Batilana Elvira

Between Two Shores

An Autobiographical Novel

“There are paths that are built by walking,

and wounds that become compasses.”
Foreword

This book was born from a voice — my own — that spoke without a
filter, one ordinary evening, as though words had been waiting too long
in my throat. This is not a perfect story. Nor is it a sad one. It is simply
mine: with its gaps, its mistakes, its betrayals, and its unexpected lights.

I am not trying to be a hero. I am trying to be honest. And if these

pages find an echo in someone's heart — someone who grew up too fast,
who loved too hard, who prayed in silence — then they will have meant
something.

— Batilana Elvira

✦✦✦
Chapter I — The Child Who Could Not Keep Still

I was always too big for the spaces people gave me. As a little girl, I
was what people call extroverted — but even that word is too gentle for
what I really was. I could not keep still. My body wanted to be
everywhere at once, my mouth spoke before my mind had time to think,
and the world felt like a permanent invitation to explore.

Then we moved to a new neighbourhood — my father, my mother,

and me. New neighbourhood, new school, new life. But at home,
something was wrong. My parents no longer got along. Arguments had
replaced conversations, and the silence between them was heavier than
any shouting.

It was in that context that I met my neighbour. She was the same
age as me, and that was enough for us to become inseparable. My best
friend. Or so I believed.

✦✦✦

At school, the other children had things I did not — long, silky hair,
colourful clothes, a certain glow I could not name. I felt a little less
beautiful, a little less of something. And my best friend shone naturally.
Everyone loved her. Everyone forgave her bad moods and difficult
moods.

I was always the one at fault. I did not yet understand why.
Chapter II — My Father and Me

I grew up without my mother. I do not say that to gain sympathy —

I say it because it is a truth that changed everything. My father found
himself alone in raising me, and he did it in his own way: clumsy at times,
but always sincere.

He never said no to me. He was there, present even in his absence,

making sure I never lacked the essentials. On Sundays, he would cook for
the whole week, store the meals in the refrigerator, and for the rest of
the time, I managed on my own. In primary school, I would come home
alone, heat up the food, eat, do my homework. I learned to be
independent long before I was supposed to.

My father was not very demonstrative. But when he saw marks on

my skin — from my games or my falls — he would gently ask me what
had happened. I would tell him. And in that simple exchange, there was
all the love in the world.

✦✦✦

Then the time for the entrance exam came. I passed. And I left
home for boarding school.

People had described boarding school as a magical place — almost

like Hogwarts in the Harry Potter books. The reality was quite different.
In the first few days, children cried in their beds at night. I did not. I did
not know if that was strength, or simply the habit of being alone.

I adapted in my own way: by playing, by eating, by finding friends. I

found some. Three, at first — and the four of us always walked together,
as if none of us could exist without the others.
Chapter III — First Loves and First Wounds

Boarding school is also where you learn the wrong things — almost
without realising it. Theft, lies, little secrets. And first loves, of course.
Everyone had a boyfriend. I ended up having one too, almost by social
contagion.

It was innocent — kisses, conversations, glances. Not much. But it

was still something.

There was Jesse. Then Luc, introduced to me by a friend. Then

Stéphane — calm, patient, attentive. Stéphane was different. He truly
saw me. But even he could not survive what boarding school does to
feelings: there were rumours, poorly managed jealousies, and one day,
everything broke. He came back to apologise. I refused to try again.

And I was the one they called the villain.

✦✦✦

My best friend, meanwhile, was drifting away. In Form 4, she

began to leave me behind — new friends, new habits, a new life in which
I had no place. She left without explanation. I learned not to wait for
explanations from those who leave.
Chapter IV — Lucas, or the Love That Really
Hurts

His name was Lucas. And it was not like the others.

I had known him for years — we talked, without really talking. A

presence in the background. Then one day, he came back stronger,
closer. And I said yes. Despite my reservations. Despite the fact that he
always had stories with other girls around him. I do not like to share —
not my friendship, not my love. But I tried.

During a three-day field trip, he grew close to another girl.

Everyone saw it. He denied it. He made me doubt my own perception —
that terrible feeling of being driven mad by someone you love. Then he
finally admitted it. Partially. Just enough to make it hurt even more.

What broke me was not just the betrayal. It was that everyone
knew. And not one person told me it would be okay.

✦✦✦

I sat the baccalaureate exam in that state. Alone in a room, with a

heart bleeding in silence. No support. No kind glance. Just me, my paper,
and the promise that when it was all over, things would be different.

I passed the exam. I left Douala for Yaoundé. I left everything

behind — contacts, memories, phone numbers. I started from zero.
Chapter V — A New City, the Same Loneliness

Yaoundé. A new city. A new neighbourhood. A new apartment. Me,

alone.

I tried to be kind to everyone. To offer my friendship freely. But the

people I chose tended to choose me only while waiting for something
better. The moment someone else came along, they turned toward that
person instead. Not out of cruelty — simply because I was not their
priority.

That is where I began to understand something painful: there is a

difference between being loved and being available.

✦✦✦

Depression came in waves. Not like in the movies — no constant

crying, no spectacular collapse. Just a deep exhaustion. A feeling of being
constantly judged, constantly alone in a room full of people. Friends who
let me go the moment I needed them most.

I was looking for something. I just did not know what yet.
Chapter VI — Faith Found, and Faith Wounded

It was an elderly teacher who changed everything. One evening,

during class, she shared her testimony. She showed us things on her
laptop — stories of faith, grace, and transformation. And something
inside me lit up.

I had grown up in a Catholic school, with religion as a subject. I

knew the words. But that evening, for the first time, I felt something real
behind the words. The Lord revealed Himself to me — that is the only
way I know how to say it. During the school break, I stopped listening to
secular music, almost without noticing. As if something in me was
searching for silence.

When I returned to boarding school, I found a Christian girl in the

bed next to mine. I saw it as a sign. I tried to build a friendship with her.
But once again, she did not choose me. I gave her everything; she gave
me nothing in return.

✦✦✦

And then there was the church. A new community. People who
welcomed me but quickly wanted to reshape me. My clothes. My music.
My activities. Everything that defined me was suddenly suspect.

I was told that if I did not give all of it up, it meant I did not truly
love God. My conscience — always so fragile, always so easily affected —
almost believed it. But something in me resisted.

I knew that God had met me at my lowest point. I knew He had

loved me as I was. So why did those who represented Him want to
change me before loving me?

The Gospel is good news. Not a code. Not a law. Not a checklist of
conditions to be worthy of being loved.

I did not yet know how to reconcile all of it. But I knew the question
deserved to be asked.
Epilogue — Between Questions and Light

I do not know what to think. I do not know what to say.

That is perhaps the most honest sentence I have ever spoken.

I grew up in motion — moves, boarding schools, cities, broken

friendships. I loved people who did not choose me. I lived through
betrayals that taught me more about myself than any classroom lesson
ever did. I found faith, and nearly lost it because of those who carried it
poorly.

And I am still here. A little lonely, sometimes. A little lost, often.

But standing.

✦✦✦

My father always told me that it is God who brought us here. He

was not very religious, my father — but he always knew how to recognise
peace when it passed through. I think I am learning that too, slowly, by
feeling my way forward.

I am not looking for perfect answers. I am just looking to keep

walking — between the two shores of who I am and who I am becoming.

And sometimes, that is enough.

✦✦✦

— The End —
© Batilana Elvira