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Sexual abuse of children


We are continuing with our series on sexual violence as we chat about sexual abuse of children.
Do you watch the news? Remember the doctor who by the last count had sexually assaulted more than two hundred young people from as young as six. These children were under his charge as gymnastic doctor
What did you feel? when an enraged distraught father made a lunge for him. Okay, he was sentenced to more than a hundred years, but what about the damage to the children? These stories come to us almost daily.

You hear of children sexually abused, and do you sigh or just change the channel so you could watch a less disturbing story. How much have we lost that which makes us human even as we rush to our concept of civilization? We all talk about the freedom to express, freedom to be whatever sexual deviant we fancy.

Excuse me while I breathe the foul air of what our freedoms have done to our essential humanity. I am not an activist screaming equality for one vice or the other.
Let us take a look around and ask ourselves what type of world do we really truly live in, and what type of humans are now being incarnated into the world.
I am not interested in changing the world order, but I ask questions and I wonder. Let us read about Folake and her story.

‘I always wanted to be a doctor, not because it was the usual thing girls of my age expressed while in primary or secondary school. There was even a song that children sang and we would shake our waists in the moonlight as we all told our listeners our future ambitions. Even when I got admitted into the secondary school, I was clear about wanting to be not just a doctor but a cardiologist. I faced my studies really seriously and maintained an academic level that encouraged my parents that I really wanted more education.
Disaster struck in my third year in secondary school when Mr. Galadima came in as the Physics teacher. I was a science student and actually loved the subjects. I had maintained pretty good grades and maybe that was what got the unwelcome attention of my Physics teacher. My hand would shoot up every time in class, so he took notice. I didn’t understand the looks he would shoot my way until one evening at prep when he sent for me.

I innocently responded to his invitation that he wanted me to get him something from the physics lab. I got there and kept searching for what he had asked me until a pair of hands grabbed me from behind and spun me into his arms with such force that I almost screamed in fright. He covered my mouth with his hands and held me tightly. I was terrified. Mr. Galadima tried to calm me down by running his fingers all over me and kept saying I should calm down. He kept apologizing and said he had asked me to come to the lab because he wanted to talk to me in private.He said he had fallen in love with me I was an unformed 14-year-old.

I was tense in those masculine circle he had made with his hands and I felt my heart was going to jump right out of my body. It was beating so loudly. He kept pinching my breasts as I squirmed to get out of his reach. Then he begged me to kiss him. I had never been kissed so I gave a horrified no and tried to fight free. There was thus a silent struggle as I tried to duck from under his arms. He smelt awful and had bad breath as he roamed his face all over me. I was by now sobbing and doing everything I could to be free. I was scared that he was going to do something awful. Mercifully I heard the principal asking who was in the physics labaQuick as lightning, he pushed me under the table with a fierce whisper for me to stay still as he raised his voice , telling the principal that he had come to pick his lesson notes. He stepped out and went on the inspection with the principal.
I crept out and ran to the hostel, fetched water and scrubbed away at my painful unformed breasts. I did not go to my physics class the next day, and from then on failed my physics test. I lived in silent terror of being touched by a man because I always felt dirty.

Years later when almost forty I married. Of course, I never became a doctor as I moved away from science subjects. My principal would look at me and sigh. He would ask me if there was anything that bothered me. He used to say I was one of his brightest students. Each time I tried to say something, I would remember mum saying in real bitterness ‘Never put your trust in man, there are more like pigs’ she always ended the sentence with distaste.
I am four times divorced woman now. Gave up on the idea, my second husband did all he could to stop me cringing each time he touched me.
I never liked physics again and I keep wondering what I will do if I ever set my eyes on Mr. Galadima.

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New series..The Survivors

SERIES One
I decided this year to do something more on my website. I will be dedicating a day in the week to talking about issues on rape, the survivors, the problems, and quite a lot of things. I did try to bring the programme on the radio but have not been able to raise the necessary funding to make that work.
What is the Survivor series about?

