Wolf in sheep’s clothing 2

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#Enjoy the concluding episode of the true life story, #WolfinSheep’sClothing.

Since I met Temisan about a week ago, he begged me every minute he called to hang out with him. It was just a week but because I had told him I was travelling, he insisted we saw before I left as he wanted to get me a parting gift. It wasn’t my birthday, it wasn’t Christmas or the New Year as well, and it definitely wasn’t thanksgiving, so I insisted I wasn’t interested in whatever he said he felt like getting. He didn’t stop disturbing me though and the moment I mentioned I was travelling to Warri for a few days, he was quick to tell me he also had a reason to go there; and with that, we decided to finally hook up.

That Friday, exactly a week after we met in the bus, we met again at a random eatery. I wasn’t much of a food person, as such; I declined every request at the eatery. He told me he had to rush down in a cab as the mechanic was having his car fixed. He thus, decided to call “an aunt” to borrow her car; and with that, off to “aunts house” we went.

I was still recovering from the star-studded, unexpected slap I got on my right cheeks when Temisan gave me another on the left. I didn’t try to get up from the chair or defend myself; I knew there was nothing I could do. I wished silently that I had gone with my friend (I remembered mentioning that to him before visiting, and he dismissed the idea saying it wasn’t polite enough for a friend to tag along on a first date), and just as if he had a loop into my thoughts, he was fast to make me understand that he had “great plans” for my friend if she had been present. He threatened me to stop crying and gave me another slap on my neck. My heart skipped a beat; it couldn’t have been the half bottle of beer he gulped in my presence that made him hyperactive… Then, the mystery of the beer came back to me, unsolved. He was obviously in the same house before picking me up; or how else was I to explain the half-filled bottle of beer. There was no aunt and there was definitely no car. There was no nice Temisan, he probably had it all planned out right from the start having figured how gullible I appeared to be. He quizzed me with annoying questions; asking for my age, surname, house address etc. and I prudently answered every question. He demanded I emptied my hand bag and started helping himself to various useful items; pocketing my smart phone having asked where I saved his number. He also demanded to know how much money I had on me and with that, took my twenty thousand naira (not forgetting to give me #2,500 for my transport to Warri).

The music was so loud, I didn’t even think of shouting; I just prayed silently that he wouldn’t hurt me while I sobbed. He ordered me to undress; I was on my period, so I wasn’t really scared about being raped (I knew how dirty it was thought to be to have sex on one’s period). Then, he took me to the bathroom and asked me to clean up, taking off my panties. He walked me to the room and ordered I slept on the bed, while he undressed and I could immediately see his erection. I confessed I had never had sex before then, but all he did was threaten me to remain calm. He threatened to torture me if he figured I was lying to him and then, entrusted his huge penis into me (without any form of protection)… while he played with my boobs and raped me. I lay helplessly…hopelessly… sobbing. I remembered my parents who thought I was on my way to Warri… I thought about my two friends who obviously knew where I was headed but didn’t know my exact location… I thought about my boyfriend who I had a fight with the previous month because I didn’t want to lose my virginity yet to him… I thought about so many miracles, and just hoped for one to happen at that moment; but just as if I was been punished for something really bad, no miracle happened. When he was through, he ordered me to go clean up. I let the tears flow freely…

As much as I have tried to forget this ordeal, it just keeps lurking around. I’ve decided to share because I learnt that a problem shared is a problem half-solved. As I look back at the day, it has gradually dawned on me that I didn’t know the house he took me to… Yes, a low-cost government estate with all buildings looking very identical, thus making it difficult for me to know the exact house. My doctor assured me I’ll be fine… and though, I’m healed physically; I cannot seem to be emotionally stable. All I hope and pray, is that God heals me fast enough to move on. Pardon my insouciance; I know if I had taken a few minutes to check out his environment, I probably would have known his house. I know I have many faults in this, as the loose ends cannot be overemphasized; but please don’t judge me. Some of you will say I shouldn’t have trusted him to the extent of visiting him alone, having known him for only a week, but who would have thought such animals still existed. Some would say I shouldn’t have cut corners with my parents and gone somewhere else when I pretended to be going straight to the park for my journey, but let “he” that has never “sinned” cast the first stone. I probably would have been able to save others from this predatory and devilish act caused by Temisan and his likes had I been more conscious, and for that; I take the blame.

However, I plead on behalf of myself and others who have undergone this form of abuse, don’t judge us. The world will be a better place knowing fully well we wouldn’t be tagged “the raped” when we appear in public. May God never forget the likes of Temisan, and mete on them that which they truly deserve.

Anonymous.

Why should anyone ever want to #RAPE? Be less of an #Animal today!!! There is #NO justification for rape.

@bilkisses

Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing 1

Welcome back to “Tuesdate with Bilkisses”.

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Today’s story, a true life story; was narrated by a distraught “Miss X” who wishes to remain anonymous. As a result of it’s length, it will span for two weeks.
Please as much as I want you to enjoy this story, as is fast becoming accustomed with the posts on this blog, I implore you to peruse with the intent of gaining from her experience.

