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“It happened last night. It happened last night. It happened last night. It...”
The words writhed and slithered and dragged their fetid claws on the walls of my head. They pushed, they pulled at my sanity, they tormented me. My poor Seki, my poor poor girl, mummy is sorry she wasn’t there for you. Mummy is sorry that she let work keep her away. Mummy will make this right.
A thousand images flashed through in head, blurry at first but then clear as day. Me picking Seki from school. Me helping Seki undress in the house. Seki wincing as I tried to pull down her panties, the polka dotted ones I gave her for her sixth birthday that year. The bruises on her thighs, black and red against her fair smooth skin.
“Seki, what happened? Who did this to you Seki?”
The deafening silence, the lone tear rolling down her face and stopping at the dimple on her left cheek. The dirt on her nails as she swiped at it. It is almost funny how the brain notices such little details when all I want to do is scream.
“Your teacher?”.
She shakes her head.
“Was it uncle, aunty?”.
Another shake.
“Tell me who then? Who did this to you?!”.
She jumps. I’ve never raised my voice at Seki, never lifted a finger to hurt her. So I was also surprised when I saw myself grabbing her tiny hunched shoulders and shaking them.
“WHO?!”.
She’s wailing now, shouting something. I’m still shouting, so I couldn’t hear her at first.
“It’s daddy, it’s daddy...it happened last night.. ”.
My hands are suddenly cold, that chill that turns the marrow to ice. I dropped Seki, and felt my way to her bed. I was dazed, the words had sunk in. I felt a hand on my face, wiping the tears, trying to wrap itself round me. My daughter, I scooped her up, sniffling like a child, holding her, and rocking, trying to push the thoughts away.
That seems like a lifetime ago, I had managed to put Seki to sleep in her room. I didn’t leave her, even when Dele came home. He went straight to bed, he always did that, and tonight I was grateful he did.
Walking to the kitchen, the tears rolled down my cheeks, blinding me, I stumbled and clutched the knife firmly in my hands.
Mummy will make it right.
THE END.
I wrote this story on a bus. Overheard two men talking about how a father raped his six year old daughter. It was just sad, and I felt angry too. No one has the right to do that to anyone, a child for that matter, especially if that child were your own flesh and blood.
Another thing that pissed me off was that the family intended to hush up the matter, send the mum and the girl away— they'd be well taken care of course (insert sarcasm), something about taboos and curses and shame.
Well I say...
WAKE UP!
Did you know that in Nigeria, one out of four girls and one out of ten boys get molested in one way or the other before they reach 18?
Yeah, that should give you something to chew on. It's horrible and has to stop. It won't stop until we make it, and by "WE", I mean the government and every single individual.
Report abuse, be it rape, violence, trafficking. Let it be your concern, the awesome thing is that you could do it anonymously too.
Here are some places you can go to for help in Nigeria:
The CeCe Yara Foundation.
0800 800 8001. Toll free.
National Agency For The Prohibition Of Trafficking In Person's, (NAPTIP). Here's the website.
0800CALLNAPTIP (08002255627847)
Alliance Against Child Abuse And Molestation.