360Life Blog

The Lifestyle Blog set out to inform and inspire you towards a richer, better and fulfilled life.

Sunday, 9 June 2019


Sexual abuse, 360life blog

I will tell you my story. It is meant to be a lengthy one but I will make it brief. She ruined my life; I swear she almost did. Okay, I won’t waste your time….

It was just the two of us, me and my sis Olumide until Aunty Folake joined us in the house. Dad finally got his US Green card, not as if I knew what it actually meant then. I was just 6 then. I only knew father traveled to US which is far from here and would come back to take us all along with him. That last part never happened though.

Sexual abuse, rape, 360life blog

I remember that each time the Television shows up a white man, my sister who was only a year and some months older than me would quickly chip in that dad would soon come back speaking like that white man. I don’t know where she got some of those ideas from. I actually did look up to her as the one that knows better and would always end up imagining dad speaking through his nose in a funny manner. Despite that it was just the two of us and that I looked up to her, we still were not as close as we ought to be and that gap even widened as we grew up. Perhaps because she took on mum’s extravagant life and extrovert nature which I wasn’t so comfortable with.

Olumide with eyes that I used to think was too big for a small girl was miles ahead of her age mates in the fashion world, all thanks to mother. When I think of our age difference some years later, I had the notion that mum must have been a haste to make kids at least to have a strong root in her husband’s home. That was the advice her friends gave her.

“This one he is serious about getting his green card, you should get a strong hold on him now o before he travels to reside there permanently. You know this men, especially the ones from his part, they can start acting funny when they leave the shores of this country and keeping themselves together too dey hard them. Make you just act sharp sharp, so gbo?” her friend Iya Davis had told her in a mixture of English, Pidgin and Yoruba.
“abi o, mo ti gbo” mother replied shrugging her shoulders.
Iya Davis had come to tell mother about her son’s birthday on the forthcoming Saturday and to request that she brings us to the birthday and as usual, she had diverted from her main reason of visiting. She had in her mouth a bubble gum, which she chewed on lackadaisically making loud popping sounds now and then. The annoying sound was disturbing me even though I was watching Tom and Jerry cartoon. I occasionally threw glances at their direction anticipating when she would take her leave but a part of me knew it would take a while. Her brownish set of teeth with gap in between the two canines in front where on display while she was at it. Ladies, I still don’t know how they chew on a particular gum for hours without getting bored of it. They chatted away the time with her leading mother from one topic to another.

My mum was from the Yoruba tribe of Nigeria while dad was an Igbo. Mother told us how they met and fell in love but each time she calls dad for money and he doesn’t send it immediately, the story changes. She would rant about how Igbo men are a pain in the ass, how they are irresponsible and how they don’t have regards for their wives which would end up getting me confused. I didn’t know if she was more interested in the money part or in dad as a person.

Truth be told, dad was doing his best as a father. As an IT tech working out there, he made sure that we were comfortable at home and got us almost everything we needed materially. The only thing was that he was barely home. He only comes back home twice in a year, sometimes just once in a year, for that reason I seemed to lack that father figure while growing up.
Mum on the other hand, seemed not to mind his absence so long as he was sending in money regularly so she can update her wardrobe and keep up to date with the trending fashion. I didn’t know who she was trying to impress with all that. She did nothing, wouldn’t work asides going for shopping sprees, going to spars and gyming to keep fit  and then, visiting her friends. I didn’t know what she did with the degree certificate she said she obtained in business administration.
Rape, sexual abuse

 Her two cars that dad bought for her were her pride. She’d cruise around town with them showing off to anyone that cares. I remember one time that she had issue with dad concerning the first one. Dad came back in the middle of the year as usual and mother was making one of her outrageous demands, I could hear them from my room.

“This is a new age Benjamin” ‘Benjamin’ was used when she makes a demand and dad counters it but when things are done according to her whims and desire, the status changes back to ‘darling’.
“You don’t expect me your wife going around town with that old model car. What will people say? Is that not a slap to your face?”
“Adeola, it’s not a slap to my face and I don’t mind at all. Just because a new model was added to their car series doesn’t mean you can’t ride the one you have. Besides, what do you need two cars for anyways?
“Oh that is what you have to say right? Benjamin you really had to ask me what I use two cars for? I don’t even have anything to say to you”.
“No you don’t. I already told you a good number of times to get a job. Maybe that will minimize the time you spend going about the town gossiping with your friends…”
“Who happen to be your friend’s wives as well” she snapped at him.
 “Dad continued like she never interrupted him, “others that do not go to work, they stay at home to take care of the home and kids but that too seems like much of a cumbersome task for you. It even seems your sister does that better than you in your own home. You don’t….”
“You should have married her nah. Why you no marry am? Radarada” she blurted out with a loud sigh. I could hear her footsteps as she stormed down the stairs.
I was angry with her but I was angrier at dad’s last sentence.


It brought back the memory of things that was going on with me that nobody knew except of course mother’s sister, aunty Folake. It was something that always happened only in the absence of father.
Aunty Folake was mum’s three years younger sister. She came to stay with us just shortly after dad left the country to base in the US permanently. She should be around 27 years then. Mum said the house was too big for just her and us and would love to have the company of another family member. So she said to dad over the phone, thus aunty Folake was welcomed into the home.