#Enjoy

As he drew the curtains together, I had the notion something was wrong. He closed the windows, switched on the air-conditioner and sat beside me. He connected his phone to the speaker and started with the jam of life. It was “Sars on the beat” with Wizkid, there was no standing still to the song. I started to nod and shake my head until I recalled what actually took me there and tried to be as calm as possible. He didn’t pay much attention to me, he just got “busy” with keeping the house in order. This was a guy who was supposed to take only a few minutes of my time to get the “car keys”; he went from only picking the car keys, to “warming up snacks” in the microwave. He then ventured into what seemed like the kitchen, came out with his half-filled bottle of beer and gulped it, not forgetting to undo his well buttoned down shirt while he left the empty bottle on the stool adjacent to me. I finally voiced out, enough of the good girl façade. I reminded him of how we needed to be in a hurry if we were still travelling together because I couldn’t imagine getting to Warri late. He smiled, not saying a word and then went over to where his phone was to increase the volume of the song playing.

Exactly a week ago, I took the public transport going from Cele express to Festac. It was one of mum’s errands to my aunts; but she had insisted she wasn’t giving me a cab fare, claiming I was getting too spoilt already. My puerility almost got the best of me, but bearing in mind that my aunt was definitely going to tip me; I got into my black high-waist jeans and a blue polo and took off.

It was the usual Lagos traffic; horns blaring… tyres screeching… and of course, hawkers advertising at the peak of their voices competing with the conductors that already had the perfect crooked voice. I was angry and nauseated; it was probably as a result of the patience I naturally lacked that I hated to take public transports. I would have chosen a keke NAPEP over the bus a thousand times over though, because of their very small size and manipulative structure. I however would have chosen a motorcycle over the keke NAPEP a zillion times over; those ones were naturally ignorant of the “traffic light”. I cursed the government under my breath as I sighed deeply, for eradicating the use of motorcycles; even though I knew it was for the best. Then, I readjusted to another very uncomfortable position; and this was where I noticed Temisan (as he later introduced himself). He handed me my Nokia torch-light phone that had mistakenly fallen off my laps while I was silently cursing. We got talking afterwards, trying to know each other better. The journey became less boring because he was fun to gist with, and before alighting, we exchanged numbers (giving out numbers to strangers was not my forte; he just appeared nice).

As I sat in Temisan’s sitting room imagining every possible occurrence, I remembered two of my friends knew I was with him (I had told them about him during the week while he persuaded me to visit) and so I relaxed a bit more into the chair. Just as I did, I saw something that looked like a star in the dark. It was accompanied by the sharpest pain ever; a pain I was fast to figure was a resounding slap. It immediately alerted my tear gland, producing a form of tears that very quickly gathered in my eyes. I tried to fight it back, leaving my eyelids tightly closed for a few seconds. It hurt so badly, I struggled to regain consciousness; and standing above me, ready to give me a second slap was Temisan, his empty beer bottle carefully placed in his other hand as if he was ready to also hit me. I was too shocked to speak, his demeanour had totally changed. This was not the cute, tall Temisan I met in the bus the previous Friday; it definitely also wasn’t the Temisan that whined me while he sought for my number. It couldn’t have been the sweet-voiced Temisan who spoke to my friends on the phone saying he couldn’t wait to meet them; and it definitely wasn’t the Temisan that I strolled in with about five minutes before, to get his “car key”. This was a fierce-looking, not-smiling, red-eyed Temisan, an animal… a wolf, in sheep’s clothing.

(To be continued…)

@bilkisses

AdEtOla’sDiary – Episode 4

Started from episode one, now we’re here. Thanks for the audience y’all, I wouldn’t be writing if you weren’t reading.
A true life story (The wolf in sheep’s clothing) comes up next week, and will span just two weeks. Please remember the “Tuesdate”.

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#Enjoy the final episode of #AdEtOlA’sDiArY

Kunle gradually stepped out of his car, trying to explain a few things to aunt Moji; but trust my no-nonsense aunt to be smarter than that. She insisted it was only me she wanted to talk to at that moment. I was really fidgety, but at the same time, I decided I wasn’t going to let her spoil my mood. I carefully placed the money Kunle had given me into my handbag while she walked over to me. As uncomfortable as I was, I couldn’t but notice Sharon stepping out of the vehicle, making way to aunty Moji before she even left Kunle.

“Good morning ma, it’s been a while I saw you” she said calmly, her expression not giving me a clue as to how she knew my aunt.

“Morning, Am I supposed to know you?” was aunt’s swift response, as if trying to get back to me and Kunles matter as quickly as possible.

“It’s me, Waje!” Sharon responded “from Lagos Island”; her expression, revealing that of a very fake smile.

