I Thought I Was a Witch…
Children Accused of WitchcraftImage: SAFE CHILD AFRICA. I remember when I thought I was a witch. It was sometime in the year 2000 or 2001. My parents were strict and required us to stay at home always; unless absolutely necessary. They also didn’t encourage us to have friends or people over at the house. Maybe it was because of their strictness or the fact that we were always indoors but, my house became the hub for our friends and neighbors when they weren’t around. And yes, we had so many of them; especially me. When my parents were out, our friends would come over and we would have all sorts of craziness in the name of fun. If my parents knew just how many people came to our house and caused havoc when they were out, we would have been flayed. This is not to say that we weren’t caught once in a while. But they didn’t know just how bad it was. It was during one of these visits that a friend came to beat me in the house. Funny story. Omoh (fake name alert) and I were closer than most of our other friends. The group used to call us ‘husband and wife’. For some reason which I cannot remember now, we had a fight and stopped being friends. Then I heard that he was trying to tarnish my reputation and spreading lies about me. I got so mad and began to write a letter. By this point, I had just learned words like ‘scalliwag’, ‘nincompoop’ and the all-purpose French word, fuck. I peppered my letter with those words – and others like them – in what I thought was a take down of his entire existence. When I was done, I gave the letter to the same friends who brought the tale to me. Turns out my words struck a million nerves. He was so mad! What I didn’t know was that the letter had been read aloud in front of the rest of the group and with each ‘big word’ they saw, the guys would fall all over themselves, regaling in laughter. And then they would check the dictionary for the meaning and upon discovering what it meant, would break out in even bigger laughter. By the time they were done reading that letter, Omoh was in a rage. I had barely been told he was coming to beat me when he burst into my house brandishing a belt. He asked me to repeat myself if I dared. I was scared out of my skin but I was never one to show it. So I went, ‘I have said all I wanted to say to you. If you didn’t understand it, that is your concern.’ Wrong move. I felt the sharpness of the belt eating into my flesh just as the rest of the group decided to intervene. Maybe most people didn’t think it wouldn’t get to that or they wanted to see me get beat, which I think is what really happened, but the delay in their response sent me into a rage. I reached for him, hoping to throw a blow; even though I was not a fighter. I remember that the biggest guy in the group held me back as the others held Omoh. As I was kicking and throwing blows, I kept saying, ‘You don’t know me! I will show just who I am. This is the biggest mistake you have made in your life and you will so regret it. Get ready to face who I am.’ There was nothing I was going to do. I knew I was bluffing but I kept going. Heck, I couldn’t even tell my parents. They would have continued the beating from where he left off. But I was livid and kept going. In a way, I was thankful that I was held back. If they had let me attack, I most definitely would have run away. The fight was eventually broken and everyone went their way. I heard that Omoh planned to still beat me up in the streets whenever he saw me. I was scared of what would happen to me when I didn’t have other people protecting me. I know that I talk a big game but honestly, I don’t know how to fight; then or now. So when my mother sent me the market two days later, and I had to pass through his house, I was scared out of my wits. When I passed by on my way to the market and nothing happened, I was relieved; for a little while. I think the fear doubled when I was returning because I kept imagining him jumping out of nowhere to descend on me. When that didn’t happen, I finally breathed a sigh of relief when I got home. I was free! I had barely let out that sigh when another friend came in. ‘Oh girl! I dey fear you oh! Wetin you do Omoh?’ Even though he said it in a joking tone, I could tell that he was a bit wary; of me. I looked at him and wondered what he was about. ‘Omoh is sick. He has been lying in bed since that day that he beat you. What did you do?’ I looked at him and hissed. ‘He must be joking.’ I thought to myself. But he wasn’t. The rumor had spread that I had cast a spell on Omoh, which was why he was sick. It was then that it occurred to me that I hadn’t seen any of my friends since the fight. They were actively avoiding me! I felt so bad. So I included every one of them in the anger I was still smarting from. It wasn’t until the next day that a delegation of friends came to plead with me to forgive Omoh. I was shocked. What were these people saying? What could I possibly have done? ‘Remember as you were
Here Comes the Bride 4
