I AM NOBODY'S CHILD PART III

This house had woven bamboo walls, clay floors, and bamboo fences. It stood in a very narrow alley—only motorbikes could pass. The road in front of my house was made of clay, and whenever it rained, it turned into thick mud.

I always felt sad when it rained in the morning because our house would flood, the water rising up to my knees. Every time it rained, my two brothers and I worked together to drain the water before going to school.

We walked to school with our feet wrapped in plastic bags to keep our shoes clean from mud. We used banana leaves as umbrellas because we didn’t have real ones. My father was extremely poor and had no family to help him. He was so poor that he couldn’t even make birth certificates for me and my brother—only my eldest brother had one.

The suffering and torment I experienced didn’t just happen at school; it also happened at home. My mother, my mother’s older sister, and my grandmother tortured me and treated me like their maid. I was only seven years old, but I already had to do all the housework that my mother should have done.

Every day after school, I had to sweep, mop, and wash dishes in three houses—my mother’s house, my aunt’s house, and my grandmother’s house. I never had time or a chance to study or do homework.

If I made a mistake in my aunt’s or grandmother’s house, they would beat me with whatever was nearby—a broom, a stick, or even a piece of wood. If I cried, they would hit me even harder.

At my grandmother’s house, I had to wrap the candied fruits she sold, spending hours doing it without getting a single cent. At my aunt’s house, after cleaning, I had to pluck her armpit hair or her gray hair.

Whenever a guest came to my aunt’s or grandmother’s house and asked, “Who is that little girl sweeping?” they would answer, “She’s our maid.”

Meanwhile, in my own home, I had to sweep, mop, wash dishes, and hand-wash our clothes because we were too poor to afford a washing machine. We cooked rice on a traditional clay stove—we couldn’t afford a gas stove or rice cooker. I had to boil water and draw it from the well, then carry it about four meters away to fill the bath for my mother. We didn’t have a manual or electric pump, so I pulled the water up with a rope, not even a pulley. My hands often bled from drawing too much water.

Then, I had to squeeze and clean the pimples on my mother’s buttocks, and while I did that, she would purposely fart loudly. At such a young age, I already had to do hard, humiliating work that made my body weak, thin, and malnourished.

I never felt the gentle touch of a mother’s hand or the warmth of her love. All I felt was torture, abuse, and curses from her every single day. She truly destroyed my heart and my mind to the lowest point.

When one of my friends once came to my house to play with me, my mother got angry and slapped her. After that, none of my friends dared to visit or be friends with me again.

PART I Click Here

PART II Click Here

PART III Click Here

PART IV Click Here

PART V Click Here

PART VI Click Here

PART VIIClick Here

PART VIII Click Here

PART IX Click Here

PART X Click Here

PART XI Click Here

PART XII Click Here