Scarred Beauty

She has two holes, one in each ear. I couldn’t consider them piercings because they didn’t have that delicacy to them, that small simplicity that beauty calls for. No, these were made roughly without thought or care. They weren’t centered, they weren’t dainty, they were never meant for beauty; they were made for survival. They were not piercings; they were two holes that saved her life.
Her name was Teddy, and these small holes were the only thing that kept her from the pain of rape. In Uganda once a child’s blood is shed they are considered impure. The simple act of piercing her ears allowed Teddy to keep her virginity, which allowed her to keep her future.
In maintaining her virginity she was able to continue to pursue her education. She was still allowed to maintain the childhood gift of dreaming. Teddy dreams of being a doctor, yet without purity she is bound to the stereotypical roles of women, and forced into sexual acts. It is a constant threat she will spend her whole life avoiding. A threat I cannot protect her from. A threat I can only make known to the world, a threat she begged me to, “teach to the world.” In return I received a lesson in love and human resilience.
As Teddy walked me around her small village she taught me the smells, and the sounds. While she spoke I studied her face until I knew every scar and imperfection. As I slowly learned to differentiate the smell of hopelessness from the damp red earth, I learned the story behind each imperfection.
The pink scar that stood out so vibrantly against her black butter skin was from the pressure of a grown man’s fist striking her. The permanent splash of scars down her left arm were reminders of hot oil scorching her after refusing to submit to her stepfather’s sexual demands. And her small ring finger unable to bend, bludgeoned by a police officer in a random assault while she sat in a hospital waiting for her malaria stricken mother.
I traced the bone and crushed knuckle with my own fingers until I had memorized the exact contours. It was a beauty I had never seen before. It was raw human beauty. It was the physical embodiment of evil, yet the callused bone proved the resilience of humanity. As if by telekinesis it was in that moment she grabbed my hand and told me, “We will always heal; they can’t take the dreams and the stories.”
Then she smiled the most beautiful smile. It was full of strength and genuine determination to achieve greatness. I realized those two holes were the incarnation of beauty. Off-centered and torn it was healed imperfection that maintained my faith in humanity. Callused, burned and scared this young woman sits in a small red dirt village, made damp with the smell of despair, smiling. She continues to dream turning pain into purpose, and in my eyes that is true beauty.