Picture from: THE FEMINIST WIRE Bimbo Omotosho woke up wanting to pee. She went into her bathroom and when she returned, sat on her bed and stared at the night light. She wasn’t sure she could fall right back to sleep. ‘Maybe a glass of milk would help’, she said too herself. She looked at her bedside clock and saw that it was 2am. Her mother always snapped about having late night snacks and Bimbo really didn’t listen. When she was hungry, she ate. She had a stash under her bed which helped her cravings. Bimbo bent down to pull her goodie bag and was shocked to see it empty. There was a note from her mother saying, ‘I was born way before you and I know all the tricks you can possibly pull young lady. No more unplanned snacks!’ Bimbo was mad! Why did she always do that?! Well then, she had to find another way. Bimbo knew her mother slept like she was in a coma but like most people in a coma, you never knew what would make her start. So Bimbo opened her door as gently as she could and, thanking God for the plush carpets that lined most of the house, tip-toed past her parents’ room and downstairs. She prayed her father didn’t wake up but knew that even if he did, he would most likely help her get her milk and share a cookie. When she got to the kitchen, she poured herself a glass of milk – the real stuff and not the 2% milk her mother always insisted she drank – and took out one cookie from the jar. Her best bet was to eat it in her room. As she closed the fridge door, she could have sworn she heard a moan. She shrugged it off as a figment of her imagination and set out to her room. As she passed her maid’s room, she heard the moan again. This time, coming in slightly louder. She was scared but curious and in the end, curiosity won. She kept her milk on the floor and oh so gently turned the doorknob. With his back to her, her father was naked and kissing their maid; who was also naked. They were running their hands all over each other but what was more disturbing was the fact that a similar scene was playing on the television. Bimbo stood there, cookie in hand, transfixed as she watched her father, their maid and the actors they were copying. She may be eight years old but she knew what she was seeing was wrong. However, she couldn’t avert her eyes. She was so transfixed that she didn’t hear her mother walk up to her, gently pull the door close and point upstairs. Bimbo didn’t need to be told to go to her room. She ran to her room, locked her door and laid on the bed. The screams began, followed by the crash of glassware. Bimbo buried her head under her pillow and soon enough, fell asleep; cookie in hand. The glass of milk remained where Bimbo dropped it, unbothered by the destruction that went on for hours. *** The divorce was quick. Turns out Bimbo’s mum took a couple of pictures that could ruin her husband, the very respectable Pastor Biodun Omotosho, senior pastor, Live Church, with a congregation of over ten thousand people. After her crazy tantrum, she piped down and made her demands. She would keep Bimbo, the house, two cars and a steady allowance to continue living as she was used to. In return, she would not publish the pictures to his loving flock. She would also pretend she was the one who got tired of the rigors of marriage to a ‘man of God’ so his impeccable reputation remained untainted. He jumped at the offer, promising to do all she asked. In less than a week, a joint statement was released and as expected, Bimbo’s mum was labelled the bitch! She wasn’t worried because in truth, she married Biodun for his money and wasn’t into all that religious stuff anyway. To ride out the drama, she took her daughter and went off to Canada. In all these, no one spoke to Bimbo about what she had seen that night. Even when she tried to bring it up, her mother shut her down by saying, ‘You did not see anything! And next time, when I say don’t do something, you better obey me! In fact, this is all your fault! If you had obeyed me, I wouldn’t have known…just forget it. You did not see anything.’ But how could bimbo forget it when every night she went to bed, she kept seeing the actors doing things to each other? *** As Bimbo grew, she realized what she had seen her father do that day was have sex and what was playing on the television in her maid’s room was porn. As she became more internet savvy, she spent time finding and watching porn, and erasing her internet activities. It wasn’t as if anyone cared. Her mother was too busy dating rich men to be bothered about what her daughter was doing online. Bimbo started craving sex like she wanted food. As soon as she became a teenager, she wanted to practice what she had been watching for four years so she could find out if all the feelings she got from watching porn could be felt in reality. She began to make moves with the boys in school but they were all so scared. They kept acting like she would eat them. Bimbo knew that if she was to satisfy her urges, she had to aim higher; older. It was no wonder that the moment she saw Ricardo Esteban, her mum’s newest boyfriend, she knew he was the one she wanted. Ricardo was a tall, ripped bodied, dark-olive skinned hunk of a Columbian millionaire and it wasn’t surprising that her mother was dating him. She told
Malformed and Rejected!