I started it last year when I started sharing stories of rape and the rationale and madness. I use the word rationale for a reason. We say every madness or illness comes about for a reason. I intend this year to use my writing to raise awareness about this issue. At least I can afford this website and maybe with your help, we can make this awareness be helpful somehow to someone out there who may feel comforted or supported.
Yesterday, I was chatting with a group of young women, we all saw ourselves as aspiring poets. We chatted and the talk drifted to Feminism, is it a good thing? Should a woman be submissive in order to show that she is obeying the injunction of the pastor who every Sunday exhorts wives to be submissive to their husband? A question popped into my consciousness, will it be fair to ask a woman to be submissive to a lout and a rapist?
It is still a question that I am asking, where is the rationale for submission to such a human being? A young lady said with a firmness at that gathering that at least 7 out of 10 women in the country has been a victim of sexual abuse, assault and/or rape at least once before the age 60. Statistics? It can’t be proved because how many women actually report the embarrassment?

The quiet girl sitting beside me asked with an underlying anger in her voice, ‘who was going to take a girl reporting rape seriously’ She said the first thing the authorities will do is look at the girl and put her on the bench as an accused person. We generally see the victim of rape as the guilty party and deny the act of rape, even sometimes insisting the assault as the fault of the victim.
I would like from now on to borrow from Bobby Uttaro’s book ’TO THE SURVIVORS’ that a victim is more appropriately a survivor of the assault.

The world is now awash with stories of rape, sometimes culminating in the murder of the victim. Some of us may still remember the heart-rending story of the 9-year-old Pakistani girl raped, sodomized, tortured, killed and dumped on dump site like she was garbage.
My heart boils and I am sickened just reading such stories. Where do we go from here? A CCTV recording indicated that the heinous rape and murder was done by a full grown male.
Here in Nigeria, we hear tales of rape, violence, and sexual abuse from practically every village. If you a subscriber to my site, you probably read the story of the lady who was raped by her uncle on the farm. It scarred her for the rest of her life. An update to that was that she has died and the husband also died a few weeks ago too.
What happened to her? How did she die? Was she able to have some closure before she died? I am never going to get answers to that now. It is her story and some others that have impelled me to find whatever means I can to be a sounding board for survivors of this blight on the human story.

I hope you will be part of this experiment. There are assured confidentiality if you send your story. I am not an agony aunt, but we will share your pain, hope others will offer guides, support, and advice that may serve as some anodyne to your pain.
We will talk again next week on this subject.

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Prodigal son? Blood Contract

Ken stood silhouetted against the setting sun. He was alone in the boat as the lagoon took on the color of the red sun, making the waters look almost metallic. He was contemplating paying his father a visit and suddenly he had become unsure. Questions needed to be answered. He could not hold back anymore and the one person who could give him some of the answers was a few meters away. His hands shook as he tried to calm his nerves.
There was a small sardonic smile playing across his lips. It was time to take a look at the wounds, time to come face to face with his ghosts and why he had left. Why he had promised himself he was never coming back. He needed to make peace with his father if not with himself. He remembered the bitter arguments, his sense of not being good enough for his father. He remembered Douglas and he felt some pain that no one had ever made any attempt to reach out to him.

It was a tough place to have dreams. He had wanted to further his education and he knew his father was not going to be able to cope with the payments. He had been grateful for the secondary education he got. He was not about to just sit down in the place, getting married, have babies, and be a fisherman. His whole soul had rebelled against such a future.
It was not therefore too surprising when he followed the boys to do some small oil bunkering. The first time he got paid he was stunned at making such easy money. He had instinctively kept that business from his father. But being a young man he could not resist buying a few things that was more than his income as a fisherman could fetch him.
His father had asked probing questions and he thought he had succeeded in deceiving him until one evening he came home to find his father in his room, a cold implacable look on his face, and his wad of currency in his hand. There was nothing left to do than to confess what he had been doing. He expected anger but not the blistering rage of the old man.

