Bloody Nail Clippings

On this auspicious day, I want to talk about sickle cell anaemia. Now I know that there are 2 types of people reading this, the curious and the affected so while I’ll try to make this an interesting enough read for the curious, I’m definitely going to leave the affected with several tips also.

Basically, sickle cell anaemia happens when someone inherits the abnormal S hemoglobin from both of their parents. In other words, where the normal red blood cell looks like a capsule you take to get better or a round fried ball of unhealthy goodness, the sickled blood cell looks like a nail clipping.

Photo courtesy of Google. YourGenome

As it is an anemia, a condition where there is not enough blood to carry oxygen round your body, people who’ve inherited this disease often find themselves experiencing symptoms such as shortness of breath, dizziness, and an inability to breathe.
When I was in secondary school, a sickle was defined as a tool used in farming for harvesting grain crops. And when I first heard about sickle cell anemia, I thought that something used in providing food could not be so bad. I shake my head at my 8 year old self.

The defining feature of this disease is basically that your body works against you. The sickled blood cell blocks the passageway to the organs it is meant to provide blood to. When one blood cell blocks the passageway, no other blood cell can enter. So they split apart and cause a lot of pain to the affected person. The affected person may find that their kidney, liver, brain and major body organ functionality is decreased. The affected person may also find themselves experiencing joint pain, leg cramps and multifarious infections among other things. That’s the most simplistic definition I can give to a sickle cell crisis. 

Now that we’ve gotten a basic definition of what sickle cell anemia is and what a sickle cell crisis entails, let’s talk about living with it and managing it.

The key to managing sickle cell anaemia is to note that prevention is ALWAYS better than cure. Recognize your triggers for what they are, triggers which if not properly managed can lead to a sickle cell crisis lasting for a couple of hours to a lot of years.

A common trigger for females afflicted with sickle cell anemia is their menstruation. Do I need to define what menstruation is? Okay. Menstruation is your body’s way of reassuring you that you’re not about to embark on a 9 month journey. At least not yet. No cute kids in your 9 month future. Try again next month. 

Still, menstruation involves shedding of blood from your uterine walls and can be slightly to curled- in- the- foetal- position-on- the- floor- painful. When a sickle cell affected female starts her menstrual cycle, she is shedding blood at an alarming rate. The rate of blood shed in women with sickle cell anaemia and women without it is like comparing Game of Thrones to How I Met Your Mother. Now, remember that an anaemia is when there is NOT ENOUGH blood in your body, so losing the blood you do have is definitely a trigger. In both sexes, too much exercise and stress are other known triggers. 

Now that we’ve identified some triggers, let’s talk about managing them. First of all, HYDRATE. Drink water. Drink plenty of water. When you wake up, drink water, after you pee, drink water, make games out of drinking water. Have different colored water bottles. I know someone who never climbs up a staircase without a bottle of water in his hand. I know yet another person who has different colored water bottles, orange for the office, yellow for her car and white for home. Whatever it takes, ingest H2O at any and at all costs. Drinking water should be a lifestyle. Not only does it help to keep your blood circulating, it gives you clear skin, flushes out toxins from your body and mutes the effects of alcohol in your bloodstream.

Which brings me to my second point, limit your alcohol intake. And don’t smoke. Please. Narcotics are especially bad for anyone with sickle cell anaemia. So limit intake to the barest minimum or just quit as fast as you can before lung or liver function is compromised.

Exercise is good, it bolsters your health but be very careful not to exercise to the point where you’re gasping for air or become really tired. And when you’re exercising, HYDRATE!

Recognize that stress is the enemy. Manage your stress levels. You can work very effectively without stressing or worrying yourself. And since worry is stressful, STOP WORRYING!

Wash your hands before you eat. With soap and water. Wash under your nails, wash again if you don’t feel like all the dirt is gone. This is a lesson I learned in 2014 during the Ebola crisis. Regular hand washing prevents infection. Infection prevention is a very very very good thing. How many times did I emphasize the very?

Speaking of infection prevention, vegetables and fruit have to be part of your daily diet. Eat your vegetables. They are actually really delicious. Eat them with fries, eat them as salad, grow your own vegetables and be test subject zero for yourself, whatever you have to do to make fruit attractive enough to eat, do it. Take blood tonics and supplements after you come out of a sickness/crisis. They could be the major difference between going back to Egypt or proceeding to the Promised Land. 

Okay, last but not least, SMILE and be happy. While you do have problems, the singular best way to counteract your problems is to focus on the things that bring you joy.

Kisses and hugs for the affected. Read up on sickle cell anemia if you want to know more, for the curious. Google is Your Friend. And not in the sarcastic way The Police is Your Friend has come to sound.

Meme: Sourced from Twitter
Peace.

Also, please look at Stem Cell donation as a treatment. There is hope yet.

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Now, let’s talk about why I wanted to talk about this today. 

You all know I had 2 younger brothers right? Well, this lesson was sponsored by Nebolisa Anselm Ayalogu, whose death at the age of 12 from complications arising from sickle cell anaemia that lasted 4 years ensures that I will always remember to talk about this disease to as many people as I can. Know your genotype. Know your genotype and for the love of pancakes, please do not subject any child to living with sickle cell Anaemia. 

Bohboh, life passes by whether you are having fun or not. So, I intend to have as much fun as possible. Rest in peace. You were such a happy person and even though you didn’t get to grow up and impact as many people as possible, you definitely impacted my life. November 15, 1995 – December 9, 2007.
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Talking to the traffic lights Pt. 2


On the 11th of January, 2016, I started work. 

On the 12th of January, 2016, I got a colleague. 

On the 18th of January, 2016, the junior associate who was already working at the office got back from her vacation.

What that meant was that there were 3 people working in the office doing the work of one. Don’t mistake me, when we were busy, we were very busy, but when we were idle, we were very idle. I took my dad’s advice and pored over the precedent file (Yes, there was a file labeled Precedents. Two actually.) Drafted all of them again and saved it to my flash drive. I’d look over case files too. But what I did most in that office was watch movies and read.

But I didn’t write this post to tell you about a boring PPA (place of primary assignment). It wasn’t actually boring. It was actually a little too interesting for my liking.

