SHare YOur STory 8 - Part 1

This is a part of the SHare YOur STory series. I recieve e mails from individuals that have been affected in some way by abuse. They share their stories , hoping that they can help somebody or prevent the same thing from happening to your child.

Hi there,

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Sorry It took so long. I have been working on a project and I just finished it.. <>
Phew: This is tough for me... I opened up to a friend over the weekend and I didn’t even tell the whole story... I always have to rely on my alter ego when putting this down: <>

This is Omo's story as seen through the eyes of "sassy" (my alter ego) <>

Sassy - I remember Omo's first time and I remember his name.. Seyi oh wait she used to call him uncle Seyi. yes, he was her mum's friend's brother and he had to stay with omo's family because he was attending a college FGSS kaduna (Federal college Secondary School) In Malali...His school was close to the house and it made logical sense for him to stay with omo and her folks because his family lived a long way off....

Omo noticed the way Seyi always came to the bathroom when Aunty B gave her a bath. Aunty B was the family house help. Seyi would burst in and Aunty B would yell at him and tell him to get out. After the shower, Aunty B would tell Omo not to be around Seyi because he was a bad boy....

Omo - Fast forward 2 years later on my 8th birthday, I got a birthday gift I did not bargain for! He came into my room, my zone and asked me if I had a pencil.. I remembered very well Aunty B said if he comes into your room, scream... I told him I was going to scream if he did not leave and he pulled out his pen knife.. I didnt know it was a blunt pen knife, i just knew it was a knife and It scared me.. I think I was prepared for what he did next because I just did everything he told me to do... "take off your pant", "take off your clothes", lie down on the bed"... I remember feeling so cold,I remember feeling lost, I remember the taste of my tears , I remember telling myself "run out, scream just do something".. and then i felt his dirty fingers in me and I just stopped thinking , I only remember the pain.. It was painful and scary "mummy and daddy do this. Not me" I kept on telling my self. I thought of all the tom and jerry cartoons I watched just to get my mind off the torture then he bursted the bubble... I whimpered and he covered my mouth, I bit his hand and he put the pen knife to my face, after a few thrusts, he pulled out of me and finished the job himself.. I lay on my bed, no! what used to be my bed, my save haven from my parents "fights and drama", my escape into my reading and writing, my hideout when I played hide and seek with the neighbors, my private island... my new found hell and cried... He hurriedly dressed me up and told me not to tell anyone or else knife to my throat....

I didn’t come out for dinner that day and my mum didnt notice anything.. why should she, she had problems to deal with, dad used her as a punching bag everyday, she never did anything right and I learnt from bitter experience that if mum is happy, I would be happy and If dad beat her, I would get beaten... Mum came into my room and asked what was wrong with me... "Your room smells funny she says, open the windows, it is stuffy and .... are you hiding your dirty clothes again??" I tell her no; she walks out and comes in with drummer boy air freshener and places it on my table. I ask her where my dad is and she says he is in Kano... "Thank God" we both say and I smile.. She kisses my cheeks and says I should go to bed... I try so hard to tell her but I am scared, I love seeing mum happy, I love seeing her smile she had a pretty face especially when dad had not designed it with his anger... I loved her high cheek bones and her high forehead... I hated it when I saw the frown on her forehead because it meant trouble and I hate trouble, I hated the shouting, the punches, and the beatings... I would hide in my closet for hours after dad was done with mum and wait patiently for her to get me out of the closet and beat me.... It was the daily routine when dad was not in Kano or Lagos...

My 8th birthday... I wonder why I didnt have a party, I had celebrated all my birthdays... hum this one was special... I became a woman, a woman that I hate and despise, a woman I loath. I hated everything about me, I hated my long black hair, my tiny eyes that everyone liked, I hated the buds on my chest that mum said was a good sign, I hated my vagina that Christy 's mum said we as ladies needed to guard it from boys especially bad boys like Seyi, I hated my room , my so called safe haven, I hated my mum for not seeing beyond her fears and hurt, I hated my dad for not being there to protect his family, I hated God, this so called God who loved all the little children of the world red and yellow black and white... I hated Seyi for making me hate me!

He would come into my room every night since my 8th birthday and go one step further.... he had this smell, this musky muddy smell that irritated me... he would grunt just before he came and it was funny, he would pull my hair as he thrust harder and would wipe my tears after telling me not to tell anyone or else.... I remember a night he came in for his rounds and he said "don’t tell anyone...." I told him "seyi please say something else, I am tired of hearing that " I think he was shocked so he put his hands on my throat and said never ever call me seyi, call me Uncle seyi... I was free from him on my 10th birthday but i guess it was too late, I had become a broken record, i watched my whole life pass before me, my existence drained from me and to think all this happened under my fathers nose... The so called "protector and bread winner" that was what he called himself when he beat my mum..... I was happy for a while, I should have known that was to be short lived like every other happy event that occurs in my life...

