Chapter 6: Mock Trial & Public Punishment 2

Abuba stood there, his weathered face a mask of stoic contemplation, watching the scene unfold before him. Sylvia, the woman he had come to know as a coworker and friend, was now at the center of a brutal and humiliating ritual. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, with her striking features and graceful presence that seemed out of place in the harsh reality of Aprico Island. But to Abuba, a 60-year-old man who had endured a lifetime of hardship—born into slavery under colonial rule in the last, lesser-known country in the world to abolish both colonialism and slavery—her physical beauty was not what stood out the most.

What mattered to him was her kindness and humility. Despite the short time they had worked together, just a few weeks, Sylvia had left an impression on Abuba that set her apart from the other aid workers. While they were all good people, driven by a desire to help, they often carried an unspoken air of superiority. They came from wealthy countries, they were white, and they were here on this impoverished African island, doing good deeds for the sake of feeling righteous. Abuba had always resented that attitude, the subtle but unmistakable sense that they were somehow better, more enlightened than the locals they had come to help.

But Sylvia was different. She didn’t carry herself with that same sense of entitlement. She was simply here, honest and open about her circumstances. She was a widow with no money and no work experience, desperate enough to take the only job she could find. Her motives were not cloaked in a veil of altruism; she had taken this position because it was all she had. And yet, there was a sincerity in her that Abuba respected. She was not here to save anyone; she was here because she had nowhere else to go.

Still, there was a part of Sylvia that Abuba found naïve, maybe even foolish. She had eagerly mentioned her hope that the organization would fulfill its promise to send her to an assignment in Spain after a year on Aprico Island. Her excitement was obvious, especially when she talked about it with Saul, her colleague from Spain. To Abuba, it was a reminder that, despite her humility, she still clung to the comforts and familiarity of her own world, her own people, and seemed to look down on life among the impoverished, dark-skinned people of Aprico Island. Abuba couldn’t help but think it was stupid of her to voice such thoughts so openly to the other aid workers, and especially in front of the local guides, all natives of Aprico Island, including himself. She was no different from the others after all, he thought.

As these thoughts ran through his mind, Abuba watched Sylvia being stripped naked and prepared for what he knew all too well was a familiar punishment process. The scene before him was one of the standard punishments that he had witnessed at least half a dozen times before.

He had witnessed this exact punishment countless times before, a cruel ritual that was all too familiar to him because of his older brother, whom he had worshipped growing up. His brother was a gay man, and during the 1980s and 90s, when the government actively persecuted homosexuals, blaming them for the spread of AIDS, this was the punishment they used. The procedure was brutal and dehumanizing. An anal dildo was employed as a grotesque symbol, a reminder to the so-called criminal and the onlookers of the nature of the alleged crime. Forced to stand in an excruciating position, the men had their penis and testicles exposed, hanging vulnerably as they were subjected to relentless strikes.

The method was as calculated as it was cruel. With each strike to the genitals, the man would instinctively thrust his hips back, driving the dildo deeper into his rectum. The pain and humiliation were compounded as the whipping of his buttocks forced him to thrust his hips forward again, exposing his genitals for the next blow. The process was designed to break the spirit as much as the body. Abuba had seen his beloved brother endure this torture half a dozen times, each session leaving him more broken, yet somehow still true to himself. Despite the unrelenting torment, his brother never wavered in his identity, and when he finally passed away from cancer, it was in the arms of the man he loved. Even after all these years, the memory of those punishments still brought tears to Abuba’s eyes.

Now, watching Sylvia face a similar fate, Abuba’s heart ached with pity and dread. He knew firsthand the depths of the humiliation and pain she was about to endure. The addition of the water bucket was a particularly cruel twist, introduced after the government passed a so-called humanitarian law limiting the number of strokes to 15 for a single crime. In response, those administering the punishment devised ways to extend the suffering, like counting strikes as invalid if the victim moved too much or spilled the water, thereby increasing the number of blows. He had seen men, unable to endure the pain and stay still, die from the endless whipping that resulted. As he looked at Sylvia, standing there trembling and exposed, Abuba doubted whether she could survive this ordeal. He felt a deep sorrow for her, knowing that the nightmare she was about to face was far beyond what anyone should have to endure.