Aunty Folake was nice to us. She would buy me and Olumide sweets each time she goes out, wouldn’t mind playing around the house with us, would help us with our assignments. Even when mother isn’t around, she’d make sure we had something to eat. She seemed not to have that much close relationship with mum though there were times they talk and gist together especially when they discussed issues concerning their home and family. But, it was obvious they didn’t have much in common. Mum obviously wanted her around so she can help her with work around the house.

Unlike mum who was fair and petite, her sister had an ebony complexion, average height with curves in all the right places. Till date, I still wonder why she never got married. Maybe it was the evil she perpetuated. I grew to develop a hatred for her after what she did…

Just few months after she started living with us, I noticed aunty Folake was excessively nice to me. Buying me more sweets and biscuits than she did buy for Olumide. She’d support me each time I had a fight with my sister even when it was obvious I started the fight or I was the wrong one. I thought probably it was because I was the last born and was comfortable enjoying the ‘last born priviledges’ as I would tag it.

That fateful Saturday, mum was not around. She took Olumide along with her. Needed to get some clothes for her she said, so they’d stop by the shopping plaza on her way from the salon. Aunty Folake dished out some food for me and asked that I come to her room so we can work on my school take home assignments when I was done with the food. I walked into her room gingerly nibbling on the last part of the meat that came with the soup she dished out for me.

“How many times will I tell you to sit down, finish your food and wash your hands before leaving the kitchen?” she asked in a manner of rebuking me.
“But I have finished my food and washed my hands”, I replied looking at her quizzically.
“You don’t know meat is food as well abi? You will soil my room with your dirty hands. Wash your hands in the sink”, she said pointing towards the bathroom.
I did and came back to the room. We were given assignment on both verbal reasoning and quantitative reasoning. We first started with the verbal reasoning and ended it with the quantitative. She said she was tired, I should come and lie beside her. She was on her undies, singlet and tight but that was not the first time. she literally works around the house in them so it was not a big deal or a new sight for me. Innocently, I lay beside her. She took my hands, placed them on her breasts, and asked that I touched her there. I was puzzled and didn’t understand it at all. I squeezed for some minutes and noticed she was making some faint sound. I did doze off after some minutes, exhausted from playing around the house and from doing my schoolwork.

That was my first time with of such experience with a female folk but it wasn’t the last. My supposed aunty exposed me at a rather too early age. At other times, she would ask me to touch her at places I’m not meant to and ask me to do despicable things to her. At a point, she started touching me herself. I might have been too small but I knew it was wrong. I became disgusted with her and myself. She would force me even when I wanted to decline and would threaten me not to ever mention it to anyone.

This abuse went on for up to three years before I was enrolled into a boarding school. Even at that, it didn’t end. She still used me for her sexual gratification each time I came back for the holidays. I was always sad at home, lost the connection with her and was even scared of her to some extent. I wished mum would notice but she never did notice. Even when she would be home, she would rather have her eyes fixed on the T.V. or on her phone. My secondary school was a mixed one but I hardly talked to the females in my class, couldn’t even look them in the eye. They started calling me weirdo which made me even keep more to myself. I hated everyone around me.

It was during my JSS3 holiday; I couldn’t take it in anymore and decided to open up to mum. I can still remember the look on her face that day.
“Come Chijioke, it’s like you have become possessed in that your school. This is the work of the devil, God forbid. You have gone and joined bad gang in school abi and they are filling your head with rubbish. My own is finished!” she exclaimed.
“Mum that is the truth, I can’t come and lie to you nah. Aunty Folake has been doing these things to me. She….”
“Come on shut up that your mouth”, she interrupted hitting me on my mouth
“shiiii! Mechie onu! dont even let another ear hear what you just said. E gba mi o!” she exclaimed again, casting a look of reproach in my direction. “I think I will have to be careful with having your sister around you. You are starting to learn bad things. I will speak to your father about this”
“Please mum, don’t tell him”. I pleaded, the tears stuck to my eyes. Dad doesn’t joke with me and with the way mum reacted, I did feel I did something wrong and that father would be disappointed with me. I didn’t want that happening so I had to beg mum. “Please don’t tell him. I didn’t know what came over me. Mum I will be a good boy, I will not say such things again”, I was still begging.
That was how the case was died down. Aunty Folake came back and mother told her what I said, she merely laughed and told mum not to mind kids of nowadays. “They can be over dramatic and would like to pull new stunts and pranks with their parents”, she told her. I felt nauseated, how could she? That incidence however, must have put some terror into her, as she never abused me again.

Rape, men and boys get raped too, 360life blog

The memories were however never erased. I became angry with mother: an anger that never went away even as the years rolled by. How could she not have noticed? How could she not have believed me? The society says that as men, we are not meant to be weaklings but how do you deal with such trauma that went on for years? It affected my life, it dealt with my self-esteem. I couldn’t even keep a serious relationship with any girl for long. I am 30 years old now, and I still cant. I think I am damaged!

What do you think? Do you think there is a remedy to this? Men go through rape and abuse in the society every day yet it seems it is only that of the females that makes it to the news. Is it fair when they say men should mask it and move on merely because they are tagged with being of the ‘male gender’? Don’t you think if mothers were to be more observant with their young ones many cases of abuse wouldn’t have arisen in the first place and it will be curbed? What would make a full-fledged grown up attracted to a young and vulnerable child? How do we deal with these pedophiles in the society in the form of uncles, aunties, neighbors, family friends etc.?

As you go through the story, your comments will be welcomed. We wish to know how you feel about these taboos and sexual abuse of the male counterparts in particular. Are you a male with a similar experience, how did you deal with it? Leave your comment with us.

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