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Summary
A story about a 12-year-old girl left in the care of a neighbour, Aunty Chidinma. While her parents travel, she is repeatedly raped and manipulated by Aunty Chidinma's brother called Uncle Ifeanyi, who uses coercion and threats to maintain control over her. Years later, with the help of a supportive organization and a newfound sense of courage, the narrator finds the strength to stand up to Uncle Ifeanyi, spray pepper spray in his face, and ultimately free herself from his abuse, leading to his arrest and her liberation.
As a child, I began to see myself through the lens of Uncle Ifeanyi. At first, it was fear. Then admiration crept in as if it could erase the fear. Eventually, something resembling consent emerged—but from a minor, which can never truly be consent.
I became his toy. He had his way with me whenever he wanted. I didn’t want it, but he coerced me into pretending I enjoyed it.
Eventually, I… I became addicted.
Well, this happened for years after Uncle Ifeanyi introduced me to sex.
No, he raped me!
October, 2010
I was only 12 when my parents travelled to the village, leaving my siblings and me with a neighbour. It was October, just two weeks before my school’s midterm tests.
I vividly remember the day Iye broke the news of their travel to me because it was the beginning of things to come; not bad for the family, but it was a series of unfortunate events for me.
She had just returned from the market, where she bought foodstuff and okpee, our special native food ingredient.
‘Ojoma, lia ta’ Iye called, which means ‘come here’ in Igala, one of the few phrases I understood.
I stood, awaiting her routine checks before leaving us at home. ‘Gwane,’ she said, asking me to sit.
And before I could sit, she dropped a bombshell: “Your father and I have to go see Baba tomorrow, and we should come back in three days’ time.”
I was bewildered. I grumbled like any normal child would. But Iye looked up at me with an ‘I expected better’ look and continued, “We have an emergency that has to be taken care of, and you know I can’t take you people along.”
Tears streaming down my face, I stuttered, ‘eh..n why does daddy have to go too? Who will stay with us?’ I continued crying.
Iye was already irritated by my loud wailing and incessant questions, but she managed to say, “Your daddy has to drive me to the village, Ojoma!”
Immediately, I ran into my room, painted with pink and blue and a cute bookshelf filled with all the books my father had gotten us. I shared it with my sister, who I found sleeping peacefully with her thumbs in her mouth. I hated her sucking her thumbs, so I removed her hands with aggression, not because I found it disgusting, which I did, but because I decided to pour my frustration on her poor thumbs.
Later that evening, I accepted my fate. I mean, I had to, as I was beginning to have a headache, and Iye never allowed my wailing to disturb her, nor would she ask me to stop. She had a famous phrase whenever we were giving her a hard time. ‘Pikin wey say e mama no go sleep, hin no go sleep too.’ I still wonder how she came up with that.
Deep down, I knew we could not tag along because of school. Moreover, Daddy never bought the idea of spending Christmas or New Year in the village. He would always say to Iye, “It is not safe for them. You know our land and witches.” I still think his opinion stems from the fact that he grew up in a polygamous home, or what do I really know about Igala culture?
I was a sharp-mouthed child, the one everyone thought had life figured out. As the firstborn daughter, society and visiting family constantly reminded me of my responsibilities, even though I was just a child.
Iye didn’t make childhood easy either; she had already started pushing me to take responsibility for my actions and those of my siblings. At age 7, I was already preparing myself for school, washing plates and clothes, and helping around the house. Whenever I complained to Iye, she would say, ‘You are an African child, the first daughter, and this is how we were raised.’
Yes, I was the eldest of three; Uchenyo, my younger sister, was 9, and Ufedo was 6—So I had learnt to look after my siblings early enough.
A few hours later, I heard the gate open, the sound of an engine and a bright light seeping through the curtain into the living room. Daddy was home!
Daddy got back earlier than usual. I ran to hug him. He lifted me up like he would normally do and pecked my forehead before bringing me down. That always made me feel special. I knew I was Daddy’s princess. We shared jokes, I told him about random things, and he knew all my friends.
A tear dropped, I wiped it off and said to him, ‘Iye said you were both travelling tomorrow.’
He responded, ‘Yes. It was not planned, and we would be back before you know it, I promise.’
I nodded. Even though I knew he wasn’t looking at me.
After a short talk with Daddy, I ran off to join Iye in the kitchen as she had been cooking different meals to put in the fridge for my siblings and me.
5:30 am, Day of Travel
‘Ojoma! Ojoma! Ojoma …!’
That night, I had terrible dreams. It had to do with my parents’ absence, but I didn’t know what exactly it was.
