- HENRIETTA FUBARA

- DESMOND BANIGO
 © 2020.

LORDBANIGOPRINTS

All Rights Reserved

Chapter One

I had passed her while we were strolling out

from gender counselling, when I mistakenly
touched her breasts. she laughed rather
mischievously, “I will tell my mum oh...” we
were told to report to our parents if anyone
touches our body!! We laughed.
“Wow! that's new” I thought to myself. “Nobody
told us that, I mean, the guys”. She continued;
“we were shared some stuff and given numbers
to call if we feel or get violated”.
What does ‘violate’ mean and how come I never
heard of it? I curiously asked. For me, this
was entirely new. I proceeded further to also
know the stuff shared to them. “Uhmm…” she
snorted, “check your dictionary, and what they
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shared is none of your business! She said. We
were in JSS3.

I decided not to strain the matter any further

but she became eager to know what we had
been told at our own session. Even if I felt it
was beside the point, I still went ahead to give
her an answer.
“They didn't say much,” I continued. “we were
only told to work hard so we can be successful
and we should always respect our parents and
everyone around us.”
Bemused by my response, she asked, “Is that
all...? nothing on personal hygiene, or you
know, the violation stuff”? “Well... Nothing!
Absolutely Nothing like that”, I said.

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So, I sat my day out troubled about our
conversation. How come I did not know about
this, what it means to be violated. Somehow or
maybe, I wouldn’t be here. “They failed me”,
Everyone failed me! I kept saying to myself. As
I pondered over this, my eyes wetted and tears
rolled down subtly on my cheeks. I felt
miserable as I remembered my story; how I
went from being molested to a sheer state of
numbness.

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Chapter Two

On a certain day, while we were very much

younger, I and my sister set out frolicking on
my bicycle when we both fell to the ground.
Mom ran out in panic to help us as we
struggled through our boisterousness, but the
fall had been one too many. We were crying
and yammering.
Rather than come for both of us, she ignored
me, picked up only my little sister and cajoled
her. I loudened my cry to earn her attention
but my mum would have none of it. I retired
since I knew she wouldn’t give in – it will not
be the first nor second time this had happened,
so I had already known that her action was
intentional.

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Apparently annoyed by our noisiness, Mrs Scott.
hollered at us belligerently from her window.
"Tell your kid to shut the hell’ up - does he
even know; he is a boy? Does he even know
that?
At that point, my jejuneness ran into sheer
perplexity. Does being a boy child also mean I
should not be shown affection or attention when
I needed it? I was maybe too small, too small
to know or question, just maybe. Even though
as a child I could not readily understand the
complexities of life, I did not need anyone to
explain the intrigues. For the once, I stared at
my numbness at the face. I swallowed my hurt
with pride and moved on with my life. Somehow,
my right to cry had been inexplicably taken from
me and there was absolutely nothing to be done
about it. Each time I cried, I reacted, I was
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shown the cold side and to think that it all
meant nothing so I resolved to moving on,
tending to my hurt as I grew along, on my
own. As a growing pupil at school, even when
I got punished for my delinquent behaviours, I
would not cry and often times I will choose not
to feel because that right had been taken from
me, a long time before.

Back at home, I faced another reality. Nkay and

her cronies made me do “stuff”. I was just 9
and sadly, today, I think I had come closer to
that reality again. I was still trying to piece the
puzzle together, and I was glad it was beginning
to make sense.

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Chapter Three

“Come inside my room,” ordered Aunt Nkechi,

as she requested my presence. Aunt Nkechi
was our neighbour and doubled as a big aunty
to us. She was more than the regular family
friend. She was very trusted and more so, very
close to my parents.
I still had my school assignments undone but
Nkay (as she was fondly called) would have
none of that as an excuse. She had resorted
to blackmailing me with stealing; threatening to
escalate to my parents so I had no choice,
even though I felt disgusted and ashamed, I
still had to go.

As I reluctantly made my way into her room,

she went behind me and shut the door. I knew
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what was about to happen. This would not be
the first time and perhaps not the last. She
flung her negligée slut-style to the other end of
the room as she shamelessly undressed her
feminineness. Her titties popped its paleness
and burdened my eyes. Her body flickered with
ravishing warmness; a sight that no adult male
to my thinking would resist, not even the biblical
Joseph.
Nothing of this nature interested me at this time;
I was underaged, naïve, inexperienced and still
grappling with the damning intrigues. My
resistance sat well inside of my thoughts and
no matter how obvious I felt; they were needless
to the moment. Nkay was pre-determined and
I needn’t be reminded of the consequence, if I
incurred her wrath.