My dad left for the states "Thank you Jehovah", my mum moved out of Kaduna "double praise" I loved kaduna, I have fond memories of Kaduna but after seyi's ordeal, I felt the city choked me up. I was tired of everything and everyone, the Hausa women selling sugar cane, ground nuts and fura didn’t trip me anymore, I was tired of the mallams saying "hausa kadan kadan " to me, I was tired of "rankade de", I was tired of hamatan and my cracked lips.. I still suffer from cracked lips.. LOL, I was fed up with the taunting from my peers in school... I told my so called "best friend" about what happened to me and she made sure all the girls in my arm or class heard about it. My teacher knew it too but said nothing.. I remember one morning , it was class assembly day and my teacher called me to the front of the class, raised my uniform and gave me 6 strokes of the cane because she heard seyi put his pepe into my pepe; she told me to stop saying nasty things and the next time she hears anything like that she would tell my mum who was quite known in my little area in Kaduna.. I had to protect mummy, she deserved to be happy, she had suffered to much and as her first child, I needed to make sure she was happy.. With dad gone, the beatings stopped, my mum was glowing, I think for the first time in a long time I was happy, I was genuinely happy.. I was "double" happy when mum said we were moving to Lagos.. Yes I loved Lagos.. for a very long time, I was the only grand child and I was spoilt silly, Lagos was my heart, that was my "real" save haven, I loved going to see my grandparents for holiday because it meant no hearing my parents going at each other, mum was not going to beat me and I could do what ever I wanted, how and when I wanted..

Lagos.... Lagos..... If I knew Lagos would be so nasty to me, I would have stayed in Kaduna, I would have run away (I ran away too many times but always came back home.) and this time run for good.... I was 10, fresh meat in Lagos, "jonny just come".. My mum dropped my sister and I with our grand parents, kissed us and told us she would be back. Even at 10 I knew she was lying what was she coming back for?? To her defiled and rotten daughter.. oh wait! She still had one good child (maybe she would be back)! I took my sister by her hand and we went to see my grandpa (Lord take care of grandpa for me).. He scoped my sister up and spun her around and I sulked so he took me up and tried to spin me around but his back gave way so we rolled on the floor and started laughing... then grandma came in and started shouting, we looked sorry and she left. My grandpa winked at us and gave us N5 (a lot of money in the early 90's LOL)...

Mum didn’t come back that day or the next or the next or the next or the next.. I lost track after 4 months, I didn’t care I was happy in my grandparents house, there was no yelling, no boxing match, no slapping fests, no bloody wars just peace and tranquility and like every good thing in my life…. it ended.. Ladi moved into my grand parents house.. Ladi, I almost forgot about Ladi.... yes so that was the second "forced fuck".. Ladi never really had sex with me or should i say penetrating sex. He fingered and pinched and grabbed my breasts, butt ,tights or just felt me.. I was grateful for that... Yes this was heaven compared to Seyi.. I honestly did not mind.. It wasn’t painful, his penis (yes it was not longer pepe but penis thanks to "every woman" I stole from a friends house in kaduna. I still have the book with me here LOL) didn’t go into my vagina.. Poor thing, he taught I was pure I wonder what would have happened if he found out... I still wonder.... Anyway Ladi never summoned up the courage to go the whole 9.5 yards and was content with his "baby baby touching"... It all ended when Abayo saw us one night ; Ladi was doing his usual.. Abayo screamed and my grandparents came down.. grandpa looked at me and I looked at him like it was normal. My grandma scoped me up in her arms and held me so tight I almost choked, she rushed me upstairs and closed the door, I heard from Abayo years later that grandpa beat Ladi and hurt him... Anyway, grand ma stirpped me and checked me, I wonder and still wonder what she was looking for! we had a lengthy talk about all the things I read in everywoman and kept on saying "yes ma, mo ti gbo ma (I have heard you)"..Ladi left my grand parents house that night.Oh! Ladi was my mum's first cousin.

My thoughts/Lessons Learned : I decided to break her story into two parts because its easy to become "unaffected" by the instances of abuse and she does encounter other abusers and her story is a long one. I know i sound like a broken record but parents have to open lines of communication with their kids. Nigeria's whole "children should be seen to heard culture" must change .You cannot protect your children from interacting with family members but you need to know that they will tell you if someone is abusing them.