The sun was scorching my already tanned back. Although it shone brightly on that fateful Sunday, the sun's brilliance and energy had been lost on me. It was getting late, I had to hurry up. A strong sense of urgency had numbed my ability live the moment.

 “This needs to be done in an hour,” I said to myself.

The cassava was taking too long to cook. The soup had just started boiling. I had Jollof to finish too. But the breeze had refused to waft anywhere close to my coal pots. This wasn’t working for me. I picked the heavy coal pots to the middle of the compound house to get enough gentle wind to quicken the cooking.

“Why do you always look so serious when you are cooking?” my friend Abena asked me in her gentle voice.

Her question stirred me a little. I didn’t know how to answer her.

“I’ve got scars at my back,” I replied, the words barely a whisper.

The scars at my back, the ones I speak to Abena about, are deep wounds that won’t heal but pushed me going. I didn’t tell her this.

I adjusted the coal pot in the direction of a faint breeze that had lifted my blouse. The soup had almost finished cooking. This will work, I was hopeful.

The sun was still hot, though. I felt a sweat run down my spine and almost at the same time a gentle breeze blew in my sweaty face, evoking the memory of a bitter experience one evening at Akosombo where I once stayed with my aunt. A decade old experience that will never leave me – like the scars at my back.

---

 It was the end of another tired day at the market. My aunt and I had just returned from selling vegetables at the market. I was looking all dusty and drained but I had to prepare Banku. Even though I was exhausted but I could not think it. My mind was overpowered by the task to work as settled down to cook.

Although there was a more conducive space for cooking, my aunt always prefers I use a small space right in front of our door; where I could topple over the flight of stairs leading that led to the ground floor. But I always obliged. I had no choice.

 As I sat down and began stirring the Banku, she came over to inform me I was not seated like a proper lady. But I kept wondering how I would sit as I knew I could fall off the stairs I was not careful.

She kept ordering me to sit well – like a cultured lady – without telling me the exact way she wanted me to sit. My young mind was confused and tired; I couldn’t relate to her. That was where she yanked the stool from underneath me. She sat down and continued what I had started.

As patted my buttocks to dust off the dirt that had formed with impact on the floor, she promised me I wasn’t going to taste that food. And she kept to her word. 

I watched her finish her meal. She threw 2000 cedis (now 20 pesewas) at me to go get kenkey and fish to eat. But as turned to leave, I felt a stroke at my back.

I quickly picked the money and walked out of the house not because I was hungry but because I wanted to leave her presence. I walked towards the night market, my knees wobbly. As the physical and emotional pain surged deep into my soul I paused, sat on a pavement and wept my heart out. The stroke of pain and other lashes dealt me by life has left deep scars. Scars I hide under my beautiful clothes; scars at my back.

“Wow! We made it right on time,” Abena said with enthusiasm, bringing me back from my flashback. I smiled back at her, happy I fought time and won. I finished all three dishes.

Indeed the scars at my back took me out of the relaxation mode and prepared me for a winning chance against life’s challenges.

The scars at my back won’t make me rest on my back because it will cause more pain. The scars at my back won’t let me lie on my back for things to go wrong. They made me the strong woman I am today.

In case you have had a few whips at your back, don’t worry if it hurts. Lashes are meant to hurt but guess what if you are strong enough to bear them, they will definitely leave a scar – a proof that you passed the test.

God is a jealous God, and He won’t place where it will draw you away from him.

And O! Talking about physical lashes...well I have those too. Scars caused by lashes with belt hooks, wires and canes at my back. What about you?

Miss Maiden. S. Hackman