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I could feel the weather suddenly betray my
uneasy calm. The latent temperature had tilted
above the normal and my pores had no options
but to respond with profuse sweating. I was
uncomfortable but while I tried to encourage my
disgust, I was utterly helpless. The only choice
in front of me was to perform as she always
teased, “perform o., make sure you perform”

Her legs spread open like rivers depicted in the

Nigerian coat of arms as I struggled to kneel
in between. She groped my head like a juicy
coconut and began to moan as I juggled my
tongue into her honeypot. Every stroke I made
was met with a different kind of moan - the
tone, the howls, the oinks she gave as she
babbled with the pleasure, killed a part of me
every single damn time.
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Today was different. Oh, yes! It was. We had
company. ‘Can your hands reach my breast”?
asked her friend who sat on the bed the whole
time watching me perform the cunnilingus.
“Oh yes! They can.” she mentioned as she
ripped open, her dress and made for my reach.
She implored me to go gently on her boobs
and press them lightly, fondling her nipples with
every touch I gave. They began to snuggle and
smooch with loud squeals and screaming.
Grunting and moaning to the pleasure the hands
and tongues of a minor, offered them. My knees
hurt from kneeling, my hands ached and my
heart bled to the desecration of my dignity and
No! I could not stop myself until both of them
had whimpered like hungry donkeys, to the rush
of orgasm.
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Chapter Four

After we were done, cladded in her righteous

feel of no -remorse, I was given N10 naira to
buy whatever I wanted; perhaps it was my
reward for the work done. Somehow, my horror
continued and I had to endure the misery, four
years at the hands of my abusers until I
summoned the courage to tell my story. My
conversation with this girl became the turning
point. “How could I have been this ignorant”?
I muttered to myself as I ruminated over the
terrible memories of my abuse. I contemplated
going first, to my parents but I could not get
myself to tell them, so I went to my teacher.

“Hello Uncle Joe…” “Uhh”, urghmm, “I have

something to tell you.” he was apparently
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surprised, although seemingly uninterested but
he urged me on. I began to stutter but gradually
composing the words with the most precise
terms that I found fit to express myself. It was
a dramatic moment and I could even feel shivers
water down my spine. Then, I went ahead and
told him about Aunt Nkay and how close she
had been to my parents and how she has been
the Big Aunt who made me do things I did not
want to do. Inquisitively, he then asked me to
tell him what it was she bade me do.
“Tell me what she makes you do...” he
admonished in his attempt to cajole me to talk.
I maundered, “She ugrhh……. makes
me….hmmm..” clearly, this was an onerous task
for me but he urged me on. “she makes me
use my tongue and my hands in her” and I
was now reporting “since they asked the girls
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to report too whenever anyone did or tried to
do same stuff with them”.

Obviously amused by my statement, he burst

into laughter.
“You are a boy”! “Don't even let anyone hear
this”. he exclaimed. He sent me out of his
office in disbelief. “you are a boy!” the
statement kept ringing in my head as I walked
out of his office, belittled and defeated.
The trauma drained me into tiny bits and my
pieces remained shattered. To save whatever
worth I had left of me, I made the move to
finally tell my parents.

I walked up to them and settled for a word or

two with them. The sitting room was clearly lit
and the ambience lifted my hopes for a
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recourse. I opened up in one last show of
courage and revealed to them what our so-
called big Aunt had been up to and details of
how I was constantly being molested.
“What”! Mom screamed in dismay.
“She made me to....” I retorted
“Shut up! Shut your mouth! “Do you know you
are a boy?” “You could not fight her off… Or
tell her to stop?? Are you mad?”
I tried to interrupt. “she threatened to tell you
that…”
“Shut up”! Dad immediately intercepted. “Don't
ever mention this to anyone”. Infact, to them,
this never happened and I had no other choice
than to accept.

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Chapter Five

Devastated could have been an understatement.

My heart raced in agony as I walked away from
the living room. At this point, I could literally
feel the numbness on my skin. My feelings
became sore and deadened. Everyone said “I
was a boy”; perhaps there was no need to
worry anymore. I had only one option left, to
man up and face my misery; pretend and live
in self-denial.

The next few years felt like the usual cruise.

Growing to become a man have been like an
interesting rollercoaster ride. I was now my own
little man, living life on my own terms at 17.
I had lost my innocence and in no time, turned
a regular visitor at Nkay’s apartment. This time,
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pleasure and passion were my rules to set, and
on my terms. I went there as often as I could
and I had her as many times as I would. I
was her “fantasy big boy” and time after time,
I amassed myself in the numbness of my
feelings. Hidden under pretence and tending to
the wounds of my misery and basking my
exalted ego on the polished altar of self-denial.

