CHAPTER 1 : Prelude

Everyone has a story. The madman has one. I have one too.

Let me tell you who I am.

They call me Milie, which is the name my mother gave me. I don't know where she got it, but it's a name I like very much. A name that I would invent or give myself if my mother didn't give it to me.

I have a mother but I don't have a father. My father is not dead, he must still be alive according to what my grandmother told me. It sounds like I'm a bastard daughter; if I have to put it that way. My mother and I used to live under the same roof as my grandmother. I didn't have the chance to know my grandfather. This means that my grandfather soon joined his fathers, leaving his wife and my mother behind. We managed together, my grandmother and my mother and me. Sometimes it was hard for us to find something to break our hunger at night before going to bed. Sometimes we couldn't even light the kerosene lamp because there was no kerosene. Sometimes we even ate gari for a whole day. Sometimes, we even ran out of gari and we looked at each other. It was in this atmosphere of life that I grew up.

One day, I saw my mother packing her bags. I didn't know where she was going. Meanwhile, I was nine years old. I knew absolutely nothing about life. When I called my mother and asked her where she was going, she told me she was traveling. I cried all night because I didn't want to live away from her. Living with her had always been a dream of mine. Despite our miserable condition, my mother knew how to give me joy. Grandma, on the other hand, was always scolding me. It seemed like I was the bane of their existence. But my mother was always there to give me joy in my heart. And since she was getting ready for a trip, I could already see my life in danger. I had been taken out of the school in Le Blanc because I could not afford it.

My mother had left that day despite my cries. To calm me down, she slipped a hundred franc coin into my palm and said: "My dear, don't cry; I'll come and get you tomorrow". And as stupid as I was, I believed my mother.

Who could imagine a single little bit of lie in this beautiful sentence of my mother. I took that lie as truth and hoped for it all day the next day.

My mother had played a dirty trick on me. She had left me with my grandmother to go get married. It was two years later that I found out. During those two years, I had grown more. On my chest, I had two small breasts. I liked those breasts very much because men had started to chase me because of them. Sometimes I enjoyed going for a walk. Only I knew how many men were chasing me. I was in good shape; yes, I had a big butt. These men didn't care too much about my breasts. My beauty and the two mountains I had behind seduced and attracted them and they were dying for it.

Men started to ask me out on dates. I never honored these appointments because I knew who I had as a guardian. Despite my secondary character changes, my grandmother hit me like a little girl.

At first, I put up with my grandmother's whims all the time, but when I got tired of it, I started to disrespect her because I thought I was already big enough and she had to look at me with the eyes of a big girl. When she sends me out to buy something, I come back at the time my boyfriends let me out. When she tries to call me names, I call her names too because I was already a big girl who should be given some respect.

Since I was twelve years old, my grandmother was afraid to approach me for correction because I remember the day I threatened her and told her that if she ever touched me with her pencil, I was going to knock her to the ground and deprive her of both her legs.

Who would dare to become easily handicapped in their own room? Maybe you readers, but my grandmother, no. So it was from that day on that my grandmother began to shun me and would rather stay in her corner than be fooled by a granddaughter who had failed to learn.

This year, I am one year older. With my thirteen years, I became even more beautiful and this time, God pumped my breasts a lot and they became bigger than before. This time I don't like to deal with kids anymore, those little ones who don't have a motorcycle or a car. When you're on foot and you call me, I don't answer. You have to be on horseback or else, phew.

My mother, since she left to come back for me the next day, has never set foot in the house where she was born; this house built by her late father. My grandmother calls her often and it is on the phone that she and I talk. When I asked her one day what country she was in, she told me she was in Ghana. But I never believed her because my mother can lie all day long.

The more I grew up, the more unbearable I became. I no longer respected my grandmother. Looking at myself in the mirror, I was proud of the beautiful grapefruits that God had taken care to put on my chest. I admired my breasts so much that I wondered what effect they would have on the soul of the first man I showed them to. My breasts were beautiful, frankly.

And since I was becoming unbearable from time to time, my grandmother called my mother and asked her to come and get me or I would rot.

And it's true, I wanted to start rotting because I hadn't started yet. The hot guys in the neighborhood wanted to start pussing me.

That's how my mother came to pick me up with all my luggage to take me to her new husband, my future new husband.