He still felt disbelief at the blazing words, stating that no son of his was going to be a coward and refuse to stand and fight.
“I can’t see much of any fight with you Papa,” he had taunted back. “No money, no food and I try to do business and you call me a thief.”
There had been the silence.
“Bravery has nothing to do with stealing oil from the creeks. A thief is a thief no matter in what clothes you dress it.”
He had yelled back in his own pain, “I have not stolen anything, just taken what belongs to me.”
“Who allocated stealing to you, Kenawari?”
“Papa!”
“Get out; you have a smell I don’t want around here.”
He had yelled back that he was getting out and was never coming back, that he would make good and his father was going to regret calling him a thief. That was when he made contact with Elias and left the village a few days later. Papa never spoke to him from that night. He never went back to the business, for it had served the purpose he wanted. He never called home.

Ken had not seen Ebijor either or connected with her until the night of his return. He had kept her in his mind for years, knowing he needed to explain his abrupt departure. Knowing the culture of his people, he knew she would have been married off after a time. He wondered if she had resisted or simply accepted his apparent desertion and shrugged her shoulders and settled down to married bliss. He had wondered if she understood about love. He could not sleep at nights as he imagined her in someone’s arms and he was racked by jealousy. A dangerous jealousy he knew, for she belonged to another man. Someone the rest of the community would defend if he tried anything funny. He had also not known about Douglas. He had assumed the silence had been in obedience to their father. He needed time to take a look at that piece of information.

Ken had stalked the markets hoping to catch a glimpse of Ebijor, but she seemed to have suddenly voluntarily imprisoned herself. He was not about to ask anyone questions. Tonbra too had become invisible. He understood, believing she was remorseful about her big mouth and was keeping out of his way with respect. He sighed and started walking along the single plank walkway.

Ken walked past his father’s home deliberately and chose to stop at a point two houses away, because he had not being prepared to find his father sitting outside on an easy rocking chair. He was sure his father had seen him. Ken suddenly lost his nerve. He felt lonely too. That is my father, damn it! You don’t just walk back to fifteen years at the drop of a hat do you? You don’t just wipe out fifteen years of longing, pain, anger and confused thoughts do you? The fact that his father had never enquired after him still hurt, he acknowledged to himself.

Interested readers in Nigeria can now buy copies of BLOOD CONTRACT from thefollowing book retailers:
1.Sunshine booksellers
University of Ibadan
2. The Booksellers(Mosuro Books)
Ring road, Ibadan
3.The Kids Centre
Akure Mall, Akure
4.Toyin Bookshop
Akure
5.Arowolo Bookshop
Akure
6,Seyem Bookshop
Akure
We will update youas more book retailers are added on

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What should I tell mum

I came home after seven years, I still looked fresh almost untouched. I really didn’t know what to expect, even why I came home. I was tired, emotionally tired, spiritually empty. It was time to go home.
I really had not factored into my spirit what my mum was going to say. Seven years is a long time to have stayed angry and rebellious. Seven years was the time it took me to look in the mirror. Really look in the mirror to look for me. To look for my definition of me, what it means to be me. I am not making any excuses my friend. I just got tired of it all, suicide even lost its attraction. Tried it for the first time after the physics teacher ran his hands all over me in class just before lights out. It was the same night the principal had called me into his office and asked me to sit on his lap and something hard kept sticking into me and I struggled to move away.
Yes those silent struggles, in his office his long beard and his pants, it was the reason I asked my mum to sew khaki shorts for me and I zipped them up my belly, to stop those wandering hands. I would scrub my body every night trying to take his smell on my body off. I was scared, I did not know who to ask the questions. Then I looked in the mirror then, saw my staring eyes and despaired .
Subuola would in rage insist I was after her boyfriend, first time I understood the import of what she meant, we had a big fight. It was Kola who in sheer mirth explained that I could make men commit sins. I asked him to explain, but he simply laughed and shook his head. He said my dimples and those bewildered eyes were a dangerous combination.

