I have been living with this for the past 17 years. I don’t really know who to confide in and it’s eating me up. My mother would have been the best person to talk to but she is no more. 

It happened in 2005, I was just 7 then. My mother had given birth to her fourth child and there was no adult present to help her,  so the responsibility fell on me. My mum would make a list of items she wanted and attach their prices for me to take to the market.  If you ask me, I was too young to go grocery shopping. Maybe my mother was ignorant of the dangers that lurked in the alleys waiting to pounce on little girls. Maybe she just didn’t have any other alternatives so she had to trust the higher powers to watch over me. Or just maybe at 7, she thought I was old enough to know how to be safe. I don’t know her reasons but I know I’ve experienced enough to not repeat her mistake. 

It happened one day on my way to the market. I ran into a man who was mum’s friend. It’s been so long I can’t remember his face anymore but I know for a fact that he was a friend of the family. Like a good little girl, I greeted him when I saw him. He responded and said “You are such a good girl for helping your mother. You deserve a lollipop. Do you want a lollipop?” I was a “long throat”, I’d eat anything so I said “Yes.” He said, “Come with me then I have a big one reserved for you at my house.” I knew my mother was waiting for me to return quickly from the market but I had to have the big lollipop. I followed the man to his house. 

When we got there, this man undressed me and did unspeakable things to me. I didn’t actually know the meaning of what he was doing but I felt so much pain. I felt guilty for what happened. I told myself “This is my fault. If I had gone straight to the market, this wouldn’t have happened to me.” I still went to the market and bought the items on my list. When I got home, I didn’t tell my mother what happened. Knowing my mother, she would probably deal with me for going to the man’s house instead of going to the market.

When I look back at things, I am surprised at how I managed to conceal the pain I felt between my legs from my parents. The evening of the day it happened, I had a terrible fever that almost took my life. No one cared to know the cause of the fever as long as I recovered. I was a very reserved child and I felt so responsible for what happened that I didn’t say anything. 

Seventeen years later, I still remember the pain but the face that inflicted the pain has escaped my memory. That should tell you how terrible the pain is. For me to remember it after all these years should be a sign of how deep the hurt goes. Because of that experience, I despise men. I hate them with passion and the sad thing is, I’ve come to hate anything that has to do with shuperu. It’s the reason my relationships don’t work. Memories of that day find their way into how I handle my relationships as an adult. I the ned I break things with my own hands—things I have to build get broken. I am sharing this story so that the mothers here will be very careful with their girls.

It’s not safe out there. We shouldn’t assume it is and leave our girls to wander into territories they ought not to. People have good intentions but you can’t trust their intentions when they are alone with your child. Anything can happen. The demon in them can come out. The voice that pushes evil thoughts into our heads will start speaking to them and they may listen. It’s those we don’t suspect that do the most awful things. 

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I pray I forgive myself someday. I pray I eventually forgive the man for what he did to me. I may not be able to assign a face to forgiveness but to forgive is to forgive whether there is a face to it or not. I need to set myself free and surrender to real love. I need to build instead of breaking down. I need to stop judging all men and see the good in the one in front of me. I need to love and be loved.

That aside, I’m wondering if I should tell my dad about it. I don’t know if it’s also safe for me to share this story with my boyfriend. You know people and how they behave with other people’s past. It’s the reason I’ve been hiding this in my heart for the past 17 years.

—U. G

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