Picture: ROSA VERLOOP I sat in my room and remembered a young boy I once knew. I will call him Junior. Junior was the first son of his parents. They had been blessed with four girls before Junior was born. Being African, his father didn’t feel like a man until he had his son. I don’t know what it was like at his birth because I met Junior when he was about 4. Junior was malformed. His head seemed too heavy for his tiny body, resulting in a permanent slouch when he sat; which was all he could do. His arms and legs were tiny and never seemed to catch up with the rest of his body as he grew. His eyes were bulgy and he had a drool most of the time. That was all most people saw. As a result, he was always on a chair or propped with pillows. I saw a side to Junior that astounded me. He was veryintelligent! He could hold brilliant conversations, with only slight slurring of his words. He was like Stephen Hawking…without the futuristic wheelchair. He was also very respectful and courteous; a trait that gets me every time. One day I stumbled upon his report cards and found he was the best student in his class. I expressed my amazement and his mum, full of pride and joy, told me that he had always been the top student in his class; excelling way above other regular students. This was my confirmation that Junior had the mind of a genius trapped in a malformed body. Somehow, I didn’t feel bad for him. I believed that his mind was the most important thing about him and I was proud to know him. Soon enough, his mother was pregnant again. When she gave birth to a healthy baby boy, Junior’s father was more than elated. He threw the biggest naming ceremony for his son and was merry for days. When it was his 1st birthday, oh my! You should have seen the fanfare! When Junior was about 8 and his brother 3, I was witness to something that shocked the socks off me. Junior’s dad returned from work that day and his second son ran to him with the enthusiasm that defined his childhood, screaming ‘Daddy Welcome!’ As soon he flew in the air for a hug, Junior’s father lifted him above his head and said, ‘Thank you my only son’. I balked! Only son?! Only son?! It was at that moment that I saw Junior crawling to welcome his father. He was within hearing distance of his father when those words were uttered. He froze where he was, child as he was, but understanding the full impact of those words. And like a child, he still said his welcomes…wishing….hoping….for that toss into the air and that acknowledgement. Junior’s father mumbled a response and went into his room. My heart broke…just as I am sure Junior’s did. He was malformed from birth, which was no fault of his. And that malformation led his father to reject him in the most hurtful of ways. For his father, his beautiful mind was not enough to overlook his mangled body. I left the house. That was the last day I saw Junior. The next time I heard of him, it was about his burial. He had been 13 when he died. I remember being sad and depressed at his painful life. I remembered his courtesy and his brilliance. I remembered how he always tried to help himself, in spite of his malformed body. I remembered his crooked smile that makes me think of the song by J.Cole. Best of all, I remembered his spirit. I heard his father cried at the funeral. I heard the tears wouldn’t stop. But I couldn’t help but wonder; did he cry in sorrow because he had lost a son or did he cry in joy because he now, truly, had one son?
Feigning Innocence
Lost Innocence.Image: Monster’s Closet Adakole looked at that body and he felt she was begging him to come to bed. He had always considered her a tease; especially because she was constantly hugging him, sitting on his thighs, or on the floor with her legs wide open and feigning innocence like she wasn’t deliberately arousing him. Well, it ends here. He is going to have her today! He began to take off her clothes. Where she should have been afraid, she laughed! He felt a twinge of anger. Was she laughing at him? He got angrier and slapped her. Today, he was going to show her who the boss was. He began to touch her and she didn’t respond. If anything, she stiffened. That got him worked up and he used his knee to forcefully spread her legs apart. She started to whimper and soon enough, she was crying; loudly. Adakole took a pillow and pressed down on her face as he continued touching her. ‘Now you want to act like this isn’t what you always wanted?’ he kept thinking to himself. Well, she shouldn’t have thought she could tease him and go scot free. He felt searing anger pass through him, doing the only thing he could to break her spirit. He whipped out his penis and forced himself into her. He kept ramming until she stopped moving; she stopped resisting. When he was done, he asked her to get up. No response. He shook her. No response. He shook her harder. She didn’t move. She was dead. Adakole panicked. He knew what would happen to him when her parents found out about what he had done. He also knew he had no other option but to run for his life. *** Senator Ibikunle held his crying wife as they addressed the press. ‘Our driver went to pick our daughter from school yesterday and has since not returned. We urge you to please help us with whatever information you have. Her name is Bolanle and our driver is Adakole Emmanuel. Please help us find our little girl. She is just three years old.’