On my third day at the firm, I went to court with my colleague, without the principal. My colleague informed me that she wasn’t going to do anything in court that day and it was up to me to defend the case. So I did. And when the case was adjourned and a date was given, I felt like I’d climbed Mount Everest. Whatever else happened during this year, I’m grateful that my boss assigned me that case. In the course of that case, there were revelations of fraud, impersonation, forgery and theft. Very interesting. Two days before I left the firm, the judge struck out the matter for want of diligent prosecution. We were the defendants. 🙌🙅🙆🙋😻💃💃💃💃💃💃👊☝👆👐👐

Around the 10th of the next month, the carefully built up nice façade of our principal began to crumble. My boss/principal had this extra annoying rule. I started work on the 11th of January so all my salaries were due on the 11th of the succeeding months. In other words, my January salary was due on the 11th of February. My February salary was due on the 11th of March etc etc.
Now, when he explained this stupid rule to me at the end of January, I took it in stride, reasoning that I only had 2 more weeks until I got my salary. But that rule caused a lot of problems with the other girls.
The girl for instance, who resumed on the 12th, she only came twice a week and he’d told her he would only give her transport money at the end of the month. She agreed. And the junior associate who resumed on the 18th, her salary was due on the 18th of February. She was the first to leave. The way she left was so acrimonious it was odd. One day, around the 23rd of February, she, I and our boss went to the Magistrate Court in Shagamu, Ogun State for a divorce case. 
When we got back, she asked him again for her salary and he said he didn’t have the money but when he did, he would pay her. I was drafting a letter. But when I walked into our shared office, I saw her packing up all the stuff she came with into a polythene bag. Thinking nothing of it, I was stunned when I heard raised voices and then she came out, polythene bag and all and waved us goodbye.

 

The other girl left at the end of March. Originally slated to come twice a week, she’d been coming everyday because the principal had a talk with her. And then at the end of the month, he didn’t pay. When she went to find out about her salary, he gave her some stupid excuse and she left in a huff.

And then there was me.

I’d ask about my salary often but when he’d tell me to wait, I would. In March, he paid me half my February salary and then in the last week of April he paid me my March salary. When I asked about the rest of my February salary, he asked me to sit down and tried to determine if I was lying. I’m very nice a lot of the time. But you do not accuse me of being a thief and yell at me without repercussions. Imagine, he asked me how come I was still coming if he had owed me for almost 2 months. I told him the excuse he’d last given me and he screamed at me. I told him immediately, “Do not EVER shout at me again”. He paid me the half of my salary from February and all of my March salary and when I got home, I told my parents I didn’t want to keep working there. But they told me to see it through till the end.
And so, we did that whole dance, where he’d delay paying my salary as long as he could and around the six week mark, when I’d decided to leave, he’d pay me.
That is, until June. 
I had access to his email account. One of my duties at the firm was to summarize the emails he received from the ILO (International Law Organization). In one of the emails from the bank, I didn’t even open it, the first line was on display, I saw that the firm’s account balance was in six figures. I thought nothing of it but, when my salary became due and he gave me only half of it, I was angry enough to go on strike.I didn’t go to the office for 2 weeks until he called that the rest of my salary was in the office.
I understood that I was a novice at legal practice. I understood. But despite being a novice, no one could deny that I didn’t earn that salary. Pretty much everyday, he’d send me to court, or the police station, or to the Lands Registry and I’d go. Once he sent me to the Ikeja High Court and then the Ministry of Public Procurement on the same day, giving me money to cover only one of those trips. I went. Another time, he sent me to the Magistrate Court in Ikeja, then the Magistrate Court in Ogba then back to the High Court in Ikeja.

Nonso attempted to teach me how to dab. How do you think it went?

He’d throw stuff on the floor and expect me to pick it up, he’d yell at me and act like I was the most incompetent person he’d ever met, he’d ask to use my phone and credit to call someone and then never pay me the monetary value back (I stopped having credit in that office), he once tried to bully me into coming on Saturdays and on my CDS days (trying to deprive me of my weekly pineapple bread and movie but God was looking out for me, say Amen!) and when I categorically refused, he brought it up every time as a reason he hadn’t yet paid me, he either micromanaged me or gave me incredibly vague instructions and expected me to work miracles, he’d make stupid jokes about how I should go and get married because my time was running out and how I wasn’t looking so young anymore, he’d ignore the barriers of personal space, during my lunch breaks, he’d come and investigate my food and joke that I was ripping him off and using his money to buy food. 

Then my brother of little faith said I shouldn’t show these pics to anyone, because their eyes will bleed. Is that happening right now?

I was already on slow boil. Once, I was very sick but still I went to the office. And I clearly remember, at the end of the day, this man who knew full well that I was sick, drove by me, turned to look at me and kept right on driving. It’s not by force to be friendly with your employees outside the office, I understand. But when he had the nerve to give me only half my salary in July for the month of June, I got home and I told my parents again that I did not want to work there anymore. My mom told me to keep working there because “it’s not just about the money, it’s also about the relationship” and then she told me stories of how states had owed civil service workers for months. 
I told her that I wasn’t in the civil service. But I agreed to return.
However, the lesson hadn’t yet sunk into his head. So whenever he’d owe me again, I’d stay in my house. A favorite excuse of his, was that there was recession or that he had many more responsibilities than just to me.
Transportation costs had skyrocketed, still I came, he made me wait until 8:40pm once at a police station doing absolutely nothing, still I came. He’d asked me to contact the other party in yet another divorce case we were handling and based on that instruction, I spent 2.5 hours listening and comforting this person when I was cooking, and again on weekends, and again when I was asleep. Still, I came. He only remembered that he had stuff for me to work on minutes before I was set to leave. Still, I came (although after a while, I conscripted my father to come pick me up. He usually came around closing time and whenever my boss conveniently forgot until the last minute that I was to draft or do anything, I’d only do it until my dad called me to come out).
I was stupid. I realize in hindsight. But apart from the fact that I was saving up to buy a new laptop, much of the reason I still kept coming was because of the office manager. Victor. Now while I cannot claim to have many positive feelings concerning my boss, Victor always made me smile. He was the one I complained about my boss to and he’d tell me to calm down, he’d buy snacks for me, when it was Valentine’s day and Cold Stone was having their 2 for the price of one ice cream combo deal, Victor went with me. Most of the movies I watched in the office, I watched on Victor’s laptop. When Victor left in June, I wanted to mutiny.

Victor and the ice cream

But then came Ayo. Ayo was like a younger version of me. But completely awesome in her own right. She knew about Wattpad, she shared the same taste in music with me, she was incredibly funny and despite everything, she was calm, nice and regal in her day to day dealings with my boss. Once, when Ayo had left (she came for a month’s internship), my boss called me up one Sunday and told me to go with a friend of his to the police station and then he hung up. I called him back trying to get further instructions. Nothing. What was I meant to do? What was his friend accused of? Anyway, I went to the police station in the morning. Seven hours later, seven extremely boring hours later where nothing was said or done that wasn’t insulting to my client or myself personally, we left. The only highlights in that day was that Ayo came out in the pouring rain to give me 2 novels and talk with me at the police station. And his friend’s nephew dropped me at the gate of my house. Everything else, 👎.
When September came I was so happy. My mom was still telling me to keep working for him, see it through till the end. My dad and I were counting down the days until I didn’t have to go to work for him anymore. 

 

When NYSC announced that there would be a separation of Stream 1 and 2 and we would pass out on different days (Stream 1 was set to pass out on October 6th. Stream 2 on November 4th), I gave him a clear month’s notice that I would leave on the 14th of October. And so I did.

