-Speak Out

While it is very common among us today, nobody wants to speak about it. But, I tell you this, someone has to say the hard things. Someone has to initiate these conversations.

Everyday, another child is molested because nobody talks about these things. They are dirty, so, we leave them out.


Story 2: Many Years A Slave

I became aware of the abuses when I was nine years old. At the time, it was auntie Ita’s boyfriend who was making his rounds with me. He always took his time, he’d lubricate us with vaseline, so his penetrations (through my anus) would be easy.

Auntie Ita was hardly around. When she was, she never took notice of what was happening. I would have told her if she didn’t delight to scold and hit me at the slightest provocation.


Story 1: Urges Awoken

I was six years old when our landlord’s son started his experiments on my body. I took no notice because it was in the midst of play. He’d brush his hands, lightly, over my pubic area and smile. I never smiled back, I saw no humour in whatever message he was trying to pass across.

Time passed and he graduated to lifting me unto his lap. Our compound had a healthy population of children. We all gathered at his house to watch movies on the weekends. When there was room left only to stand, he’d offer his lap for me to sit on. I’d feel him rub my buttocks against his genitals.



Over 80% of the rape/almost-rape stories I’ve heard, had trust as a constant. Whether premeditated or spontaneous, these rapists thrive on the trust their victms have for them.


For 5 years, I’ve sat at this corner every night, muttering the words Mama taught me to keep the spirits at bay.
“Just keep saying it until you can’t feel them around anymore.” She said the first night they came, I just turned 16 the day before.
“Kumakuma paiwa.” I said it over and over until I could feel their presence no more. But as soon as I closed my eyes, they pounced on me. Literally tearing off my clothes, they molested me till I passed out.

Mama came into my room the next morning, to find me crying. “I think I’m possessed!” I wept, starring at my blood stained sheets. “Mama! A ghost raped me! Two ghosts!” I had lost my mind.
“Shh,” she put her hands over my mouth “don’t speak of them like that, or they’ll be more brutal tomorrow.”