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Summary
The narrator, Fola, shares her painful history of childhood trauma and abuse, including witnessing domestic violence and experiencing sexual assault. After years of repression, she confronts her past, revealing the horrors she endured, and ultimately finds the strength to no longer be a victim, declaring that she is no longer afraid or prey to the men who have harmed her.
“Tell me about yourself…”
A simple question that required a beautiful answer.
“Oh, I’m Fola. I am currently studying psychology at the University of Lagos. I am 21 years old and single. I’m a writer and work at a school as a part-time teacher”
“Wow… sounds cool. Should I tell you about myself?”
I wasn’t interested in what you had to say, but I nodded, and you started talking.
You said you were Dave, studying accountancy in a university I wasn’t able to get the name. You said you love to read books and would love to read my write-ups soon.
I didn’t tell you I was a writer that doesn’t want anybody but myself to read my books, I didn’t tell you what I write about is me telling the world about myself.
I was surprised you didn’t ask why I decided to study psychology when I could have chosen medicine, engineering or one of those popular science courses.
You didn’t even ask why I was single or why I write or why I teach or why I wear only baggy clothes (you tell me later that you thought it was just my favourite style).
“Tell me about yourself…”
This was two years later, that morning, you had found me naked in my bathroom crying and screaming. I had almost cut you with the knife in my hand, but you were able to get it away from me.
I wasn’t scared to tell you about myself, I was just scared of what you’d think of me afterwards.
“My name is Fola (you knew that already, but I didn’t know how to start, so I reminded you of my name). I grew up somewhere around Ejigbo with my family. We were a happy family (that’s what I thought as a child).
I stopped, not sure of how to continue.
You didn’t rush me, you never did…
I loved my family, and it isn’t a grammatical error…I mean it when I say “loved”.
I told you about that day. I was playing outside with my friends before I saw Mama run out of our room with her bare chest and torn pants. Immediately, my friends saw her running, calling my mother mad. I ran too because I believed she wasn’t in her right senses. Later that day, I returned home and saw Mama crying…For weeks, I avoided my own mother, ate out and kept praying for her to be sane in Pastor Mike’s church (pastor Mike was another person I wanted to tell you about).
My prayers worked, mama wasn’t acting strange until one day when I was just returning from school or wherever I was coming from. I saw Papa with a whip (the same one he uses for his cows). For a moment, I thought he was going out, but then I saw him lash mama with it. She was screaming, I was watching…it was normal, she had probably done something to piss Papa off.
At some point, I started to believe Mama was also a cow because of the way Papa uses his whips on her.
I told you about the day Mama was cooking, and Papa came to drag her to the room and asked her to remove her clothes…I wondered why she was shouting. Isn’t that what she was meant for? To satisfy Papa’s urge and always be available.
Pastor Mike did the same thing to me, touched me …it was normal, wasn’t it? He was my elder, and I was to obey my elders.
I told you why I started to wear big baggy clothes… “You look sexy that’s why I love you” someone the age of my grandfather had told me.
I was 12….
There were tears in your eyes; you looked very cute, but I wanted to kill you too, like I had killed pastor Mike… I had told him about my family, and he still dared to hurt me. You looked like you wanted to help, that’s how Pastor Mike looked too. Danny, Dayo, Ridwan, Kayo… all looked like that too, but it only made things worse.
I think only Kayo made it out alive, I don’t really remember what happened to the rest.
I told you about that night. Papa was drunk and wanted to have sex with Mama. For the first time, she said no, God knows where she got the confidence from. Papa became a wild beast, dragged Mama and raped her (yes, one can rape their partner). I could hear the screams, l could see all of it … Can’t explain how it happened, but I watched Mama die, papa did nasty things to her. Even after she died, Papa still beat her.
That night Papa died too…a 13-year-old girl poured boiling water on him and stabbed him with a knife she had stolen on her way back from school and had promised to do the same to any man that acted like her papa.
That girl was me.
“I am no longer their prey or afraid no more”
©️ Boscopi
Kuti, Abosede Aishat is a poet, writer and campus journalist.
