Neglected by mum, abused by an uncle and battered by dad… Kate tells the gruesome story of her childhood in an emotion-laden voice.

My name is Kate (not real name) and I am a student at the University of Lagos. For the sake of anonymity, I’d rather not disclose my department or level, because the story I’m about to tell is so embarrassing that it could get me stigmatised among my peers. Even as I speak, my experiences in life affect me, and have greatly affected my relationship with people, especially men. It is a story of total childhood neglect, for which I would blame my mother; gross child abuse and paedophilia, for which my animalistic uncle takes the blame, and childhood brutality, for which I will blame my father most.

I grew up bearing another man’s name (my mum’s husband’s) until I was about 17, when I was challenged by someone. All along though, I always suspected that things were just not right with me; you know, the usual kids’ feeling of neglect; of not being welcome or treated equally with the other kids; of not being allowed to watch TV like other kids, of not being bought Christmas clothes like the other kids…. My mother, probably because of the way she grew up - she was also a product of a broken home-never really cared about me. The ultimate for her was therefore to protect her husband and marriage, even at my own detriment. It was also clear that she was not comfortable having me around, most probably because I reminded her of her former husband, my father, whom she had come to hate.

There was this uncle of mine; he’s a very popular figure now; it was in his house that I spent most of my free time. At other times, I also stayed at my aunt’s place. Because of my mother’s unwelcome attitude, I was always shuttling between peoples’ houses. Interestingly, my uncle’s place was more like the home I needed, and so we’d go there during vacations; and he was always buying us chocolates - I think I was around five or six then. One afternoon however, I left my aunt’s place (my mum’s younger sister; I think she and my mum had issues) and went to stay at my uncle’s place. Things went well, until suddenly I noticed that he would come back from work and just take out his anger on me, apparently due to some frustrations at work, and because I was usually the only one at home. For no just reason, he would beat me silly, and thereafter strip himself naked and order me to go naked; then he would put his manhood in my mouth and force me to do real disgusting things until he came. It never ended there, as he also forced me to lick up every bit of his semen and swallow all. Any attempt to refuse was met with gruesome beating and this went on for four years. Yeah, that was how long I had to put up with it, because I had nowhere to go. More frustrating was the fact that I had nobody to report to; nobody, because as I said earlier, my mother was never close to me. Even on those occasions when I as much as summoned the courage to say “Mummy, do you know what uncle did?” I was usually met with series of hot slaps and a command to “shut up!!” And my uncle actually capitalised on that situation. He knew I was as good as an orphan.

His driver too

Even my uncle’s driver was not left out in this abuse. Usually he went to drop my uncle’s children, who were much older and in college off at school. Because of what I knew would happen if left alone with my uncle at home, I usually preferred to ride with them and be away from home, even if it was just for a while. On this particular occasion, I slept off in the car as we were coming back, but suddenly woke up to find the driver poking his fingers into my private part. I was so shocked that I tried to raise an alarm by crying out for help; but all I got even as I began to open my mouth was a vicious slap; I still call it the slap of my life; because after that I just shut up and endured the ignominy and cried all through. As usual, there was nobody to report to. Is it the uncle that was doing the same thing to me that I’ll go and tell, or is it the mum, who just wouldn’t listen?

The after-effect

Of course it got to me psychologically and I was always cold, sluggish and withdrawn. I was always crying, always sick and always throwing up – a result of the swallowed semen, but never able to unburden my heart to anyone. I couldn’t even tell my teachers at school because I was living under serious fear. I was like an unwanted child, so nobody ever asked about why I was always sick, let alone take me to the hospital. I finally left my uncle’s house when I was eight to live at my aunt’s. Now she also was hostile in a different way, and the bottom-line was that she didn’t want me around and therefore built a ‘block’ around herself, such that I couldn’t relate to her. She made it clear in her attitude that I was a burden that she just had to put up with. So I endured different levels of abuse and hostility; and became an introvert and also suspicious of people around me.

Nowhere to be found!

My mother for instance never taught me anything about sex. She was so detached from me that she didn’t even know when I started my menstruation, even though I was practically living with her then. I only noticed some blood stains all over my body, and I was still wondering about what was going on when our neighbour, a man, called me and gave me some tissues and money to get the necessary things to clean up. He was a married man who up until then hadn’t made any obscene gesture to me. So, he was purely out to help; knowing fully well that my mom would never bother. But instead of my mum being appreciative of the man’s gesture, she picked a quarrel with him and all hell let loose. All sorts of nonsense!

In fact my first education on sex was on TV via the late MEE Mofe Damijo’s show. I remember how I had to sneak into some neighbour’s room to watch this particular episode which was on sex education. Seeing my enthusiasm and knowing that I would never be allowed to watch it in my own home, the neighbour also promised to allow me watch subsequent editions. You could say all I know about sex I learnt from MEE’s show; and from my own findings. Even as I’m speaking to you now, I still haven’t told my mum of my experiences at the hands of her relative, because there has never been that kind of opportunity.