 
I remember my friend Aisha telling me that he was actually a nice man and telling me a story of how one boss didn’t pay his staff’s salary for about 6 months and when the staff took matters into their own hands, the boss arranged to have them beaten. 
Apparently, suffer head behavior is very common these days. I never actually realized how much of a toll our constant arguments/swallowing my words was taking on me until a week after I’d left the office. I’d had a constant, daily headache on one side of my head and I’d concluded that I needed to bring it to the attention of my parents, maybe get an MRI. Then I left the office for good and after a day, my head did not ache at all. I was so shocked. I never believed they were correlated.
But we learn our greatest lessons from less than ideal situations, don’t we? 

  • I got enough practical experience
  • I met a need
  • A combination of some of my savings and another source (to be revealed later) means I got myself a brand new laptop. Yippee! 
  • I’ve been to every court except the Supreme Court and mostly gotten over my shyness and stuttering in front of Judges.

But I have also learned that I’m way too nice. And I need to stop letting people take advantage of me.
That while the Bible says that “servants” work unto your masters as unto the Lord, the same Bible says a workman is deserving of her wages.

That if the workplace environment is not conducive, it’s best to leave. Jobs will come and jobs will go, my health is paramount.
That people’s advice should be taken as just that; advice.

 
That if I ever find myself at Ikeja again, talking to the traffic lights, telling them to turn red, so I can cross the road without getting hit, I need to come read this post again. Because affliction shall not arise a second time.

The devil is a liar.

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Funny picture post recommendations
http://zortura.wordpress.com/2016/10/21/sign-posts-friday/

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And you are cordially invited:

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Lyrically Speaking… Again

For some reason today, I wanted to reread Emmanuella Onyilofor’s life affirming poem.

It brought back all these memories of a time in my life that was the catalyst for the creation of the woman I am now. In addition to that poem is the song I’m about to post today. 

The song title is BRAVE by Sara Bareilles.

And by the way guys, if you ever happen to meet her, hook a sister up. Tell her that she’s awesome and I really like the fact that she wrote such a relatable song. Tell her that her song made me stand up and start drawing lines in the sand. Because we are not dustbins and we are not meant to hold other people’s trashy words inside us. But if you can’t tell her all of this, just tell her I’m a huge fan of this song and I like her for creating it.

Long story short, behold *does dramatic fat Amy jazz hands*:

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You can be amazing

You can turn a phrase into a weapon or a drug

You can be the outcast

Or be the backlash of somebody’s lack of love

Or you can start speaking up
Nothing’s gonna hurt you the way that words do

When they settle ‘neath your skin

Kept on the inside and no sunlight

Sometimes a shadow wins

But I wonder what would happen if you
Say what you wanna say

And let the words fall out

Honestly, I wanna see you be brave

With what you want to say

And let the words fall out

Honestly, I wanna see you be brave
I just wanna see you

I just wanna see you

I just wanna see you

I wanna see you be brave
I just wanna see you

I just wanna see you

I just wanna see you

I wanna see you be brave
Everybody’s been there,

Everybody’s been stared down by the enemy

Fallen for the fear

And done some disappearing,

Bow down to the mighty

Don’t run, just stop holding your tongue
Maybe there’s a way out of the cage where you live

Maybe one of these days you can let the light in

Show me how big your brave is
Say what you wanna say

And let the words fall out

Honestly, I wanna see you be brave

With what you want to say

And let the words fall out

Honestly, I wanna see you be brave

Say what you wanna say
And let the words fall out

Honestly, I wanna see you be brave

With what you want to say

And let the words fall out

Honestly, I wanna see you be brave
And since your history of silence

Won’t do you any good,

Did you think it would?

Let your words be anything but empty

Why don’t you tell them the truth?
Say what you wanna say

And let the words fall out

Honestly, I wanna see you be brave

With what you want to say

And let the words fall out

Honestly, I wanna see you be brave
I just wanna see you

I just wanna see you

I just wanna see you

I wanna see you be brave
I just wanna see you

I just wanna see you

I just wanna see you

See you be brave
I just wanna see you (yeah)

I just wanna see you (oh ooh)

I just wanna see you

I just wanna see you

I just wanna see you

I just wanna see you

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Lyrics as always by http://www.azlyrics.com. Give them a big hand guys. 👏 Farhanitrate and Prerajulization. Get the reference?

Edited as always by Obianuju J. Ayalogu. NB- I got sick of the purple box casing and so I edited it out. 😋.

P.S- For further information about the time when those memories were fresher memories, please head on over here. Thank you!

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Article Recommendation

http://pathsonwater.com/2016/10/12/authenticity-and-the-social-epidemic-of-happiness/- This post touched me deeply. Why do we as people believe and automatically expect other people to always present us with smiling faces? Tears are NOT shameful, neither is anger, neither is being expressionless. We should put our best foot forward, that I agree to. But we should also own our emotions. Forgive the mini rant. It’s a great post.

http://pathsonwater.com/2016/07/05/defining-happiness-through-time/- I try to have my article recommendations direct you to different blogs but this post was so great as well, I had to put it up. Can’t recommend this enough.

Frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn

Hi everyone,

(Adaezenwa, you especially)

*This post is all over the place. Try to read. Try to understand. Try to leave some feedback if you read and understood. Just try.

Since I was born, my greatest struggle has been with apathy. I can work really hard for something and the second I get it, I feel no pride, no sense of achievement, just a wish to be left alone. I could say it’s because of my brother’s many illnesses and eventual death, but I really don’t want to be someone who blames their childhood for everything they ever go through. It’s massively annoying.

And I just have no more desire to psychoanalyze and research on myself. I have a full notebook of work done for myself and by myself in 2014 where I was both the patient and the psychologist and right now, I don’t want to go back to that. It was as exhausting as all things having to do with the mind are.

One of the major reasons I became a lawyer was so I could ask the questions and not be on the receiving end of the questions being asked. But your family will not let you off the hook so easily, neither will your friends, neither will the people you meet on your blog, asking you at intermittent intervals why you haven’t gotten off your ass to post something for them to read (Side eying Adaezenwa). 
But I understand their points. Really. I pride myself on being a logical person. I pride myself on my ability to think through problems and come up with proper, logical solutions.Which is why I have a problem with being constantly apathetic. It’s so against the idea I have in my head of myself. I remember, I actually went to church to get counseling for it. The pastor in question didn’t, probably couldn’t really help me. He just fixated on one thing out of the many fears I spewed and counselled me about that part. He helped me though, a little bit but now that advice is null and void.

My constant apathy has not gone unnoticed by many people. I have had 2 friends be extremely depressed, and I know the constant fear that comes with the worry about them. The worry that they’ll decide that life is not worth living and seek to end it. The worry that they’ll make stupid decisions. The worry that they won’t give themselves time to see if it can get better. I know the worry. And I know that fear.And I know that some felt that worry and that fear for me.

