I didn’t spend my early years with my parents. They were abroad hustling for their children. My siblings and I are four in number, and I am the only girl. So, me and my two older brothers lived with our aunt in Accra. It was a horrible experience. My aunt was very strict, cold, and not maternal. I remember how hard I tried not to get into trouble with her. I could never relax or feel at home in her house. I was constantly on edge, waiting for her to yell at me for something I did wrong.

Because of her behavior, I couldn’t go to her when her husband started touching me inappropriately. I didn’t understand most of the things he was doing to me but I knew it was wrong. It made me feel dirty. It made me feel sad too. I was constantly looking over my shoulder, trying to hide from his predatory hands. I lived in constant fear.

On one hand, was my aunt and her bad temper, and on the other hand was her husband the pedophile. I would lay awake at night longing for my mother; her warmth, the way joy danced in her eyes when she looked at me, and above all, the way she protected me from everything. “I miss you, mama,” I would whisper into the dark, and hope somehow she would hear me and come for me.

In all my loneliness, I found comfort in school. I was always happy at school. And I dreaded the closing bell like the way criminals feared the police. I didn’t understand why things were so bad between my aunt and us back then, but now that I am older, I don’t blame her much. I believe she saw us as a burden she never asked for. She didn’t want to take care of three children but she couldn’t turn my parents down when they asked her to take us in.

My brothers were able to match her coldness with indifference. So her actions rarely got to them. I, on the other hand, was the polar opposite of them. I was soft, deeply emotional, and very empathetic. These traits made me suffer easily. Thankfully, my suffering ended when I was thirteen. That was the age my parents announced that they were coming for us. “At last, my own parents. I will be loved once again,” I rejoiced.

I experienced every bit of love and so much more, when they finally came for us. My family was once again, a happy one. However, it got to a point where my family decided to move to another country. That move took a financial toll on our family. The financial struggles led to emotional struggles between my parents. We watched how much their marriage suffered. I saw my dad behave in ways I had never seen. He became bad-tempered, and insecure. So once again, I was in an environment that made me timid and silently angry.

I didn’t like the way my father treated my mum but I was also too scared to do anything about it. So I found ways to distract myself from the chaos. I got into a long-distance relationship. The guy introduced me to sex and things I didn’t know about male and female relations. He was not close to me so everything he taught me was in theory. I became curious and wanted to try them out. But I remained faithful to him until the relationship died on its own.

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Last year, I was twenty-three, and still a virgin. I felt I was ready to experience everything my ex taught me. I was ready to lose my v-card. I didn’t care who I would lose it to, as long as it was consensual. The guy I chose for this job is a Muslim. I am a Christian but his religion didn’t matter to me. We got talking and in a matter of days, I did everything I wanted to do with him. I beat myself up after it was done, “Are my standards so low that my first time was with a man I barely know?” The good thing is, he turned out to be a nice guy.

It’s been one year since we did it but I have not been able to move on from him. My conscience and my faith tells me that fornication is a sin but I keep going back to him. I’ve even had dreams where God has warned me to live a chaste life but I can’t help myself. Whenever I feel sad and unloved, I run to him for comfort. Whatever we do doesn’t make me feel any less sad. It rather leaves feeling guilty and empty.

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I plan to call things off at the end of the month but I’ve already moved on with a new guy. This new guy, I am not sure I like him. I am only using him to walk away from the Muslim. I told him the Muslim is my ex but that’s not really true. I am with both of them. The whole thing is messy. I know what I’m doing is wrong. But a part of me feels I am doing this because I was emotionally starved as a child. Maybe I’m so used to unhappy situations that I sabotage my own happiness.

I don’t truly understand my own actions but I am not here to ask for advice. I know what I am doing to these two men is wrong. I know better than to use them as bandages for my unhealed childhood wounds. I’m here because I need a safe space to vent. I hope sharing my story will somehow release me from the shackles of my trauma. I hope I start making better choices soon.

—Obaaakua

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