Dear MIMsters: Bullied And Raped At 5, You Are The Reason I Didn’t Speak Till Now |Part 2

admin

Continue from here

When I was 7, another neighbour, in a typical face-me-I-face-you apartment, Brother SM called me to run an errand. I returned to deliver the message when he grabbed my hand and pulled me into his room. Pinning me down, he opened my legs, took off my panties, and shoved his hard thing into me. He was very rough! I didn’t cry, didn’t push, I just laid there with tears rolling down my face. When he was done, he cleaned me up, commanded me to get up, wear my panties and get out. He was very harsh, scary and wicked! He said if I told anyone, he would deny it and my mother would kill me for telling lies. He also told me no one would believe me, so I silently went into our room.

The next time he called me to run another errand for him, I ran away but he chased me, got hold of me and spanked me. He gave me his sponge case to carry after him into the bathroom. He had a towel around his waist and carried a pail of water. I followed him with his sponge case. He entered the bathroom and rather than collect his sponge case from me, he pulled me in with it. I screamed but he quickly shoved his hard thing into my mouth. Thankfully, my sister heard my scream and traced me to the bathroom and banged on the door. He opened and threw me out.

My sister held on to his towel, demanding an explanation from him. She threatened to tell my parents but he denied doing anything to me. That’s how I became temporarily free again.

When I was about 8, my father sent me to deliver a copy of the Daily Times newspaper to a neighbour. The man wasn’t at home when I got there. I gave the newspapers to his son from the entrance but he pulled me into their sitting room. I struggled with him but he overpowered me and had his way.

That day, I concluded that there must be something in me that kept getting me into this ‘bad thing’. I became withdrawn, very timid and spoke less. My grades in school dropped from 1st to 8th and remained that way for a long time. I’m not sure my parents even noticed. I cried over everything no matter how trivial or grand it was. If I was asked any question, I would start to cry. If I was left in a dark room, I would cry. And what did I get for that? I was always told, “Asunkun r’ojo eke, ile lo n tu.” (He who cries when asked to speak destroys a home.)

I feared men, feared confrontations and was unhappy but never spoke out because I feared being called names if I did.

At 9, my father’s friend’s son, Brother SL sexually molested me while we played in his father’s house.

At 10, my father’s cousin, JD would lay on me with clothes on, and glide over me till he reaches orgasm, and then send me out. I went through different sexual molestations starting from age five till about eleven.

In JSS 3, I had this close male friend in class whom I innocently told about my family’s itinerary on a particular Sunday. My dad was out with my sisters and I was the only one at home. This guy visited me and while we were talking, he suddenly pounced on me. Well, as I was bigger than him in frame, I beat the hell out of him and sent him home with marks.

Our new place was a 4-bedroom flat so no one molested me. When I was fifteen, my father’s cousin, JD came visiting with a woman when my father was out. I peeped through the keyhole and watched him having sex with her. I already had a boyfriend so I visited him and did all I saw JD do with that lady. I got pregnant, had my child at sixteen and went back to school.

After I had my baby, the men in our new area perhaps thought I was wayward so they came at me at different times. First, my baby daddy’s cousin’s husband barged into our bathroom and tried to rape me but I escaped by hairsbreadth. At 17, my father sent me to pick up something from one of his friend’s and the man raped me on his matrimonial bed.

Is someone wondering what it was about me that made these men come at me? Well, I ask myself the same question always. I concluded I was the problem. Since some of my mother’s relatives had at some time called me ‘Ogbanje’, I thought then I must be the reason these men continually molested me.

It wasn’t an easy journey for me. But, thank God I found Christ and daily, my dignity is being restored. Today, I’m a certified counselor imploring parents, especially mothers to know that the social media is only spreading what has been on for many decades. To eradicate this, children should be encouraged to speak to their parents and parents must listen and earn their children’s trust. Let them know that irrespective of whose ox will be gored, they will be believed.

If you’ve been abused, hide no more, call out your abusers. Tell your story, you can write it anonymously. Until you share your story as a victim of sexual abuse, you’re still in ‘captivity’. That war waging on the inside of you is unhealthy. Speak out and be free.

Parents, do not give room to paranoia but be on guard.

My mother emphasized on morals ways and was too strict with us. She was more focused on raising decent and academically sound children and by God’s grace, we all are. She raised us with iron hands and we grew up subservient, not confident. For many years, I blamed myself and partially, my mother for choosing to raise us as trophy children in matters of morals while ignoring our need for self-confidence but today, I know mother raised us to the best of her ability.

Today, I know I was never the cause of what they did to me! I know I cannot continue to be bowed in shame! Today, I know I must rise and hold my head up in victory! Today, I know ‘we’ did not do anything together as Brother W told me that very first time! I know now the truth! I now know that the men who sexually molested me are guilty! Now, I can breathe! Now, I am FREE!