Here Comes the Bride 3
Nollywood actor, Foluke Daramola, campaigns against domestic violence.Image: Kokolife Iniabasi look her husband wit corner eye as he dey sleep. Ukeme just dey roll up and dan like say spirit dey purshoo am. She don bone tire! Why dis her mumu husband dey snore like olden days Volkswagen? Ha ahn! One day, she go fit carry pillow press press im head make he for quiet! Ah ahn! As if Ukeme know wetin she dey tink, he turn im nyash face her come release one kine mess wey smell pass egg wey done rotten. De mess go straight go her face like say na wetin in bin dey target. She slap am wit one mind! ‘Your papa! Why you go mess for my face?! You dey mad ne?’ Ukeme wake up with vex. Dis time, she no even prepare herself before he start dey blow blow her. As he dey beat her, he follow dey bite her for her neck, for her breast, for her belle, and for her lap. After he done swell up her body well well, he tear the remaining cloth wey for dey her body come dey drag her for ground. Deir neighbors bin don tire for their fights so tey nobody even comot from their flat. Na so he drag her body for their compound till them reach outside. As people gather dey laugh, he pour spit for her face come waka dey go. Like say something push am, he turn back, waka come her place, open in trouser, comot in prick, come start dey piss for her body. All de agberos wen dey her area come dey laugh dey hail Ukeme. Na den she faint. *** Iniabasi Unwana was the first of 8 children in a family that was piss poor! Her father was a mean mechanic who spent whatever money he made on Ogogoro. He drank so much that his natural odor was the stench of stale alcohol. They lived in a one-room apartment where they literally had to sleep like sardines. Her mother seemed to give birth every 10 months, such that at Iniabasi’s 8th birthday, she had 7 siblings. Her father didn’t hit them but her mother more than made up for that. What her father did though was…nothing! He didn’t pay bills, he didn’t provide money for food, he never sent any of his kids to school and he definitely didn’t work…much. Her mother on the other hand worked enough for 10 people. She was a street cleaner between the hours of 6 and 7am and a maid for an Alhaja from 8am to 5pm. When she got home, it was to begin her business as an Akara seller at the motor park. She would do this until about 10pm before returning home. Even with what she did, she was only able to raise enough to ensure that her kids ate and wore the cheapest clothes. She paid the rent also but the bulk of her money went into treatment for her ailing mother in the village and clearing her husband’s debts at different Ogogoro joints. Anyone looking at Iniabasi’s mother would never believe that she is a young woman; she looked old, tired, angry and very bitter. Iniabasi started helping out when she was 4. Her mother would prepare Akamu and it was Iniabasi’s job to hawk them on the streets. As she grew older, it fell to her to wash the beans, take them to grind in a bucket heavier than her and then peel the yams and potatoes as she waited for her mother. She would then put all of them in a truck and push them to the spot where her mother cooked. She had to do all this while taking care of her younger ones. It was on one of such days that her father returned home early. She was washing the beans when she heard a grunt behind her. She jumped, startled, as she faced the person who had made the sound. She saw her father rubbing his penis while looking at her. She was 9 but she knew that what he was doing was wrong. ‘Papa, wetin you dey do?’ she asked as she took a step back. He approached her, swaying, still rubbing his penis, and still wearing the weird look. ‘Come here. Come and take.’ Iniabasi looked behind her. She was boxed in. Her only escape route was through her father. As she contemplated what to do, Iya Kemi came out of her room with her broom held high. Iya Kemi hit her father repeatedly, with each well placed blow punctuated with a scream. ‘Neighbors! Neighbors! Make una come see abomination! Come see wetin Unwana dey do for front of im pikin oh! Aiye ma baje! Ko ni da fun e! Olori buruku! Oloshi!’ Iniabasi ran to Iya Kemi and used all her strength to try to pull her off her father. Iya Kemi wouldn’t budge. She kept hitting her father as he tried to protect himself. Neighbors from other compounds came in and men started beating Unwana. They stripped him and continued to beat him. Someone shouted, ‘Bring tire’ and out of nowhere, a tire materialized. They had just put the tire around him when sirens of an approaching police vehicle and shots fired into the air sent the crowd running. Unwana was rushed to the hospital and someone sent for her mother. When her mother came home and asked what happened, Iniabasi trembled in response. She told her mother everything and watched her expression change from worry to extreme anger. Her mother went to the door, locked it and faced her. ‘Come here. And make devil punish you today say you shout.’ Iniabasi went to her mother for what she knew was a certainty; she was about to get the beating of her life! *** That was the beginning of her daily beatings. For the slightest misdemeanor, her mother would look at her and beat her black and blue! Sometimes the neighbors helped and other times, they didn’t. Iniabasi’s body was
A Glimpse Into Child Abuse And Marriage