While Abuba was lost in thought, the preparations for Sylvia’s punishment had been completed. He looked up to see the white woman standing there, her curvy figure and alabaster skin trembling uncontrollably. Her hands shook as they clutched the bucket’s handle above her head, her knuckles white as she tried to steady herself, but it was clear she was barely holding on.

The first blow landed with brutal force. Gambe swung his bamboo stick with precision, the air whistling as it sliced through, SWIIISH, TWACK! The cane connected with Sylvia’s large, soft breasts, the impact sending a violent ripple through her exposed flesh. The sound echoed in the yard, sharp and unforgiving. Breast caning was a new element even to Abuba; he had never seen it incorporated into this form of punishment before.

Abuba correctly assumed that this idea came either from Tuwme or, more likely, from those bullies, seeing the large, yet beautiful breasts of this white woman.

Simultaneously, Marimba’s bamboo stick came down on Sylvia’s ample, perfectly round buttocks, SWIIISH, TWACK! The pain was immediate and overwhelming, drawing a guttural scream from deep within her, AEEEEEEEEUUUUU! The sound was raw, filled with agony and despair, piercing the silence of the gathered crowd.

The force of the two simultaneous strikes caused Sylvia’s entire body to react violently. Her hips lurched forward from the stinging blow to her buttocks, while the strike to her breasts forced her upper torso to lean back, accentuating the forward thrust of her hips. The dildo embedded in her anus almost pulled out but remained lodged with about two inches still inside her.

This excruciating position left her vulnerable and ready for Matumbo’s next strike with the rubber whip to her plump vulva. However, the overwhelming pain caused Sylvia to bend forward, her hips pushing back inadvertently, driving the dildo deeper into her anus. The sensation was unbearable, a cruel combination of humiliation and agony that was hard to endure. Unfortunately, a large amount of water spilled from the bucket perched on her head.

The onlookers erupted in laughter and mockery, their jeers and taunts adding another layer of torment to Sylvia’s suffering. “Here comes the pussy!” one man shouted. “Oh, she pushed the dildo back in. She must love that thing in her butthole!” another chimed in. The crowd’s cruel amusement only intensified Sylvia’s shame and despair.

Principal Tuwme’s voice cut through the derision, stern and unforgiving. “This one didn’t count. She spilled the water. We start from zero.”

Sylvia’s heart sank. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. The agony she had just endured was to be rendered meaningless. The realization that she would have to endure it all over again, starting from the beginning, was almost too much to bear. Tears streamed down her face as she struggled to regain her composure, the weight of the punishment pressing down on her like a relentless tide.

Principal Tuwme instructed Abuba to refill the bucket from the large water jar that had been prepared nearby. Abuba, with a heavy heart, reluctantly complied, filling the bucket up to about two-thirds of its capacity. He knew this cruel game all too well. It was another so-called ‘humanitarian law’ on Aprico Island—a twisted version of mercy, allowing the bucket to be filled no more than two-thirds of the way, supposedly giving the punished a “chance.” But the definition of ‘humanitarian’ on this island was far from what it meant elsewhere.

As he filled the bucket, Abuba leaned close to Sylvia and whispered, “Hey Sylvia, you must stay still, you can’t spill the water.” His voice was soft, laced with regret and pity for his former coworker, now reduced to this pitiful state.

Meanwhile, Principal Tuwme’s voice rang out with cold authority. “Mrs. Elsworth, please push your hips forward. More, more.” Sylvia, trembling with fear and dread, reluctantly complied. Her body bent like a bow, hips thrust out as far as she could manage. The dildo, now nearly dislodged from her anus, clung to her with just the tip and a bit more still inside, a humiliating reminder of her degradation.

Tuwme continued, his voice unyielding, “Let’s start with Matumbo—genital whipping.”

Sylvia’s entire body trembled in fear, a cold sweat breaking out across her alabaster skin. She was on the verge of fainting, her vision blurring with terror. Yet, even in that moment of overwhelming dread, she couldn’t escape the excruciating awareness of her nakedness. She was surrounded by so many people—her students, townspeople, men and boys who had stopped playing soccer just to watch this spectacle. The humiliation of standing there, her hips pushed out, presenting her hairy crotch for all to see, was almost too much to bear.