I was shocked! Since when did Sharon become Waje and how the hell did she even know aunt Moji? I decided to keep calm, thinking to myself that however things played out, it was hopefully going to be in my favour. Aunt Moji took a step back, this time to carefully take a look at Sharon, who was by now grinning and she exclaimed. They talked, or rather argued for a few minutes, after which my aunt took off (not forgetting to shake her head for me of course).

The journey back to Ibadan which was literarily about one hour seemed to last forever. I was eager to alight so I could get all the details of what had transpired earlier between my aunt and Sharon; as she had insisted she wasn’t ready to divulge when I asked her in the bus. I was surprised, disappointed, astonished, ashamed, scared, but above all, I was glad and relieved. Things hadn’t gone the way I had envisaged and it made me censurable. Why Sharon insisted I didn’t need to know about her relationship with my aunt baffled me; however, why she was so sure my parents wouldn’t hear of it was the height of the confusion. I felt I had the right to know whatever it was that transpired between them. As soon as we touched down, I doubled my steps while Sharon kept trying to meet up with me. I pleaded with her in the name of the friendship we had shared in years, I pretended to cry and even tried seducing her but she wouldn’t bulge. Truth is, I didn’t know if to be scared or hopeful, considering the fact that the news wasn’t going to my dad.

The next day I packed my load and pretended I was leaving Sharon for good. I had initially counted the money Kunle gave me (#250,000) and kept a hundred thousand in Sharon’s box with a short note. While stepping out, she entered and begged me not to leave her. She said I didn’t need to know what they discussed, since she had helped to settle things between us. I had always known Sharon to be very strong emotinally, I never imagined there was anything she couldn’t handle until now. When I insisted I was leaving, she collected my handbag and placed it on the bed; then went to her side of her closet and brought out her small red diary (I always loved that diary and if not that she had started using it before I saw it, I should have been writing in it by now). She handed it over to me and though I hesitated, shoved it into my hand and ordered me to read.

I obeyed of course, and perused every detail until she asked me to stop. I ran out of the hostel we shared, stopped the nearest cab and got into it without even negotiating the price. “Palm avenue, hurry please” I snapped. By now, I was seething in anger; I couldn’t wait to get home. Once I stopped at the junction, I ran straight home calling out for my mum. It was dad at home, and as much as he tried to keep me calm, I just became angrier; bursting into tears. “How could you?” was all I could mutter… “How could you?”

Dad was as confused as a fish in an aquarium. “How could I what… Adetola?” he asked worriedly. I ran out of the room, ignoring him. Just in time, mum met me at the door and held me. “Ki lo shele oko mi?” (what happened, my dear?) she said worriedly; “Ki lo n se e?” (what’s wrong with you?). I tried to breath, I tried to pull myself back together, I sighed, and just as I was about to talk, Sharon stepped in. This time, dad was uncomfortable, he began to stutter. He tried to call Sharon to the other side of the sitting room and just by doing that, confirmed my fears. “Waje, what happened?” Sharon explained everything in detail to my mum, and the best mum could do was faint after screaming at intervals during the explanation. I stood there swooning, as I thought to myself; I didn’t know what to do. I was just coming to tell mum everything I had read in the diary, and here she was, at my apartment, explaining things herself. I busted into tears again as mum was rushed into the ambulance that was immediately called for.

* * * * *

Dear diary, as I sit by mum’s sick bed, processing every detail and trying hard to put the pieces together; I cannot but imagine how life could be this hard even when I tried all these years to make it as easy as can be. I wish I could explain why a man as good as my dad would ever be a paedophile. I wish I could explain why a friend as great as Sharon, or is it Waje I should call her, would have had such strategies right from her young age. I cannot fathom why even if she wanted to get back at my dad, she did so by turning me into someone like her. I cannot explain why mum, as smart as she was, never figured aunt Moji was dad’s accomplice and was only there to provide young girls for him to spoil their life. Somebody explain to me why aunt Moji always tried to teach me sex education, while my dad destroyed the lives of so many other young girls. Can someone explain to me why dad never used protection with the girls thereby getting Sharon pregnant at age twelve? Can someone please explain why aunt Moji, even being a woman that she is, is that heartless; or why Sharon was made to sign an agreement that she would never go back for her child, thereby leaving her in custody of aunt Moji? How would I ever face aunt Moji’s daughter again and not see Sharon’s face in hers? What am I to do with my life, now that Sharon has helped to destroy it? Oh diary, this isn’t about Kunle, Davis, Sayo, Alhaji or the many other guys I’ve slept with. This is about what my life has become, thanks to the tragedy my dad has unknowingly caused from the start. Can somebody help me get over this trauma already? Can somebody help me never to think of running away from home? Can somebody advice me to stand by my mum, as she had been ignorant about everything right from the start. Someone please help me to understand the fact that I could survive this heartache caused by my family. Someone please read this diary before I do something tragic, it might be too late. Someone…anyone, PLEASE HELP ME!!!!

THE END.

@bilkisses

#Happybirthday Barrister Uyi Ayela! Cheers from this end of the globe!