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My voice

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I seek nothing other than a voice of my own, not just the sound from my mouth but to be seen for what I say and who truly I am. My true voice is not what is heard of me, it is what is heard from me. My true voice is what is said by me and my true acts. What more do I need of a life than not just to live in fear of a world of my own, a controlled life, I barely could explain, a life of trauma and Shame, a life filled with hate for myself and not wanting it no more, a life of living in the circle of an O.

The voice I lost when I was a child, no one, not a soul believed every word that makes it’s way out of my tongue to my lips, though I’m not faithful , no lies, I’m not truthful no lies either, but there were truth in what I said, I had facts, I suffered in silence, no one trusted me. this made me bear it secretly that it’s a norm for me to be treated this and that way. I had no objection to insults, abuse, brutality, I couldn’t even defend myself, physically and emotionally, I became paralyzed. What was left of an unnoticed broken child?

I lost count of the abuse I faced as a child, I grew up, seeing this still as part of me, as a norm, I still could not speak, who will believe me? who will defend my truth? who will I turn to? Ofcos I’m not an orphan, neither was I left with a guardian, I am at home, a home child, a female left alone to wallow in her unknown sorrowful world.

Days and years passed by, rubbed dick, I sucked dick, I was touched, no feelings till I grew older, at my late teen, I had no privilege to child sex education, luckily for me, I was taught at school, I was glad and happy, came home to inform  my folks of my new education and what has been happening to me because I suddenly grew to have. voice, I was shut off, I was blacked our, I was made to realized I shouldn’t have attended the programmed, it was never good for me. I was living in an isolated world of my own, I now live in a dark room. No one to talk to, no one to trust and I am not trusted.

The day I started growing feelings to touch due to molestation and abuse, I was show excepts from magazine, naked ladies and men together, videos of sex and so, I was told to feel what I saw and assume it’s me, then my period will come inform of water. I followed the steps with my eyes closed afterwards, I felt my pants wet with his fingers between my legs. He stays in the next building, and comes whenever I arrive from School as my parents have left for work. This continued, there were three of them as they take turns on me, touching my body parts till they pass out and become weak.

I could not speak still for I have no voice, the day I was about to raise alarm, I was told to fetch water, then a new guy lured me in and did the same, I arrived late, as usual, I have stick already soaked in water waiting to be landed on my dark shinny skin or belt of my dad’s trousers ready to be used on me. I had barely dropped the big bowl when I started feeling the pains of the bruises of the belt on my skin, I shouted for help, “beat her well was what I heard” I could not defend myself, I mentioned an uncle asked me to come, I was not asked “for what?” and further questions, I had serious beating, I begged for life, rather than add more petrol to my burning fire.

I had my first boyfriend after secondary school, I never had a taste of what love really is like, so I couldn’t tell if I’m loved or not, but I know I could lay my life for him. He was the first I allowed to led blood shed out of me. I had been exposed to several sexual life, I was wild with him sexually, if not that he was the first guy, he could have questioned my body count. I was in the university, living my life in a simple way, I dare not be seen as a big girl or extraordinarily dressed, I was just myself, with a voice but voiceless.

I arrived from lectures one evening, I was met with an unimaginable act that changed my life to a states worse than before, I couldn’t cry, at the end, what I heard was “you are not even a virgin!” I became scared the more and hated myself, I tried suicide but I failed and still was blamed by the architect of my troubles, then I looked up and said “Why me?”

I faced lots of heartbreak, several body counts and emotional break down and the likes, I survived many of this and still live on, but trust me I forever live to blame myself for allowing myself go through this, for not standing up for myself, for not defending my life, for not allowing my voice to voice out, for not fighting my battle. I let it live within me and kill me softly while I’m alive.  Who on heart allows that to happen to her? My lived a hollow life, like a like in a cage, yet I walk freely, like I was tied in chains, my hands, legs and my body, yet I could move freely, like my mouth was tapped or glued yet I could talk, like was heart stopped pumping blood, yet I could feel my heart beat. What a life I never asked for, what a life worth living indeed!

My life is still the solo one, no voice but I could voice from behind, trust me, no man escapes a trauma and come out the same. I live a life of gentility and affection for myself and those around me, I seek not to be accepted, I just do it right. And I seek to be me and me alone.

A short story on what few ladies face/faced at the impressionable stage of their life…

This life I believe still exist, as few girls have that voice yet could not speak.

Fiction but has epitome of facts in it, as part of this has happened to a girl or two.

Written by Nimota Dauda-Ajao
Neematdiary

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