But that explanation came years later after two suicide attempts. But back in those days, I only felt shame, dirty and sad. Why would the principal do this things, and the physics teacher. I never had good grades in that subject, I could not explain why my brain will close up just seeing the subject written on the board. I was in constant state of terror just seeing him. He would pinch my breasts ( it was just coming up) very painfully. Hold me very tightly and rub himself hard against me. I would whimper and struggle, gradually my shame changed to anger and developed into a rage.

Seven years ago I timidly asked my mum why men were like that, and she lost it. I had never been so severely beaten. My backsides ached, mum checked my innermost places almost with a torchlight and there was no name left to call me after six hours of verbal abuse. I felt like nothing. The mat was so hard, and when it started raining, I embraced its cold sharp stings. It was better than all the abuse. I didn’t know when I started walking that night. I did not remember if I met any masquerade, I just walked, and walked.
The morning found me in the city, and the call of the conductor brought me sharply awake. Ikoyi still had a park in those days, so I guess in some fashion. I got there. Slept in the grass for a long time. Then this family approached me and asked if there was anything wrong. I remember saying very simply that I was missing and needed a job. Those were strange days. No telephones then, so I stayed with them for a while being a nanny to their child. Took my ‘A’ levels as a private student, rekindled my dream to be a human being.

I discovered later I had been damaged by the silent abuses, my mum’s lack of understanding made me a very bitter person. I closed my heart , kept the keys but refused to communicate.

I started teaching and loved the children particularly one sad eyed angel called Tina. She always sat quietly in a corner. Rarely went to breaks with the other children, never got her clothes dirty until one day another tiny one mistakenly splashed her with the drink she was having. I saw the terror that came into her eyes and how she trembled uncontrollably. Suddenly I knew what was wrong with her. I picked her up and rocked her as my own tears finally burst and we both cried helplessly.

Hours later, when the storm was over, and the wretched house girl who had been abusing Tina was arrested. I went to my clean, over clean spruced flat and looked in the mirror again
Now I am on my way home to talk to Mum.

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Privacy lessons for your child

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I have the pleasure today, to include the post of parent to our growing list of guest bloggers. Mr. Adegoke Opeyemi has shared a list with parents.
Please read and I hope you will share.

HERE IS A LIST OF THINGS YOU NEED TO TEACH YOUR CHILD(REN) AT EARLY AGE :
1. Warn your Girl Child Never to sit on anyone’s laps no matter the situation including uncles.
2. Avoid Getting dressed/undress in front of your child, once he/she is 2 years old. Learn to excuse them or yourself.
3. Never allow any adult refer to your child as ‘my wife’ or ‘my husband’, reprove it immediately.
4. Whenever your child goes out to play with friends make sure you look for a way to find out what kind of play they do, because young people now sexually abuse themselves.
5. Never force your child to visit any adult he or she is not comfortable with and also be observant if your child becomes too fond of a particular adult.
6. Once a very lively child suddenly becomes withdrawn you may need to patiently ask lots of questions from your child.
7. Carefully educate your grown ups about the right values regarding SEX. If you don’t, the society will teach them the wrong values.
8. It is always advisable you go through any new material like cartoons you just bought for them before they start seeing it themselves.
9. Ensure you activate parental controls on your cable networks and advice your friends especially those your child(ren) visit(s) often.
10. Teach your 3 year olds how to wash their private parts properly and warn them never to allow anyone touch those areas and that includes you (remember, charity begins from home and with you).
11. Blacklist some materials/associates you think could threaten the sanity of your child (this includes music, movies and even friends and families).
12. Let your child(ren) understand the value of standing out of the crowd.
13. Once your child complains about a particular person, don’t keep quiet about it. Take up the case and show them you can defend them. Remember, we are either parents or parents-to-be. and remember “THE PAIN LASTS A LIFETIME” And please share to all friends who have children.

Why don\y you go over this again, share with your friends and invite them to subscribe.