Yesterday, I had a funny experience. It was avoidable. But, it happened, anyway.
I watched a reel I shouldn’t have. The disclaimer was there. The author let us know it was about domestic violence of some sort. But, I got curious. How bad can it even be? I expected to see some shouting, maybe at the very worst some tugging at collars. Nothing I have heard prepared me for the scene that unfolded. This man was beating his wife. No, he wasn’t just slapping her around, he was hitting her with a hard table tennis racket. Deliberately choosing the hard side and hitting her all over her body as she lay on the floor. At the same time squeezing her throat. Right there, in front of everyone. The little children were screaming – real, gut-wrenching screams that pierced my soul. The young maid was trying to hold things together. Multitasking – pleading with whoever cared to listen, trying to calm the children, begging her host all at once.  The woman’s young sister was also crying and begging, ‘sister, please now’. It was unrivalled chaos. Loud. Violent. Ugly. It also didn’t look like the first time this was happening.

And in the middle of it all, the woman! She could barely struggle. From floor to couch, she was tossed. She looked like she had been put in the drum in a washing machine with intensive settings! I suspect she saw her life flashing before her eyes as she was ‘panel beaten’ by the same man who had sworn to ‘love and cherish.’ She looked – for want of a better word – helpless. As if she had accepted that this was her reality. Like she had contemplated today was her end.
And the man – her husband? Oh, he was completely gone. The rage in his eyes was the kind that forgets humanity. He wasn’t listening. He wasn’t seeing. He didn’t even flinch at his own children crying and begging for their daddy to stop. Begging for their mother’s redemption. His trousers were falling off in the process. His white briefs, in full view. He didn’t care. This mission he was on, he seemed determined to finish!

I hear he’s been arrested.
Good.
But after that, what next?
Because, that reel did something to me. It shook me to the core. Not just for the horror of it all, but for the quiet acceptance I saw in that woman’s eyes. And for the trauma that’s now imprinted in the hearts of those dear babies.

Mama, please hear me: don’t stay where you are no longer safe.
Not for love.
Not for shame.
Not for ‘what will people say’
Not for the kids’
Especially not for the kids.

Because what those children experienced will shape them. No matter how much therapy they get, no matter how much love you pour in after, trauma like that imprints. It’s a kind of warfare their spirits were never meant to fight. And you, mama. Yes, you, have been given the mantle to protect them. To model peace. To show them love that doesn’t come with fists, fear, abuse, or violence.
I know, believe me, I know that it’s not easy to leave. I mean no one goes through all the glitz and glam of a wedding day celebration planning to leave.
There are complexities. Finances to think of. Threats. Guilt. A hope that maybe, just maybe, he’ll change.
But you have one job first and that is to STAY ALIVE.
Live to see another day. Live to heal. Live to raise your children in peace. Live to guide your children along their God-given paths. Live to rediscover the woman God called good before a man ever laid his eyes or hands on. Live.

To the men reading this who may be priding themselves in how firmly they handle their homes.
This is not leadership.
This is not manhood.
This is not love.
And, this is most certainly not God.
You’ve missed it. Completely.

There is no justification (cultural, emotional or spiritual) that can excuse this thing you are doing to your wife. This savagery. This brutality. If you are struggling with rage, with self control, with generational trauma you haven’t healed from, Mister, please go and get help. Decide that it ends with you. That all your forefathers beat their wives into submission doesn’t mean you should tow that path.
Surrender that broken person that you are at the feet of Jesus.
Like we say in my home church, ‘no matter how broken you are, God will fix you’
But, you have to allow Him.
Allow Him deal with what you’ve refused to face.
Don’t let the enemy use your pain to destroy the ones God gave you to protect.

And if you’re a man who has never lifted a hand but you stay silent when your brother does.
Your silence speaks.
It speaks to the woman bleeding and the children crying that their pain doesn’t matter.
Speak up. Step in. Be different. Stop looking the other way. Do something. Say something.
This is not the world God intended.
But it’s the world we are in.
Be different.
Women, stay alive.
Men, be protectors. Not predators.
Church, rise and do more than pray.
Speak. Shelter. Stand.
If you or someone you know is in a violent home, say something. Do something. Call the police. Call Social welfare. Reach out to a trusted church. Send her this post. Stand with her. Don’t just say, ‘it is well, I am praying for you.’
Pray, yes. But also act.

Let’s raise our voices before another reel is made and another innocent child learns to scream in silence.
You are fortified. Not forsaken.
You are loved. Not alone.
You are called to live.
Don’t become another statistic.

If you’re in immediate/constant danger, please call your local emergency services, social welfare, an NGO that handles those sort of cases or a domestic violence hotline in your area. Or at least, speak to someone who can help. Don’t wait. Don’t bother if they laugh or talk about you. Live first. Then fix the shame later. Your life matters to God. Your children’s lives matter. And you still have a future worth living for.