Young girl holding a child.Image: UNICEF Australia Zireme Azimba remembered the first time she came to Yola. She was brought to the city from Galabje, her small village in Toungo, Adamawa State. Before then, she had never imagined leaving the routine of her home; waking up at dawn, sweeping the compound, cooking, farming, cooking again, and on weekends, laundry at the small stream. Her Uncle Golfa, whose wife – Daufe – had just put to bed, came to take her from her parents to help with house chores. When she got into Yola, she was surprised at how ‘developed’ it was. She had never seen tarred roads before and definitely had not seen such tall buildings. Quite frankly, that was the first time she had been in a car. Yes, she had been 9 years old but no one in her village had a car. She hid her excitement though. She didn’t want to disgrace her mother. As she entered her Uncle’s house, she held her nylon bag close to her breasts; mounds that were just starting to show signs of womanhood. She was doe-eyed as she stared at her new house. The house was a two room apartment in a very crowded neighborhood. She was shown where to keep her belongings and immediately put to work. Her uncle worked in a bakery and had to be out of the house as early as 5am. She had to be up at 4am every day. While his meal was cooking, she would take his bath water to the bathroom and iron his clothes; with an electric iron if there was ‘light’ and charcoal iron if there wasn’t. Then she would serve him his meal at about 4:45am. As soon as he was done, she would gather his plates and the ones from the night before to wash. When she had placed them outside, she would go in to carry baby Desmond and see if he needed a change of diaper or something else. After that, she would do the dishes, sweep the house and then wake her Aunt Daufe from her snore-fest called sleep. She would then wash Desmond’s and some of her Aunt’s pee-and-poo-stained clothes. She would then be sent to the market to get food stuff for dinner or to grind grains. Since her uncle worked in a bakery, he usually brought dough home in the afternoon for his wife to fry. This allowed him to make some extra money on the side. As soon as Aunt Daufe taught Zireme how to fry the dough, she stopped doing even that. Zireme would fry until about 6pm, allow it to cool for about 30 minutes, package them, and then start cooking dinner. The only free time she had was between 8pm and 10pm when she was allowed to watch television. The routine would begin again the next day. This continued until her Aunt took in again. As soon as Aunt Daufe realized she was pregnant, she stopped even holding Desmond. Zireme just clocked 10 when her aunt took in again. She became mini-mummy to Desmond. Her aunt only held Desmond when she needed to feed him. As soon as she was done, she would quickly hand him over to Zireme. While Zireme was doing all the work, her aunt would be watching Telenovelas, Indian and Korean series, Africa Magic and the likes. She only went out when there was no power supply. As soon as the power was gone, Aunt Daufe would take her bath and head to a friend’s house to gossip about Catalina and Consuelo. She would only rush home when she felt her husband was close to returning; and only to make sure that Zireme had prepared dinner. By the time Zireme clocked 15, Aunt Daufe had given birth to three more children. The small house where they stayed was cramped with people, clothes, furniture, and other household materials. The older kids had to sleep in the living room with Zireme while the younger ones slept in the bedroom with their parents. Soon, Zireme noticed a pattern. There were days when her uncle and aunt would ensure all the kids slept in the living room. Those days were usually accompanied by sounds of a creaking bed and grunts that were unmistakably her uncle’s. This awakened something warm in Zireme which she could not explain. It always made her feel weird but she learned to pretend she didn’t hear it, even though the wetness in her pants betrayed her. In the six years since she was with her uncle, she went home to Galabje thrice. The first time was filled with ecstasy and excitement because she had not seen her friends and family for months. The first day was her happiest but that was it. She soon began to resent the ‘local’ behavior of her friends and the pittance called food which her parents ate. Worst of all, there was no TV! She had no inclination of what was happening with Ishika on her favorite Indian series. By her third day, she was all but fed up! She needed to go back to the city. The second time she went home, she kept sulking and frowning, hating her farm work and the poverty of her home so much that she nearly exploded. The last time she went home, which was three years ago, she told her mother that it was expensive bringing her home and as such, she would not come home again for a long time. Her mother understood; she always understood. She had learned that poor people had no choices so she nodded her head and patted Zireme. As she turned away, Zireme saw the look of absolute pain in her mother’s eyes and though she would have felt a twinge of guilt three years before, she didn’t feel anything. Her village is just too ‘local’ for her. When Zireme clocked 15, her aunt started looking at her funny. She seemed to really notice her. And every time she