Her thoughts raced as she saw Matumbo preparing himself, his stance reminiscent of a baseball pitcher winding up for an underhand throw. He was ready to strike her exposed vulva with that rubber whip, and the anticipation of the pain was almost as unbearable as the act itself. Sylvia’s heart pounded in her chest, a mix of fear, shame, and despair swirling inside her as she braced herself for the impending blow.

Swiiish! Twack!

The rubber whip sliced through the air and landed on Sylvia’s exposed vulva with a sickening crack.

“AEEEEEUUUUUUUUUU!” Sylvia’s scream echoed across the yard, a raw, piercing cry of agony that reverberated in the ears of everyone present. Her body reacted instinctively, her legs snapping together as if to shield her vulnerable crotch, and she bent over, inadvertently driving the dildo deep into her anus.

Even through the searing pain, another sensation broke through—a wave of unwanted sexual stimulation as the dildo was thrust forcefully inside her. The duality of the experience was horrific: the unbearable pain in her crotch was like someone holding a torch underneath her, scorching her tender flesh, while the pressure in her rectum sent a twisted pulse of arousal she desperately tried to fight.

But the pain in her vulva was overwhelming, an agonizing burn that spread through her entire lower body, as though her most sensitive area had been set aflame. The torment was too much. Unable to endure it any longer, she dropped the bucket, the water splashing onto the ground, and instinctively brought both hands to her crotch, rubbing frantically in a futile attempt to alleviate the excruciating pain.

The crowd gasped, a collective intake of breath, followed by cruel laughter.

“Oh oh, she’s in trouble now,” someone jeered, the mocking tone cutting through Sylvia’s haze of pain and humiliation. The realization of what she had done—a direct violation of the rules—sank in. She knew, in her heart, that things were about to get much, much worse.

Principal Kuwme’s voice boomed across the yard, cutting through Sylvia’s sobs. “She dropped the bucket! In addition to not counting this one, I must add 10 more strikes. Each of these punishers will now deliver 25 strokes, starting from one.” His tone was cold, unyielding, as if Sylvia’s suffering meant nothing more than a point to be proven.

Sylvia’s heart sank. The pain from the vulva whipping had been so excruciating that she couldn’t imagine enduring it again, let alone twenty-five more times. The thought of staying still through it all seemed impossible. How could anyone survive this?

Abuba, trying to suppress his own anguish, filled the bucket once more. As Sylvia stood trembling, barely able to steady herself, he gently placed the bucket on her head. She let go of her aching crotch with a whimper, her hands trembling uncontrollably as they reached up to grasp the bucket’s handle on either side.

Abuba leaned in close, his voice a desperate whisper. “You cannot let go of the bucket, you cannot spill the water. This will not end if you can’t do that. You will die.” His words, though meant to encourage, only deepened Sylvia’s despair. She looked at him, her eyes wide with fear and tears streaming down her face. “Please, help me. I can’t ... I can’t do it...” she whimpered.

Abuba’s heart ached for her, but he knew he had to help her survive this. He lowered his voice even more, speaking quickly but clearly. “I know a trick. My brother told me. He endured this many times. When they hit you, don’t move your upper body or your feet—keep them steady, or the water will spill. Instead, move your hips, back and forth, as hard as you can, like you’re belly dancing. Keep your feet on the ground, keep your head steady, just move your hips. That’s how my brother endured it. You can do it, okay? Just focus on your hips.”

Sylvia, her face contorted with pain and humiliation, looked up at Abuba, her eyes filled with desperation and gratitude. Even in her disheveled state, with tears streaming down her face and her body trembling from the pain, Abuba couldn’t help but see the beauty in her. The strength in her fragility, the humanity in her suffering. He was inches from her face, seeing every detail of her anguish, but also the resilience that still flickered within her. She nodded, crying softly, trying to muster the strength to survive this ordeal.

“Hey, Abuba! Get back here, you’re taking too long!” Principal Kuwme’s voice cut through the tense air, snapping Abuba out of his momentary daze. With a heavy heart, Abuba slowly turned away from Sylvia, his eyes lingering on her for a moment longer. He gave her a small, reassuring nod, silently mouthing the words, “You can do it, move your hips.” He hoped his advice, however small, would offer her some way to endure the agony she was about to face.

