in Kabwata residential area in Lusaka; her children were practically very young (kids).
The elder one, who was about seven years old, was openly repulsive towards me, while the younger one, aged three years, upon meeting, embraced and embranced me. I deeply adored the mother, and was passionate to create a happy and fair family with her. We were determined to build a happy family; we learnt to live through our problems. The girls grew older and ultimately addressed me as papa (daddy).
Somewhere, along the way, I got money, invested it, had a car and moved places. We moved to Emmasdale and I happily took extra care of the girls, providing for whatever needs; cooked meals, washed their clothes without any misgivings. They were like my own and I never segregated or showed resentment towards my girls. Actually, very few people knew they were my step kids.
We had another child around 2008, and, although I was then unemployed, I continued taking care of my wife and my daughters. The elder one remained aloof and somewhat stubborn to both her mum and me, but we refused to give up on her, thinking she would realise one day.
Events were to change my belief, though. Things began emerging where, at times, the elder daughter could fabricate stories of me beating the younger daughter or denying her silly things like sweets, money, snacks and so on. But I always ignored these quite insulting tales, always assuring myself that eventually, they would evaporate.
I was totally misconceived. And so, around 2009, after having lived with my wife and daughters for about six years, on one working day, I left home to join my friends at a bar I was then operating. I was barely there for an hour when my visibly angered wife stormed the bar and pulled me out without any explanation. Shocked, I followed her up to home. The wife never behaved disrespectfully towards me in my friends’ presence and so I was worried.
Upon reaching home, she asked, monstrously, and I recall, “What happened?”  “To what?” I responded. Then between sobs, she told me, my elder daughter, was insinuating that I had had sexual intercourse with her!
Shocked, humilated and speechless, I couldn’t believe I was hearing this. I did an immediate, quick mental search of my activities. My wife informed me later that my daughter insisted, I could not recall because I was so drunk the previous Saturday.
Intoxicated or not, surely, this incident was not making sense; my memory was intact, but why could I not recall this particular sexual incident?  I felt sick, hopeless and despondent. In dire desperation, to smoothly solve this similarly delicate, painful and family- shattering dilemma, I rushed my daughter and wife to Emmasdale Police station.
Determined to clear myself and make my wife who was now insidiously beginning to believe my daughter’s insinuations, I personally presented the case at the Police inquiries.
Our statements were recorded and a medical request was sanctioned. We returned home, amid a hostile atmosphere with neighbours and some friends having apparently been briefed on this debacle, through distorted, baseless sources, gathered at my home! I sorrowfully watched my family disintegrate within hours.
Medicals were conducted and the results indicated that, my daughter had her hymen damaged; a sign she’d actually had sexual intercourse with someone. Conclusively, this process indicated that my daughter had timely engaged in sexual activities. The question, however, was, with who? Who, but the accused.
I left the University Teaching Hospital (UTH) desperately, dejected, spiritually paralysed and emotionally drained.The wife having lost the little patience she had stored up, physically attacked me and aimlessly hurled  insults at me.
I hopelessly and let her vent her vitriolic anger and disappointment; what more could I say? I instantly lost everything-my daughters, friends, a home in split seconds. In short, I’d become a pariah, you could say.
My innocence questioned, I began contemplating committing suicide, for I wasn’t going to spend years in jail for something I did not do. Involuntarily, I picked up the Bible, and began reading, calling upon the Lord to guide me, and answer my many questions. But why would my daughter do this to me?
As I waited for the police at my mother’s home, I cried for the love I had for my daughters, again, I did an honest analysis of the whole week’s activities, but still could not recall my alleged sexual encounter, with, of all the people, my own daughter. Less so not even with the wife.
After one week, a friend, informed me the police were still investigating the matter. Meanwhile, some women had gone to protest to police, for not arresting me. They were sent away.
After three weeks, my tearful, sorrowful wife came to inform me that my daughter had confided in several church women about her sexual encounter with someone- her apparent boyfriend- and confused and worried about becoming a mother, was forced by a friend of her’s to use me as a scapegoat.
Fate, hurt or absolute disregard to personal respect, I cried, hated everything about living. I was traumatised. The wife and children were devastated, their sad faces drpped with tears never to dry. I reluctantly moved back home with my family, but with devastated demeanour. I forbade my daughters from entering my bedroom and never allowed them to play games with me. My methods, I know, are bound or destined to drive my daughters further away, but then I have a history, a precedent, and I’m not taking any chances.
It’s now five years since that harrowing episode, but memories of that hurtful event still linger, and feelings of failure in my duties as a parent still gravely hurt; the trust I had built with daughters is forever destroyed. Still, I persevere to love my dear girls and wish to see them grow to adulthood.
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