So I decided to flip it. And get interested. In everything. And everyone. Factual report, that shit gets tiring, fast. And it takes more out of you than you would logically want to give.

For instance, my memory. If you’d asked me a year ago how my memory was, I’d have said it was good, way too good. I could remember everything about someone if I focused on them and talked with them long enough. Full names including middle names, favorite foods, preferred names for future offspring, birthdays (I couldn’t forget a roommate’s dad’s birthday for 3 years. And I never even met the man), likes, dislikes, bad habits, fears. Everything they ever told me even in passing, I’d remember. These days, I have trouble remembering family members’ birthdays. I don’t know when I stopped caring about remembering people but I know I stopped. I’ve chalked it up to consequences of being a fake. So now, I sync people’s birthdays with my Calendar app because, although an eidetic memory for acquaintances’ birthdays and likes and dislikes was impressive, it does not change the fact that I have to remember my family members birthdays.

The title of this post is misleading, really. I thought about naming it, This is what you do when you can’t muster up enough mental energy to care although you’d like to but that name was way too long and then, I remembered the famous last words of Rhett Butler in Gone with the Wind, a movie mind you that I have not watched ever, although I did read the book, and it incited my mischievous instincts so I thought, why not that? Res ipsa.

Adaezenwa wrote about prioritizing and a scale of preference in her post and I smiled because I remembered that from Mrs. Ajayi’s economics class. This is my scale of preference.

I will try to remember my family members birthdays and not be so hard on myself for forgetting the birthday of an ex roommate I hardly talk to anymore.

I will try to give more people my number and if said people create a maelstrom of relationship drama after one date, I will not allow myself be caught up in their drama because I am trying to compensate for not having too many relationships or because people want me to get married and start producing children that I cannot yet afford. I am the master of my fate, the captain of my destiny and if I don’t like what I see after a set time, I will give myself the freedom to block their numbers and not feel guilty about it.

I will build up my stock portfolio, my savings and my investment accounts meticulously, I will get a pension account started as soon as possible and I will give to the charities that draw my attention where I can. I will not be guilted into giving anything that I can’t afford because my mind plays tricks on me.

Since I am almost fully bored with Telemundo and TV in general, I will not spend my time exclusively on Wattpad reading books that do not benefit me, instead I will keep downloading and sewing new designs and surprising myself whenever and wherever I can, exercising more regularly, actively starting conversations with friends, getting more online degrees, maybe even writing a Wattpad novel of my own.

I will write more of my thoughts on my blog. Because what is a personal blog where readers are not encouraged to know the owner? And I will not get jealous of Adaezewrites.com or Achalugowrites.com or chynanu.wordpress.com or kacheetee.com or Nedoux.com or eurekanaija.com or livelytwist.com because I envy the way they write. Instead I will improve on my content and write in my own rambly, messy way because no amount of envy will change the fact that I have my own unique voice and it is my responsibility to develop it.

I will try to go to church more often, try to evangelize more often, try to live like a true Christian. And shine my light and my life for the God who gave and who gives me everything, even when I really really don’t want or deserve His effort.

I will be a better employee, a better friend, a better role model. A better human being.

And if I come back to this list in the future and find out that I haven’t done as much as I would have liked, I will not give up on it and conclude that my apathy has struck again, I will try again and again until I become the better person I dream of being.

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Article Recommendations

http://seyimafolabomi.wordpress.com/2015/11/15/standing-with-france-a-nigerian-hypocrite/

http://www.sabinews.com/three-most-annoying-things-people-say-to-abused-wives-joy-ehonwa/

http://erimzy.wordpress.com/2016/05/18/this-is-how-to-be-happy/#more-1381

Thanking the Blister that I refuse to let become a Scar Ep. 2

Earlier this year, I found out that someone for whom I had voluntarily looked like a fool in order to help was scamming me or at the very least, misrepresenting facts. Truth is, I had been a little suspicious. When we were in law school together, there were things he did that made me a bit suspicious. I won’t go into that.
I had done even more than you’d expect someone who was related to you to do but this person seemed prepared to continue scamming me and his whole family was in on it. I’d like to say I was angry but I really wasn’t. I was hurt, I felt betrayed but at the same time I don’t know the full story. And I don’t want to know. I don’t care anymore. Obviously some of the story is true but there are some bits that he forgot to mention, such as a very inconvenient addiction to designer clothes and an entitlement mentality.
If you’re Nigerian, you’ve probably heard rumors of a person who gave something to a beggar and nothing ever went well for the person again. You might have watched movies where the elder brother of a person would ask him to come back home for Christmas. Then, when he returns home and gives same elder brother money out of the goodness of his heart, he ends up dead the next day and his family are consequently treated horribly by the elder brother of lore, after which they sing mournful songs to their departed husband and father, begging him for help, one of them joins “bad gangs” and another gets tempted by bread and cold Fanta left on the roadside but eventually doesn’t eat it, but then, we see someone who does eat it and turns into a lovely chicken (I’m basically giving you the storyline of Onwa December here).
I should be upset. I know. But, before I decided on whether or not to be upset, I talked to God. You see, I had very strongly felt that God had wanted me to help that fellow. It was an incredibly strong feeling. I wouldn’t have done so much if I had believed otherwise. But this year, that feeling, that certainty washed away. I doubt God will ever ask you to do anything where there is an absence of need. And I had helped him anonymously about a week before he came, presenting another “urgent” request.
I asked God, “Why did you have me help this person? Why didn’t I just give everything I gave to someone who really needed it? Why? I’m feeling like such a fool today. I’m feeling so betrayed. So ashamed. And this shame, it is not my shame. By rights, I should not be feeling this shame.
I help people because you asked me to help people. I help others because your Word says that I should. That she that watereth shall also be watered. Why did you have me help someone who did not need it? Someone who was actively, along with his family, scamming me and mine. Why?”
And then God said, “The fact that he doesn’t need help now does not mean that he never needed help. Haven’t you wondered why you no longer feel any desire to help him? That desire to help him, it came from me. He asked me for help. I sent you. Now, I have withdrawn you. You once asked me, that whether or not you give things to people who actually need them or to scam artists, that I should give you the blessing of the giver and neutralize any plan to use your gift for evil. Can you say that I have not kept My Word? Can you say that you have not been watered?”