Lost And Found Dad

I didn’t meet my real father until I was around 17. Interestingly, dad wasn’t much better than mum in the final analysis. I lived in his house for about a month and I was thrown out. My education had been partly financed by my dad’s elder brother and myself, because I started working right after secondary school. Of course there was the initial euphoria of finding his lost daughter, and he showed so much love during that period. But I had this half-brother, who because we were almost within the same age bracket engaged me in the usual childish rivalry and arguments. Expectedly, that set the stage for my problems, because naturally, I was the guilty one. They say it doesn’t rain but it pours; my step-sister was getting married and she accused me of stealing her money, which was not true. I tried to let her see that she couldn’t just zero down on me because this was a time when we had so many people in the house, but she insisted and even took out of my lunch allowance as replacement. So during the engagement, I was the one that helped collect the money people sprayed her, and I simply took back my money. And then she went to report me to my dad that I’d stolen her money. And as hard as I tried to explain to my dad that she was the one that first took my money without my consent, he was not just ready to listen. So I became the thief in the house and they as much as possible tried to stigmatise me as a thief in the neighbourhood. Dad even bought different sizes of canes, specifically to service me and one day, on the basis of some missing items and other lies, I was called out at the assembly at my father’s instance, stripped naked, and publicly flogged. All these at a time when I was in SS1 class!

Things generally became so unbearable for me in my father’s house that I knew it was a matter of time before the bubble burst. And it did burst. We had a disagreement over my intention to go and spend one Xmas at my aunt’s. He objected, whereas I insisted; and before I knew it, there was a face-off. He started chasing me round the house with his horse whip and whipped me until everyone stopped to watch. I was so angry that I didn’t know when I bent low, scooped up some sand and poured them directly into his eyes. Of course that was the end of my stay in his house as he threw my things out. A neighbour took me in for two weeks until my mother – I don’t know how she was able to talk her into it – came and took me away. All through my whole ordeal in my father’s house, she never knew anything because she never asked or checked on me.

After that she tried to be close to me and even tried to atone for her past misdeeds, but I guess it’s too late. We do have a relationship alright, but that closeness can just never be there. Even now, I practically live on campus as I have nowhere I can really call home.

First true friend

Believe me, the first time I ever unburdened my heart to anyone was when I was 23, and it was to my boss at work, whom I also played tennis with. In my attempt to take my mind off the different issues bothering me, I’d taken to tennis. But he noticed that I usually just packed my racket and disappeared as soon as a game was over, so he called me one day and was like “hey, can we talk over suya or drink” Initially my attitude was like what now! But he made it clear he was coming as a friend and nothing more. So we got talking and I told him every bit of the horrible experience I had bottled up and lived with all my life. And he was consoling, promising to be of help as much as possible. For you to know how much of a confidant he has become, I even told him I was coming to give this interview. And though he was against it, I made it clear I was telling the story because I wanted mothers out there to be aware of the dangers out there and maintain a close and cordial relationship with their daughters.

Why is she telling this story?

I was at the UNILAG Campus Genevieve Gathering; I’m an avid reader of Genevieve and I knew that a seminar from its stables, especially on sex education was always going to be very enriching. So I was the first girl in the hall – I even ignored my lecture for that afternoon, just to make sure I didn’t miss anything. Even at the end of the day, I still think that those girls that really should have been there to learn from the topic of the day were not there. Believe me, I’ve seen things. I’ve seen how girls live on the fast lane and practically murder themselves through wanton sex-capades and quest for money. I remember how a 100 level girl got impregnated and had to be aided by her boyfriend to abort it by inserting a long, curved iron (straightened clothe hanger) into her womb through her vagina to pull out the growing foetus. That was just a week before Genevieve came to the campus. Of course the girl died in the process. And that was not the first time such was happening on that campus. I have seen what lack of adequate parenting and counselling and childhood abuse can do to a person. And that’s why I’m telling this story. I am a living experience of some of these things and that was why it was not easy for me to place myself in the picture of turn-around or turning-point that Mr. Toyin Subair was painting that afternoon. He spoke well, but I just wanted to ask him how he expected an abused child like me to have a turning point. What was that turning point that can erase the memory of all that experience at the hands of my uncle?

Love Life

Absolutely none. I’m 28 but my experiences in life have taught me that marriage really is not the ultimate. I’ve seen so many failed marriages and so many violent and unhappy ones, that I might as well just live my life alone. Honestly I think that marriage is not for me. I can do without all those complications. Even my only attempt at a love affair ended up on a real sad note as the guy turned out to be the kiss and tell type.