Why Do We Not Tell?

Four out of every five women have been abused sexually. If not outrightly penetrated, fingered or violated in some other way. But, as popular as this condition is, it’s not a popular conversation.

We’ll be highlighting some reasons why people do not speak up about abuse in this article.



-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.

That’s the problem. Society has found a way to ignore the issue of abuse. For some reason, it’s swept neatly under the carpet.

A part of me would suggest that this is as a result of the fact that some high profile individuals will get burnt, if we raise the matter. But, how many more Onyochas must die?

There is need for sensitization. There is need to speak out. We must teach, we must talk, we must protest. We must make this things easy to talk about.

We have teenagers, enduring dreadful hurts because no-one would talk about the matter. Not in school, not at home, not even in church. They die, daily, in silence.

Our society is broken because it consists of many broken people. Now, our future is at stake. Because, these broken children and teenagers are our hope for the future.

If we don’t take a stand and do something to help, I fear to imagine what could happen.

Be that voice. Save a soul. Speak out today.

Thank you for reading!




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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.