And I couldn’t. So I rested. But I refuse to give him anything else. There are many people, so many people who genuinely need help and I won’t help a faker when I know he’s faking. Not anymore.
I have many similar stories. Of people who burrow their way into my life because I’m supposedly nice and generous.
There was the woman who entered a tricycle with me and begged me to pay her fare. Actually the begging came after. She entered the tricycle, not knowing me from absolutely anywhere and looked me up and down. Obviously assuming that I could afford to pay both my fare and hers, she simply asked me to pay for her. I stared blankly at her, then she begged me.
Or the person I met at my sewing classes. The instructor is the one I actually blame for this, because he was the one who asked him to ask me for money. What, do I have Billionaire stamped on my forehead? Anyway, it was around the time I found out I’d become a lawyer and I believe in sharing happiness. But since then, he calls me almost every blessed day. And I’m crazy tired.
Once, I was walking back home from sewing lessons and I saw this woman begging. I walked by but, because of something (the fact that she had two kids), I went back and gave her some money. Then before I knew it, she sent one of her sons to shadow me. I mean, I gave her mint. And you can’t just have one mint note in your purse. How can? So her son walked behind me a long way off, asking me for money all the way. I actually planned to give him something. I did. But I wasn’t sure I’d have enough money left to pay the okada guy I planned to take, so I told him to leave me alone and he retorted something along the lines of “God will not bless you”. I want to say that I laughed but that statement made me so angry.
One of the funny tales I remember has to do with a certain woman who had a baby and was begging for transportation to go home. I gave her enough money to get home, then she looked me up and down, very contemptuously, might I add and said, “What about my baby?”.

When I was younger, as recently as 2014, I used to feel obligated to help people. Obliged to actually. Whenever I had the very human desire to not do a damn thing, I’ll remember my mom saying, “There are many people with very serious problems in this world” and I’d dip into my pocket and surrender whatever I had. There were times I wouldn’t have money for myself because I had given it to someone else who supposedly needed my help. Since 2014, I’ve come to realize that not everyone seeking help actually needs it. That not everyone who stands, kneels or lies by the roadside actually has a problem. I’ve seen a supposedly blind man look at a phone and make a phone call. In so many ways, I’m jaded now. I’ve seen way too much to believe everybody’s tall tales. I’ve been scammed a little too often to trust blindly.
Earlier this year and early last year, I promised myself I wouldn’t give a damn thing to anyone. I could actually imagine God laughing at me when I said that. I broke both those promises very early into the year.

But I’ve talked so much about the negatives. Let me tell you about the positives.

95% of every thing I own is a gift from someone. My shoes, my hats, my watches, my perfumes, my laptop. I hardly ever have to buy anything. The minute I think, “Ooh, I’d like that”, someone brings or buys it for me. No one ever had to tell me that if I give clothes, I’d get clothes. I wanted shoes, so I gave shoes. I got 4 pairs of shoes. I give perfumes, I’ve never had to buy perfumes for myself. In fact, I used to complain that people only ever seemed to give me perfumes.
This year, I want someone to send me a cake. So I will (complete the sentence).
There’s a lot of benefit to giving people things, honestly and no matter how many times I get scammed, how many times I get so mad when someone looks at my gift with disdain, I doubt I’ll ever stop doing it.

However, something I recently inculcated in my life, is to sniff out the motive for whatever I give. In 2014, I pretty much emptied my savings of 6 years in attempt to help God save me. Or take my life. Other times, I’d do something bad to someone, apologize, pray, still feel bad about it and then go on to give something I hadn’t planned to give. Guilt giving. I’m trying to eliminate that from my life. My top top top top love language is Acts of Service. I’m one of those people who goes awww when the man in a show cooks and cleans for his wife. I don’t awww as much when he brings gifts. Case in point- How I met your mother. The episode where Barney scrubs Ted’s apartment and fills the fridge with milk. His motives were “selfish”(I don’t think so personally), granted but Awwwwwwww! (Watch it). One of my most watched episodes of all time.
And I decoded all the things I wanted someone to do for me, no strings attached and I started doing them for others. Stand up so I can sit down in a BRT? Check.
Pay my transport fare? Check, due again though.
Buy me lunch? Check but it’s due again.
Send me a cake. Negatory. Anyone have suggestions?
Etcetera etcetera.

Sometimes, I do stuff that specifically can never be repaid.
My point is simple. Wherever you can, whatever you have, do something for someone else. It doesn’t have to be money related. It can be as simple as helping a woman hawking drinks lift the basin onto her head or standing so someone else sits or calling passengers for a bus or taking the fares and sorting out change if the bus has no conductor.
But you have the power. So much of it. And you might not see what your sacrifices will bring for you but I once read this prayer:

” Lord, may we never lack people to stand in our defense. May our good gifts and our sacrifices continually speak for us in the evil day”

Somebody say Amen!
*

By the way, as soon as I’m done with Ebube’s story, I’m going on strike.

*

http://www.shadesofbrownnigeria.blogspot.com.ng/2016/02/dear-african-womanyou-are-not-good.html?m=1

REGROUPING

Yesterday was not the best day of my life. Of all the various forms of sexual assault and harassment, I hate random street sexual assault the most.
It defies logical explanation. I suspect this is because it is not logical. How else, does one explain a random fucktard, an agbero and yesterday, a mad man stretching out their filthy hands and touching my breast? (and marking me. The mad idiot had a red marker and he marked me)
Yesterday, I wanted to kill someone. I imagined in detail dismembering the bastard. Then I got depressed. Very depressed.
My body knows when I’m upset. It begins to crave the usual, the familiar. So I went home, had a bath, made lunch. Then I started crying. Then i said a prayer. Then I cleaned my eyes, started reading a novel that made me comfortable. Then I started crying again. Then I napped, woke up. Played with the dog. Watched some Telemundo. Then I went back into my room to attend a class in an online course I’m taking.
Then Obi and Anu began to fight.
Anu: The last time this happened, you started looking for a pen knife. Continue the search! Or take the small knife in the kitchen.
Obi: It happened so fast! What do you expect me to do if it happens again? Chase him and stab him? Can you imagine the headline?
Anu: If there’s a headline, you can defend yourself. You saw how many people saw it happen and did absolutely nothing. Why the fuck should they step in when you decide to take revenge?
Obi: Because a marker is not a deadly weapon. A knife can kill.
Anu: Exactly why you need one.
Obi: What if I stab someone by mistake. What do we do then?
Anu: You need to talk to someone. You know how you get if you don’t say anything.
Obi: Who will I talk to? There’s no way I can say anything to daddy, he’ll just feel bad and buy me Shortbread or Hobnobs. And I can’t talk to my friends. They’ll just say eiya and start telling me to calm down.
Anu: Joy will probably laugh and make you laugh too.
Obi: Joy might laugh or get upset. Anyway, they both have a ton of stuff on their plates now. I’m not going to tell them anything.
Anu: You could do with some Shortbread sha.
Obi: The shortbread we bought a month ago, have we started eating it?
Anu: Fine. But just imagine the joy you would feel knifing that arm.
And then, I had a pleasurable fantasy of beating the shit out of the fucking bastard.
Then I started crying again.

You might not know this, but when stuff like this happens, I begin to question EVERYTHING. Every decision I’ve made. Every blessed thing I’ve ever done. How? How am I supposed to bring a child into this world when they’re not safe? When there’s danger every bloody place you look? When some rat bastard can decide to pinch his/her breast, mark his/her body and go talk to someone else. How? Then I cried again and read a couple of blogs. Adaezenwa has a new post up of her Pendulum series. Please go check it out.
This morning I woke up, feeling a little better. I wore my largest earrings (the more upset I feel, the larger the earrings, mostly) and set off for work. I’ve broken down in tears more than once today. But not just because of this.

