Caffie Ismael was battered and bruised more often than not. The man she loved and with whom she hoped to spend the rest of her life was her abuser. Unfounded jealousy and suspicion were the foundation for instant beatings, gorjettes, slaps, kicks, and any other physical contact with her body.
One day when she had decided to stand up to him, and threatened to call the police, he chased her with a cutlass. Living in close proximity to his mother’s house Caffie ran there for refuge – hiding under the bed.
Although some of his family members chastised him on occasion, for his actions, little changed. That was when Caffie decided she had taken enough beatings and had to leave. The welts and bruises all over her body, the choking and passing out had finally become too much.
In 2001 Caffie was on a one way ticket out of Saint Lucia – after five years of beatings.
Now living in the U.S. she is part of an organization which counsels and assists battered and abused women.
For International Women’s Day, Caffie encourages women in abusive relationships to find a way out, since staying guarantees that the abuse will continue, or maybe even worse.
As part of her continuing therapy she has taken up writing short stories and poems about her abuse, as a way of showing the methods employed by abusers and to issue a beacon of hope for women in the same circumstances. She shares one of her writings…
IF ONLY I WOULD TALKYou said you love me when I was at the tender age of 17I thought you were the one for meYou were my world and in my eyes you could do no wrongYou said you loved meIf only this girl would talk.Your fists got to know me very wellThey left imprints on my faceYou dragged me all over the room, by my hairYou said you loved meIf only this girl would talk.Your hands almost squeezed the life out of meStruggling to breathe and get loosePunches to my stomachYou said you loved meIf only this girl would talk.You finally let go, and left me laying there…like a dogLike nothing happenedMe gasping for air, in tears, in pain, in shameScreaming I love you… I love youHow could you do this to someone you loveSomeone, carrying your unborn sonYet you say you love meIf only, I would talk