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7 Years Ago He Raped Me And Ran Away, Now He Is Back And Wants My Son- Part 2

By the time my step mother came back, I was totally unconscious. I spent the next 2 months in the hospital treating not just my tears but terrible STD infections, he was sexually active, a part of his life nobody else knew about. I missed my exams; I missed a whole year to say the least. I was confirmed pregnant and my father refused me getting an abortion. Francis absconded without a trace. The police in Aba put out a search warrant on him but it did not yield any results. I left Aba and came down to Lagos to meet my father. I went back to school but this time around was allowed to be in Arts. My grandmother took care of Samuel for me while I started building the blocks of my life back. I got into LASU to study Law and was done 2 years ago. I served in Kano State but refused to stay over in the north because of my son. I wanted to be a part of his upbringing too and be able to explain why he does not have a daddy in his life just like other kids in school. I started working in a law f
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7 Years Ago He Raped Me And Ran Away, Now He Is Back And Wants My Son- Part 1

I wasn’t doing too well in school, well, the truth is, I never liked sciences but my parents wanted me to be a medical doctor hence I had to take science subjects which were not really my forte. My dream has always been to wear the wig as a lawyer and appear in court to defend people and cases, all that dream has long disappeared. It has been 3 years of struggle since I started my senior secondary education in Owerri. If only my mother hadn’t died from that breast cancer that tragically took her life, I would have still remained in Aba with her, but now am in Owerri with my step-mother who does not really believe children have a say in what to do with their lives.  I cant say she disliked me but giving me an opportunity to chose, the same way my mother would have allowed me was a far distant cry. So I ended being a good and obedient daughter and followed her wishes. But my grades were not encouraging, not at all. As the final exams approached, she decided to get me a private lesson tut
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The Beauty Of An Incomplete Picture

  The Beauty Of An Incomplete Picture! So I have a brother Joel Alasan  who is a fantastic artist and I sometimes have the privilege to catch him just when he’s about to start a painting, most times my curiosity leads me to ask questions of what he wants to do and I realize no matter how hard he tries, I don’t really get the full picture of what he wants to do.  I just see sketches and lines and and and you know what I mean right? But he on the other hand knows what exactly he wants to bring out and even though it doesn’t look like it at first, he stays there for hours, days even months till that perfect resemblance of what he has internally becomes manifested on paper, on canvass or whatever medium he chose for it. Then, we all can come back and say “what a master piece this is” Point is, he didn’t give up on what he saw until it became what he has produced, in-between that period is a process that involves time, skill, patience and faith that it can be done! Joseph had a dream that h
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Life: Through The Lens Of A Child

We used to free, playing on the streets,kicking empty cans all the way to school and back. We were free to visit the stream,coming back home with eyes so red you can’t deny where you’ve been ( you really didn’t need to anyway) We used to be free to eat,drink in the neighbours friends house coming back home with big round tommies and shirts stained with oil due to the struggle for meat. It was actually allowed to remove our sandals and walk bare feet, swinging them in rhythm of songs learnt from the village square last night. Parents yes, but the society was the standard model and watch dog. Kids getting spanked by total strangers when due and still complimented for not sparing the rod when the news filtered back home. Teachers were idolized as mini gods due to the importance society placed on them- a noble profession with “rewards in heaven”. Life for us as kids was super fun. We built castles with mud,using our legs as designs. Creativity and natural instincts buzzing in our heads. Th
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3 Days To My Wedding..

“Its either you are the new Virgin Mary or you lied abou t your virginity status in your form, because your pregnancy test result is here and it shows you are seven (7) weeks pregnant!. So which is it? Be rest assured that even your fathers status as Senior Pastor cannot make this panel bend the rules for you. Am afraid but you will have to call off the wedding”. Those words from the church marriage committee this morning is still echoing in my ears long after I left their presence. Hours later, as I sat on the hotel couch, throw-pillow half soaked with hot tears in my hand, looking hopelessly at the mirror trying to see what part of my life I could salvage from the destructive chain of events that had quickly kicked in since my meeting with the panel ended and I walked shamefully out of the church premises hurriedly into the waiting Uber taxi. “Back to Wuse II where I picked you or to another location? Ma? The very kind driver obviously noticed there was something wrong with me. I was
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When

  When life rhythms doesn't actually sound no more like duduke When you hate the sight of sunrise because you gave up already on the day unfolding since last night when you soaked your pillows drenched When the cover of darkness is the safest place you felt at peace; far from all preying eyes, probing questions at every turn all fuelled not by care or compassion but to confirm and satisfy their thirst for stories of your failure When your silent outer self is an exact opposite of the raging war happening in the inside, yet wrapped around a smile as you trod past memories of sweet before all but gone in the fleeting moments When conversations became sour, chaotic and a battle of who is wrong or right, all aimed to massage a battered ego bruised and scared from previous encounters on the alter of moral justification fanned   When the voices, the only voices that you hear, that sound like songs and meaningful to you only lead to a place of darkness with no light in sight When you look
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Oh My Mother Land

  How did we get here? That the cries of the innocent no longer irks our soul? Tell me how the blood stains on our land, flowing freely, is no longer seen as a proof of carnage? While those alive mourn those dead in fear, the killers jubilate so loudly, we can hear them sing from afar. Their rythmic dance steps insult the memories of their victims for free. Oh my land, my home! Can I still call you so? All I see now when I remember home is a slaug hter field, where my ancestry is being eroded, violated, destroyed by people I once called brothers and fellow men. How different are they from me? I see none, our skin tone shows we are supposed to be united as a common front against those who come from beyond the big wide sea to tap and mine the blessings of the creator hidden deep underneath our huts, just for you and I but alas today, they sit back and watch, without having to lift a finger, we turn and strike deep into the heart and bellies of ourselves Wives left with no husband's,
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