NIGERIA HAS ABSOLUTELY NO RESPECT FOR ITS GIRLS AND ITS WOMEN. NOT A WHIT!

Ese Oruru. The girls that were kidnapped in Chibok, in Ikorodu. Two girls were kidnapped in Ahmadu Bello University a while back. I retweeted it. Two days ago, I asked the person who posted the original tweet if they’d been found. And they had been. Dead, with body parts harvested.

It appears that these days, abducting girls is the best thing for criminals.
Less than an hour ago, Twitter erupted in another debate on rape and of course, some people, men and women came out, talking about how if girls dressed modestly, they wouldn’t be raped. I started crying again.

While I confess to being hurt, upset and depressed that someone could violate me in public and leave me with no course of action, I’m even more depressed that some people believe that if i had say, been wearing a hijab, it wouldn’t have happened.

Still, I’m regrouping. I won’t commit suicide over this. If I do, i won’t be able to play my part in reversing the mess this country is in.
And God knows I need to. So I drew my strength from Romans 8:31- 35. And I’ll live and fight another day.

Romans 8: 31 – 35 (Amplified Version)
31 What then shall we say to [all] this? If God is for us, who [can be] against us? [Who can be our foe, if God is on our side?]

32 He who did not withhold or spare [even] His own Son but gave Him up for us all, will He not also with Him freely and graciously give us all [other] things?

33 Who shall bring any charge against God’s elect [when it is] God Who justifies [that is, Who puts us in right relation to Himself? Who shall come forward and accuse or impeach those whom God has chosen? Will God, Who acquits us?]

34 Who is there to condemn [us]? Will Christ Jesus (the Messiah), Who died, or rather Who was raised from the dead, Who is at the right hand of God actually pleading as He intercedes for us?

35 Who shall ever separate us from Christ’s love? Shall suffering and affliction and tribulation? Or calamity and distress? Or persecution or hunger or destitution or peril or sword?

image
@poetolu. I like his Instagram page.
image
This calms me

My best friend’s dad will be up later today.
*

My best friend’s Dad- And now, Ebube

Hi all! I’m sure this post is a surprise. I’ve been considering starting a new series but Ebube wouldn’t leave me alone. She wants her story told. And so, here she is.
*

The air in the house is scented and perfumed, the smell of vanilla and chocolate working its way up my nose. Due, of all things to scented candles. My mom hates candles! But she sits now, directly in front of one, holding hands and exchanging naughty looks with Mr. Aghoture. He told me to call him Frank but it sounds really weird to me. As does calling him Pabby. So when I refer to or talk to him, I refrain from using his name.
For some reason, I feel irrational today. I’ve chosen to blame it on the candles.
Next to my mom and her husband, sit Bunmi and Patrick. Another candle; peach- scented this time, flickers before them. They are engrossed in silent conversation. I can hear snippets of it if I concentrate and imagine.
Her: “I love your eyes in candlelight”
Him: “Your hair smells like mangoes and oranges”. I want to scream; ” it’s MY shampoo!” But I don’t scream. I roll my eyes instead.
To my left, not illuminated by any lighting at all, Amara and her husband are feverishly making out. She told me once that they don’t want to have children immediately. I once planned to stay with them for a couple of months but they would not stop with the touching. It was kissing each other like they were sucking oranges, touching each other in places it’s indecent to refer to. Every time they were together, the passion was tangible. I had to cut my visit short. I expect that any day, Amara will announce that she has gotten pregnant.
The most incongruous guest at this little get together, is my father. When my mom married Frank, she gave my father the property we used to live in. I haven’t plucked up the courage to ask her what she’s repaying him for. Her 3 daughters? Being an above average husband for 11 years?

He lives there now and I live with him. Every two weeks, his son, my half brother comes over to spend the weekend. I hadn’t been around him much but I quickly discovered that the way to his heart was his video games. So I stocked up on them and learned how to play each of them. Whenever he comes over now, he comes to my room first and we play a death round of Mortal Kombat. After the first round, which I almost inevitably win, we relax and start another round, leisurely this time and he fills me in on school and his home life. Then we go to the kitchen and I cook for him or he cooks for me or we both cook for Daddy. Bunmi lives with Amara and my mom. She has rooms in both their houses. My mom and Pabby live within a walking distance from her office but on the weekends, she likes to visit her fiancé and go for premarital counseling. Her fiancé lives next door to Amara.
However, every once in a while, she stays at my mom’s on the weekends or she comes to visit with dad. Whenever she does so, I search her face for hints of problems. She seems happy. Really, truly happy.
My dad stands up and in the dim lighting, he hits his leg on the table and lets out a loud yelp. Soon we’re all laughing at him. The overhead lighting is switched on and I breathe a sigh of relief. It does not last.
With brighter illumination, Amara who has become a serious jokester begins to tease me. Bunmi joins in and finally my mom stops them. Then she asks why I did not bring a date. I smiled and replied that I did bring a date; dad. There is utter silence for a moment. I see my mom and Pabby exchange stricken looks and I wonder what that’s all about. Soon I notice that everyone is done with their food. So I pack all the plates and go into the kitchen to do the dishes and escape from the atmosphere of romance that for some reason, saddens me and makes me long for something I cannot articulate.

*
Six Months Later

BOMA

It is November, Christmas decorations are already up. I’ve been invited for 2 job interviews and they’re both in the same area. I’m done with the first and I suspect I’ll be given the position but my stomach is roiling as I wait for the elevator that will take me to the office where the 2nd interview is supposed to take place. This is the job that interests me. The job description suggests that it would be more work for me but I’d love to be a part of it. The opportunities are extremely attractive; I’d get to create jobs for other people, head the CSR operations of the company and even more importantly, at the interview stage, I noticed six other people like myself. They were definitely in my age group and they seemed friendly. If I got the other job, I’d work with people older than my dad. If I get this one, I’d have colleagues my own age. I’d left so many friends behind and I hadn’t had many chances to reconnect with the two close friends I left here. My dad has been dropping subtle hints that I need to go out more. And I finally realize that he was right. I’d love to make new friends. So as I entered the elevator, I closed my eyes and begged God to give me this job. When I opened them, the elevator was stopping at the 2nd floor to pick up more passengers. I shut my eyes again and repeated as in a litany, “Please Lord, you know what I need. Please let me dazzle them. Let them hire me”
When I opened my eyes, there was only one passenger left. I was about to close my eyes again when she bent down to adjust her shoelaces that had come loose. For a minute, I thought she was Bunmi, then I saw her face. I’d met her before, at the reception for Bunmi’s mom. Ebube. The same powerful thud was in my heart, the same breathlessness. However, before I could approach and alert her to my presence and hopefully remember to take her number this time, the elevator opened and she stepped out. I noticed that it stopped on the 22nd floor and I noticed that she stopped at an office with Rock Pension Managers emblazoned.
I started praying again, I had another reason to want to work here now.
***************
Scene 2 will be up tomorrow.