I remember hiding under the bed in a lonely room; it seemed like I was being pursued by someone tall. The creature was coming closer. I could see the shadow; I could hear the footsteps. My breath was loud, and my heart was racing, but I covered my mouth.
It stopped, then turned to leave, and I felt so relieved in that moment. I let out a quiet sigh, which it heard, because I heard hurried footsteps. I saw the shadow stop right in front of the bed. I closed my eyes, prepared to scream at the top of my voice, but another voice beat me to it. ‘Ojoma!’ It was faint but clear enough for me to hear.
That was when I jumped up from my bed, sweating profusely—it was a dream!
‘Ojoma!’ I heard my name again.
But this time, I was certain it was my mum’s voice. I followed the ‘tick tick’ sound coming from the wall opposite my bed. It was 5:30 am, the day my parents were meant to travel. I just let out a ‘thank God’ as I made my way to the living room.
“Ele! Where are your siblings? I have been calling since for devotion,” Iye said when she saw me walking into the living room.
“Olodu Iye.” Good morning, mum. I greeted.
We quickly committed their journey and our safety into God’s hands. While I waited behind to receive instructions from Iye, my siblings went in with my father to start preparing for school.
****
‘Ojoma, how was school today?’ Aunty Chidinma asked as she came into the house.
‘It was fine.’ I said, smiling at her.
I told her about my day and reported Uchenyo to her.
“Okay, I’ll leave you to do your usual. But call me if you need any help o.” Aunty Chidinma said.
I was used to my parents being away until dinner, so I knew my way around most things at home. I didn’t need to call Aunty Chidinma.
I heard a knock on the door. My siblings were asleep, and I was trying to finish my assignment.
I stood up to tell Aunty Chidinma not to worry about us sleeping alone in the house, as my siblings were mostly asleep before my parents came home. I had also learned always to lock the door and remove the key because they had theirs. But after opening the door, I met Uncle Ifeanyi, Aunty Chidinma’s younger brother, standing outside. I greeted him and asked if Aunty Chidinma sent him to check on us. He said he wanted to be sure we were okay. I thanked him, and when I closed the door, he quickly asked if he could help with my assignment. He pointed at the table behind me, which had my books.
I said, ‘Oh, sure.’ It was Mathematics. I struggled with it.
We finished my assignment, and I started packing my books into my bag. I thanked him again for his help.
I noticed he was not moving to leave, so I told him it was already time to sleep. Instead, he moved closer; he held out a wrapped box. “I got this for you. You’ll like it,” he said. I took it, admired the gift, and thanked him. He nodded, said goodnight, and left.
The beginning. . .
It was another day of my parents being away, and if I’m being honest, it wasn’t as bad as I thought. On my way back from school, I laughed at myself when I remembered my scary dream.
Aunty Chidinma checked in periodically. When she came in during dinner, I wanted to tell her what Uncle Ifeanyi gave me and that he helped me with my assignment. But I didn’t know how to say it.
A few hours later, Uncle Ifeanyi came to the house to check on us. Again, I was the only one awake, wrapping up my assignment. I let him in, and he asked about my day, my siblings and managing without my parents. I shared my experiences, mentioning how it affected by homework schedule. I enjoyed the conversation, especially because he made me blush and actually listened to me.
After the chat, he didn’t offer to help with my assignment. He just watched me do it. I didn’t feel uncomfortable having him around because he was a regular at my house, not that late, except he wanted to watch live football with Daddy. I finally finished and put my books in my bag.
“Have your siblings slept?”
“Yes.” And that was the reply that changed my life.
He called me to sit on his lap. As I got closer, I saw the knife he had in his pocket. I was confused—just moments ago, we’d been chatting comfortably, and now this. Then he whispered, “If you scream, I’ll kill everyone in this house.”
I moved towards him, crying and begging him not to kill me, but not loud enough to wake my siblings. I believed his death threat. I knew he drank and smoked, so I believed he could carry out his threat. He had a knife with him!
Uncle Ifeanyi already had his jeans down. I could see his boxer, and I could see him stare at my small breast, lips and back to my face. He looked like he had been waiting for this moment all his life. He looked like a monster. And then, it looked like the dream I had.
Before I knew it, he grabbed me, put me on the floor, unbuttoned my dress and started kissing me everywhere. I wanted to scream. I wanted to fight. I did none but zone out of the scene. I thought of my parents, I thought of my siblings, I thought of happy times. I only started crying again when I felt something forced inside me, but he covered my mouth.
His face killed me every time I looked at it, so I closed my eyes instead, I could hear his heartbeat; I could not feel mine, but I could hear him say things into my ear, which I later understood to be ‘moaning.’ I heard him say, ‘You like it harder?’ But I was mute.