Principal Kuwme, returning his focus to the task at hand, spoke again, “Okay, Mrs. Elsworth, back to the other position—push your hips back, melons out.” The crude term for her breasts slipped from his mouth unintentionally, a lapse in his attempt to maintain the façade of a formal and legal proceeding. But the truth was, her breasts were indeed large, perfectly shaped, like two ripe melons hanging heavily on her chest, impossible to ignore even in such a grim setting.

Sylvia, trembling violently, obeyed. She pushed her hips back, the thick dildo invading her once more, sliding deeper into her anal cavity. The sensation triggered a cruel mix of pain and unwanted pleasure, a tormenting blend that made her feel even more vulnerable. With her hips pushed back and her chest thrust forward, she bent slightly, presenting her large, yet perfectly shaped breasts, which hung heavily in front of her, swaying slightly with each tremor of fear. She could feel every eye on her, every breath catching in the throats of those who watched, as she prepared herself for the next round of punishment. Her body shook with fear, and her mind teetered on the brink of panic, the horror of her situation settling deep into her bones.

The crowd fell silent, each person wondering if this time, the white woman could endure the punishment without spilling the water. All eyes were fixed on her trembling form.

Swiiish, TWACK! Swiiish, TWACK!

Marimba’s bamboo stick lashed out, striking Sylvia’s plump, quivering buttocks, while simultaneously, Gambe’s stick landed brutally across her large, hanging breasts. The two strikes landed almost in perfect unison, their sharp, cruel impact immediately followed by Sylvia’s agonized scream.

“AEEEEEEEEEEEEUUUUUU...”

Her cry was raw, a guttural sound torn from deep within her, a sound of unbearable pain as her body reacted instinctively. Her hips thrust forward while her chest jerked back, her body forming a tight arc, the pain so intense it distorted her posture into a grotesque bow. But then, amidst the overwhelming agony, Sylvia remembered Abuba’s advice.

She forced herself to stand upright, her body still ablaze with pain. She began to move her hips forward and backward, forward and backward, with all the energy she could summon. The motion caused the thick dildo buried in her anus to slide in and out, deeper and then shallower, with each vigorous thrust. It was as though she was pumping it herself, driven by the desperate need to survive this torment.

In the midst of the burning pain that seared her breasts and buttocks, a wave of intense, unwanted sexual pleasure surged from her anus. The collision of pain and pleasure was overwhelming, sending shockwaves through her body that she could barely comprehend. Sylvia was lost in the chaos of it all, her mind unable to process the whirlwind of sensations assaulting her. All she knew was that she was feeling both—the scorching pain from the blows and the explosive sexual stimulation from within.

But then, amidst the storm of agony and ecstasy, Sylvia realized something crucial—she wasn’t spilling the bucket of water. Abuba had been right. If she stayed upright, kept her legs steady, her upper torso and head still, but allowed her hips to gyrate back and forth, back and forth, she could endure the pain without spilling the water. She had found a way to survive, for now.

Sylvia knew she couldn’t keep this up forever. The relentless pain that had consumed her was finally beginning to dull, just enough for her to notice something she had blocked out while desperately focusing on not spilling the water—the sound of laughter. The cruel, mocking laughter of the crowd.

“Wow, she’s fucking herself in the ass,” someone jeered.

Another voice chimed in, “She must be sex-starved—how could she?”

A woman in the crowd screamed, “Stop that whore! Have you no shame?”

The voices were different, but the theme was the same—laughter, ridicule, mockery. They were all laughing at her. The naked white woman with the big breasts and curvy hips, the woman who had been reduced to this humiliating spectacle.

Only then did Sylvia fully grasp what she had done, what she had unintentionally performed before these people. She had been so focused on surviving, on enduring the unbearable pain, that she hadn’t realized how it looked, how she appeared to the crowd. The horrifying realization crashed over her like a wave, drowning her in shame. She froze, her movements stopping entirely as she stood there, naked and exposed, a black rubber dildo protruding from her anus, between her white buttocks, her mind reeling with self-disgust. She wanted to disappear, to vanish from existence, to die on the spot rather than face this humiliation.

Only Abuba looked at her with pity. His heart ached as he watched her crumble under the weight of the crowd’s cruelty. He was angry at their reaction, remembering his brother and the torment he had endured. But he was just an old man, powerless to stop it, powerless to help her. All he could do was stand by, helpless, as Sylvia’s shame consumed her.