My article recommendation for today is:
http://lifeinpagessite.wordpress.com/2016/02/16/i-didnt-mean-to-they-told-me-to-do-it/. It’s long but I like it. Hope you do too.

Until the last episode, I’ll be bringing a charity to your attention. You are not obliged to do anything, or donate anything. I’d appreciate you sharing and praying. But you’re not obliged. Today, it’s a girl (Dolapo Jasmine Igboin), a year away from becoming a medical doctor when she faced a loss of funding. The goal has been met but I guess with arrears in school fees and all it entails, there’s still a need for more donations. Just go to this link: http://www.gofundme.com/mun4wm78?utm_source=internal&utm_medium=email&utm_content=cta_button&utm_campaign=upd_n.

Cheers!
Hugs.

THE GRATITUDE CHALLENGE *whoop whoop*

Someone nominated me for a challenge recently, one nice young man named Immanuel who blogs here. Thank you Immanuel!

The person who nominated him is Oreofe of gracedmisfits. I remember visiting her blog a couple of times, here. I remember her as an awesome blogger. Below are her rules as lifted from Immanuel’s blog:

“I’m to write five things I’m grateful for, display a picture of gratitude – a picture of something simple that makes me smile and then nominate 5 other people for the challenge. I’m really fascinated by the idea of a picture of gratitude. In her words “It is not an opportunity to show off how rich you are. Let it be something that is simple (and inexpensive) yet a blessing.”

I did a 7 day gratitude challenge once on Facebook. Pictures everyday and you’d have to say 3 things you were grateful for that day. Incidentally, Day 4 was when I found out I had failed my Bar Finals, that first time. Then the challenge became clearer to me. It was God asking, “Will you still thank me even when it seems like everything is upside down?”

This was what I wrote that day:

{THE GRATITUDE CHALLENGE
DAY FOUR
1. I thank God for everyone I love who loves me back.
2. I thank God for good news as well as bad.
3. And I thank God for his promises which never change and never fail.
Thank you Lord! }

And then I cried and cried and cried some more. And played “Praise you in this Storm”- Casting Crowns on repeat.

But this year, God proved himself over and above. I held on to HIS promises- Isaiah 61:7, Isaiah 50:7, Isaiah 3:10. Jeremiah 29:11 and HE DID NOT FAIL.

So, without further prevarication, these are five things I am so very grateful for:

  1. My Family: My “little” cousin is currently lying down on my bed, playing with her phone. She takes up more than half my bed space and quite often, I have had to push her legs off so I can perch at the edge of my bed. Is it a perfect situation? Definitely not. But she and I are close. When we were younger, her arrival always meant I would have to surrender my love of eating alone, my love for privacy (we used to bathe together and use the toilet at the same time) and my bed. Still, I adore my Chaychi and she adores me, I think. And so I’m thankful for her, as a representative of every member of my family.
  2. My Friends: The other day, I was walking on the road and I met an old friend. We had lunch, laughed and went our separate ways to meet some other day. I am not, never have been the friendliest person. Or the most approachable. But still, some people have maintained friendships with me. Have called when I determinedly had my head buried in the sand, have hugged me when I was bristling insane, have written confessions for me to recite when I felt manic, have stayed when I punched them with my words. Thanks.
  3. For my house slippers: i have used this pair for close to 3 years. It has stopped me from sliding on wet floors. From tripping over my own legs.From breaking my teeth and the metal accoutrements on it. Thank you dear slippers.
  4. For the water tanks in our house: We don’t have a borehole. So we rely on the Lagos State Water Corporation. And 40% of the time, they’re great. Clean, clear water that doesn’t smell. It is the other 60% of the time when they seize water for times ranging from 3 hours to 6 months, that I’m grateful we have water tanks to draw from.
  5. For my Bible- What better way to reach God than through his Word? For the Psalms, For the book of Isaiah, For the Gospels. For all the different Bibles I’ve had over the years (and the people who bought most of them), the verses I’ve memorized, the verses that have cut me to the quick,my current Blackaby Study Bible, I thank YOU.
Devotional (Joni Eareckson Tada- Diamonds in the Dust, 1993) and Blackaby Study Bible
Devotional (Joni Eareckson Tada- Diamonds in the Dust, 1993) and Blackaby Study Bible
It's Ugly and Blond which I have a latent issue with, but it's mine and it is symbolic. Thank You Lord!
It’s Ugly and Blond which I have a latent issue with, but it’s mine, symbolic and I’m very thankful for what it symbolizes. Thank You Lord!

In turn, I would like to nominate the following bloggers for this challenge-

  1. Eziaha- http://www.eziaha.com
  2. Chinedu- http://www.nedoux.com
  3. Adaeze- http://www.chynanu.wordpress.com, http://www.chynanu.blogspot.com
  4. Dr. N- http://www.drnsmusings.wordpress.com
  5. David Brian Paley- http://www.vancouvervisions.com
  6. Timi-  www.livelytwist.com

What are you grateful for this week?

1st Thessalonians 5:18- In all things give thanks, for this is the will of God for you in Christ Jesus.

Also, I want to invite you to a concert- Joshuaville, Night of Worship, 20th of November, 2015. Fidelity Bank Open ground, Oba Idowu Oniru Street, off the Palms(Shoprite) Road, Lekki.
Say you’ll come please!

Let’s Talk about Sex baby ( SEXUAL ABUSE, STREET HARASSMENT AND THE OBVIOUS SOLUTION)

Before you Read This:

I am a funny person. I believe that everyday goes better if you have laughed like a hyena. I believe in being childish. In walking away when people irritate me instead of getting into a war of words with them. Yes this post has injections of humour. Yes, everything in this post actually did happen. No, I am not permanently damaged. And yes, I have forgiven every one of the people here. But forgiveness does not mean forgetting. The reason one name is mentioned and the other isn’t is because I have proof in one case and none in the other. Sucks, yes, but that’s the way life is.
****************************************

I remember a time in secondary school when someone slapped me, right across the face. I so wanted to slap him back. And I would have but for 2 reasons:
1. I had a crush on him.
2. 3 people pulled me away before my brain could give my hand the order to move and return the slap. Still, there are some nights when I think back, see my fists clench and wish I had returned that slap. That’s one of the reasons I’m writing this.

Because although I did not deserve that slap and so severely wish I had returned it, I can’t return it now. Even if I saw him now, even if he gave me the slightest opportunity to, the chance is gone. The context has disappeared and slapping him now will warrant explanation upon explanation or degenerate into a full blown fight and I don’t have the energy or inclination for either. But I definitely have the inclination to fight this war.

I have been sexualized since I was 11 years old. Which incidentally was the same age that hediot (a male idiot) slapped me. Go figure.