Minutes later, I watched him get off me, satisfied. I heard his last warning, but I couldn’t really make out what he was saying, I only saw the knife he pointed at me. But I knew better than to talk to anyone about what happened that night, including Aunty Chidinma, who came to check in the next morning.
After the encounter with him, he didn’t come to my house again until my parents returned. He acted like nothing happened. He even said hello to me, but I didn’t respond. Iye asked if I couldn’t greet him. I just muttered good afternoon and went into my room to draw. I was good at drawing, but I only did that whenever I was nervous or sad.
A few weeks later, I had to drop by his house. My mum sent me there before she left for the market. I met Uncle Ifeanyi outside. I delivered my mum’s message to him, but he asked me to give them to him inside.
Again, I believed him. I went inside and called out to his siblings, but no one responded, I went to the back and still found none; on my way out, I saw him walking in. I had dropped the bag on the table. He looked at the table, then back at me, and asked why I had been avoiding him.
“I…I am not avoiding you, I’ve been busy.” I said back.
He smiled, touched my hair and said he could sense I was afraid of him. He apologised for not making the other day enjoyable, hugged me, and promised to never do that again. Not touch me, but ensured I enjoyed making out with him.
He kissed me while touching my body, and I couldn’t help but give in. Since the day he raped me, It felt like a veil was removed from my eyes. And whatever happened at his house was the beginning of years of being his sex partner.
I allowed him to do whatever he wanted to me. Well, not like a 12-year-old girl had a choice in this situation. I had to always say I enjoyed it whenever we were making out. I didn’t. I was just afraid that he would hurt me and my siblings. I was looking out for them, and after all, I was the ‘Ada.’
Eventually, I got used to the touches and craved them even.
February, 2014
I started extra classes. I was preparing for JAMB and WAEC, so I saw him less. But I didn’t stop having crazy urges, I only learnt how to deal with them by masturbating.
One day, at school, we were informed we had visitors. It was an organisation focused on girls. My teacher selected only girls from the senior class to attend at our computer lab. It was fun. They said we could call them big sisters. They discussed self-identity, rape, abuse and basically speaking up. My countenance changed. I didn’t know one of them was paying attention to me, but she reached out at the end of the programme.
I didn’t want to talk, but something about her made me spill everything that had been happening between Uncle Ifeanyi and me for the past four years.
I was expecting condemnation. But she hugged me, allowed me to cry, and asked what I wanted to do—I wasn’t sure what I wanted. It already seemed like a part of me.
But she held my hands and spoke life into me. She told me I could be free. She told me about the dangers of everything we were doing. She told me about starting therapy with their organisation and also ensuring he stays away from me for life.
I went back home sober, and I was willing to speak to my parents about everything. I knew I wanted to be free from him and from this life, that was slowly killing me.
I stayed indoors, I was speaking to big sis more and sooner than I expected, I already had the courage to face the one person bent on destroying my life– Uncle Ifeanyi!
It was a week after my final exams; my parents threw a small parlour party to celebrate. Iye had promised to kill one of our chickens. All the neighbours came to congratulate me, but for Uncle Ifeanyi. It was not like I wanted him to be there, but my mum asked after him from Aunty Chidinma.
A week later, he came into my house. Iye was home at first but left for the market, leaving Uncle Ifeanyi and me alone. When he sensed she would have gone far, he left the parlour for my room. It wasn’t locked. I quickly got up when I realised he was inside—and checked out for the pepper spray big sis, Cynthia, gave me while secretly pressing the record button.
He went on and on about how he missed me, how I have been avoiding him, his calls. I gave short responses— I was still scared. Then, he asked me to take off my clothes. I said no. He said it again, and I said, ‘Uncle Ifeanyi, you can’t keep forcing me to do things I don’t want to.’
He started becoming impatient; he threatened me, like the first night, and pulled my hair. I still stood my ground and said no. As he was about to force himself on me, I screamed. He tried to cover my mouth, but I quickly brought out the pepper spray I hid under the pillow and sprayed it on his face—he screamed out—I said in a shaky but assertive tone, ‘I said no!’
As he ran to the door, defeated, I called out, ‘No more would I allow you to take advantage of me. I am afraid, no more!’
He couldn’t look me in the eyes. He looked terrified—suddenly vulnerable and human. I was astonished at how long he kept me bound by his threat.
I had wanted to scream for so long, and as the tears poured out, I heard a cry of hope, relief, and freedom!
Uncle Ifeanyi stayed away from me; his arrest made sure of that.
Peace Ojochenemi Oguche, also known as ‘Blue Writer,’ is a 500-level law student at the University of Lagos. She is a storyteller, survivor, and civil rights activist focused on women’s rights. Peace believes everyone has a role to play in curbing male violence against women.
