In the last seven years, I have been in school; the school of life and last year I graduated; though not with flying colours. I am telling my story through this medium because it would be a sin against womanhood if I didn’t. Even if it is only one woman my story sets free, what I went through in the hands of a cold-blooded abuser would have been worth it.

This is My Story

My name is Yetunde Makinde (not my real name) and I was 18 when I met my boyfriend Mike, whom I eventually married at 25. We met at a church function in Kaduna, where I was in school. My parents, both deceased, were staunch Catholics and I was raised as one; although I was more fascinated by the Pentecostal way of worship. When my parents died in a nasty road accident, I changed my denomination. I was so traumatized by my parents’ death that I left Kaduna and moved in with an aunt in Abuja. I eventually trained as a teacher. Mike, my boyfriend and I kept the relationship going and though he didn’t like the fact that I left Kaduna, we still saw as often as his job as a banker brought him to Abuja. He was there for me and made sure I lacked nothing. He would send me money and stuff. He wanted me to start a trade and leave teaching but I told him teaching was the one thing that gave me joy. One day when he came to visit in Abuja, I visited him in his hotel. He sulked throughout that week-end and when I got him to open up; he said he didn’t like the fact that contrary to his opinion, I remained a teacher. 

Well I Never!

“Don’t you have any ambition?” he barked at me! “Don’t raise your voice at me” I said feebly and the next sound I heard was his palm connecting with my face! It was such an unexpected slap that I staggered and fell on the bed. I looked up in utter bewilderment as he warned; “Don’t ever answer me back. I can raise my voice as loud as I want and hit you if that becomes necessary!” It wasn’t for another five minutes that I began to cry. In a fit of rage, I lunged at him and tried to slap him back but that was a mistake because by the time he was done with me, I was all bruised up.  Blinded by tears, I raced out of the hotel room and took a taxi to my friend’s and told her my story.

“I don’t get it.” Hauwa said over and over again as if I hadn’t told her how and why I deserved to be so maltreated. “He beat you up because you asked him not to raise his voice at you?” “Where is he staying?” she demanded “That guy needs to be put on a leash, he is a mad dog. I can’t believe what I am hearing and you are not even married to him o” “Leave him alone!” I muttered; “We are done! Thank God I saw a side of him I never saw, imagine if I was married to him.” 

“Good idea, just dump that ‘yeye Ibo boy’. Don’t pick his calls and maybe it’s time to give that guy from your school a chance” Hauwa said, totally upset by what she’d just heard. In order to ensure that I severed every aspect of my contact with Mike, she got me a sim card but unknown to her, I bought another handset and maintained my old number too. I saw Mike’s missed calls and text messages and hissed at his audacity to even think I would run back to him after his brutal attack on me. “Idiot” I hissed every time I read one text after the other.