It was in my house. By my lesson teacher. While my little brother lay sick in the next room, this particular hediot puckered his lips and made to kiss me. I slapped him. He obviously did not get the message. He tried to touch my vagina. I slapped him again. What followed next was a comical chase around the house. My house (my parents’ actually).

Now the obvious thing for me to have done would have been to run outside and scream at the top of my lungs. I didn’t. I wish I had, but in this particular instance, I can still scream, not just for me but for the millions of people; girls and boys going through this silently.
He remained my lesson teacher, funny thing.Then my little brother’s. And so from age 11 to 15/16 the incidents continued and I told no one until the third day I found him in my bedroom, in the morning, on a chair, watching me sleep. Then I told 2 of my cousins/family members/those people who are not exactly your family members but spend so much time in your house you consider them family. And then the incidents stopped. My parents knew nothing of this until last year.

At age 16/17, I went for an interview, an internship position, and I met the second hediot (well, the third one actually, if we count the dude who slapped me). This one was stylish in his pervertedness. From the interview stage where his left hand kept straying perpetually to my trouser clad thighs as I sat beside him writing multiple letters for his assessment (he is a lawyer specially concerned with arbitration,writing articles and books and teaching other lawyers how to write) to the time I locked myself in the toilet in his house/office because he decided to stop being stylish in his pervertedness and step out into the light. In so many ways, I wish I had taken a vacation that summer. But hindsight has 20/20 vision, doesn’t it?
The most recent incident of sexual abuse was last year, during my externship period in the morning while I made my way to court. There was a man walking toward me, an arm extended. In the time it took for me to give him and his arm way, he had tapped current (that “refreshing” Nigerian slang we give to sexual abuse). And I had to deal with questions from pretty much everyone around including the man who stopped my fingers as I was getting ready to punch him, as to whether he was my boyfriend. He was not.

The main reason I’m writing this article is because I keep thinking of something someone once said to me when I opened up about the first hediot and his wandering lips and hands. She said, “Uju, we’ve all gone through it. It happens to everyone”, and comparing it to multiple testimonies I’ve heard about people cured from an addiction to pornography, having multiple sexual partners or multiple abortions. In some of those cases, it started with just one lesson teacher/babysitter/auntie/uncle/mom/dad with wandering hands and no self control.

While the Nigerian National Assembly debated whether to vote to legalise child marriage, I shared so many articles, pre-written by others as to why it was a terrible idea. There is no such discussion now, no trend right now concerning this problem but I knew I would not be able to sleep this night until I wrote this article.

Paedophilia, paraphilia and pederasty (Sexual or erotic feelings or desires directed by adults and late adolescents towards children; particularly, in psychiatry, adult sexual attraction to prepubescent children) are mental diseases. Given the fact that sex is a touchy subject, sexual abuse and street harassment are tarred with the same brush too. And that is the other reason I’m writing this. I have taken the abuse, the harassment and stifled every feeling concerning it, relying on my self control to get me through. But last year, my self control snapped. Repressed words came out in very high decibels. And when no words came out, I just screamed. That’s how my parents found  out about the lesson teacher debacle by the way.

Don’t pass your mental disease to me

Paedophilia is the one mental disease that re -enacts repeatedly. Multiple times. If you don’t believe me, please check Google. Or watch October 1 (Kunle Afolayan). However, just as there is no forgiveness for thieves who have had things stolen from them, there should be no forgiveness for rapists and paedophiles who were victims themselves.

I’m tired of having insomnia. I’ve had it since I was 11. I’m tired of being afraid of having kids. I’m tired of having the beginnings of panic attacks every time I go to the market. I’m tired of not talking about it. My fists clenched about an hour ago and I knew I had to talk about it.

THE OBVIOUS SOLUTION

Kill them all. Every last one of them. Or, lock them in prison. Cut off their penises, or put habanero pepper in their vaginas on an hourly basis and give them no food or drink till they die. Lol.

The obvious solution is not the wisest.
If I had slapped that guy back then, I have no doubt that he and I would have fought. At that age, when the difference in our bodies was just making itself known, I have no fear that I would have held my own but ultimately, he would have beaten me. It is the same with this issue. A city, a society, a country divided against itself cannot stand.

So, much as I relish my daydreams of the bridge littered with dismembered genitals and steaming vaginas, I alternatively recommend that every state have a book/list/record of sexual offenders; even our brothers in the North. I recommend that all victims be taken for medical as well as psychological treatment, preferably free (Support Mirabel Centre in any way you can please) and every school have extensive sexual education.
Furthermore, teach little kids/ big kids self defense (give to Stand to End Rape please), help educate people (also give to Slum2School and the Destiny Trust), report any suspicious behaviour of a sexual nature to the police and please whenever the police get an account number for the renovation of their barracks, help then too (it is naive to expect sympathy/action from anyone who lives in those conditions).

More than your money, we need you to spread the word.
To the victims: It is not your fault. No, that flash of prepubescent leg did not bring this to you. No that stolen meat from the pot does not entitle Uncle Sunday to make you suck his genitals or Auntie Bunmi/Chika/Ekaette/Hadiza to touch yours. Yes, mummy/daddy/auntie and Uncle still love you and always will. And yes, we will keep Uncle Sunday and Auntie Bunmi/Chika/Ekaette/Hadiza away from you. If you see them anywhere, tell us. Come let’s go to a special doctor/ psychologist (depending on their level of understanding).
To the offenders- After reporting them to the police and having their names registered as sexual offenders, “Never come near my child again. If I ever see you around them, heaven help me, I will kill you.

By no means is it a precise science. Nor does it cover all such incidences. This is just a guideline. I expounded more on it in an article I wrote last year (http://inbetweenpeople.wordpress.com/2014/09/17/sexual-abuse-how-to-effectively-deal-with-it-and-contain-it/).

May God give you the grace to deal with such situations. It is difficult. But it is doable. So please TAKE A STAND.

Postscript

1. Hediot Number 1 (Lesson Teacher) was/is named Sunday Mofolusho Oyeyemi Adekoya.

2. I sucked no one’s genitals nor had mine sucked. I did not have abortions nor have I been raped. I have not become a paedophile nor gotten addicted to pornography. I just have insomnia, had severe bouts of depression, feelings of worthlessness, guilt and shame climaxing last year in manic depression aka bipolar disorder. I don’t have it anymore but yes, it happens. Even in Nigeria.

PLEASE HELP SOMEONE TODAY.
PLEASE OPEN YOUR MOUTH AND SHARE YOUR STORY.
PLEASE STOP SEXUALIZING CHILDREN.
PLEASE STOP COVERING UP FOR PAEDOPHILES.

Thank you.

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Some recommended resources-

Teach your children about SEX before an evil person does – Viola Okolie

From pain to prayer…

And if you want FREE Christian resources and Ebooks- go to http://www.biblesnet.com/ebooks.html.

Cheers.

💛