A year later, Nkechi relocated and I heard she

was now married. Probably married to the man
of her dreams or so, I thought. Well, the man
got to move and at this point, there was no
slowing me down. I sought her replacement.
There must be someone; I didn’t care who or
when or how but someone, some way must
have to take the place of Nkay in fulfilling my
sinful desires. I felt rather entitled and time after
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I time, I hated being refused. Force was the
only way, and yea, it was just the only way.
There was no wrong in how I felt or maybe I
did not care. I probably never wanted to care
anyways, or the consequences just wasn’t
important. I did not feel anything. My senses
were benumbed, my conscience was flat and
that was my new normal.
Rape or whatever, I simply felt no remorse. My
sympathy had frantically depleted over the years
and I just wanted my victims for my pleasure,
and it didn’t matter who they were, what they
wanted or if it seemed right or not.

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Chapter Six
I was now 28. Fully grown, bearded adult with
eccentric looks and charisma. I sheltered a
ravishing lure and my warmth was almost
impeccable. my friends usually teased me with
how difficult it would be for any lady to not
want my attention so I hung my masculine ego
around this reality and I knew I could always
get whatever I wanted.

On this fateful day, karma came closer to reality

and I just happened to get stuck in between. I
met the now Mrs Nkechi at a regular mall where
she shopped her groceries. She was now added
in size and aging gracefully. We smiled at each
other with hand waves from a distance but I
proceeded further to exchange the usual
pleasantries and maybe feel the warmth in her
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palms. My pleasance was unmotivated by just
the usual man to lady handshake but I needed
to gain a proper look of the beautiful little girl
in her company. She was presumptuous and
outspoken for a 9-year-old.
I lifted the kid. Indeed, she was a little angel.
The type of child any man dreamed to have.
She was so smart and inspiring but I had my
other plans.
For a moment, I had cherished this little child.
She looked so innocent and her soft palms
blessed my arms with warmth. I cheerfully
rendered my blandish, stroking her hairs but
silently relieving the memories of my childhood
trauma at the hands of her mother.

We parted ways and I promised to pay a visit.

Her husband was on an extended business trip
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and she mentioned his absence will be till the
month had ended and she would not mind my
coming over for lunch, at least. She wanted to
host me, and that, I thought was the nicest
idea coming from the woman who molested the
rape out of me and deprived me of my
innocence at my prime.

Two Fridays had passed, before I called to

schedule my visit for the following day,
Saturday. It was a bright and sunny morning.
I woke up relaxed and looking forward to
beautiful outcomes inspired by the ambient
radiance of the morning sun.
I had pleasured myself and ejaculated thrice
before noon. My face had turned purple in
minutes as I wanked to the fourth. My hormones
were outraged and I lavishly nurtured the idea
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of Nkechi’s beautiful daughter – Princess, as
she was fondly called; bundled in my arms.

I picked myself up, had a bath and dressed

myself up. My Pink T-shirt was a snug fit. My
sneaker was a white pair that matched my blue
Armani Jean. In a matter of minutes, I was
good to go. I wore my cologne and my EDP
was a 100ml Creed Aventus. I smelled really
nice!

By 1.30pm, my car was on cruise heading to

her place at the east side of town. I honked to
indicate my arrival as a funny looking dude
reached for the gates to let me in.
Alerted by my arrival, some neighbours looked
out of the window to know whom it was that
triggered Stephanie’s excited cheer.
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I alighted my vehicle and made my way to the
living room of Mrs Nkechi’s apartment.

It was not long and our moods had become

lightened to the gist we occupied ourselves as
I adjusted to the comfort of their home. Nkechi
then excused herself to the kitchen and stepped
out almost a moment later to quickly get
something next door as the pot simmered on
the cooking range.

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Chapter Seven

The familiarity between I and Stephanie in the

living room had overcharged the moment and
as benumbed as my sanity felt to me, I could
not resist the urge to unbuckle my penis. Her
tender skin melted my heart and I could not
help but wish her innocence all to myself.

Slowly, and tactfully I inveigled her naivety until

I forcefully had my way with her. In what
appears to be a twist of fate, Mrs Nkechi rushes
in to behold the scene and screams for help
and before I could even explain. “Rape! Rape!!,
Thief! You, Animal…! She yelled, she shouted,
alerting the neighbours.

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The gateman and other neighbours stormed in
to her apartment only to find me pants down
and what remained of the hapless little child I
just defiled.
I did not have to explain anything and there
was absolutely no need for that. The men
whisked me into the compound, and beat me
with clubs, sticks and different items that did
not just inflict tortuous pain but injury as they
sought to end me with jungle justice.

No one could listen to my side of the story

even if I was never willing to tell; but my abuser
stood right in my face rooting on the mob to
lynch and burn me down.
I did not need empathy but justice. Each time
I tried to seek help; I was told to “shut up!
Because I was a boy.
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My helpless self, clobbered and battered under
the scorching sun - smeared in my own blood
and comforted in my pain was all I had left as
I waited for my end. I was stripped Naked and
judged by an angry mob who had my life and
justice in their hands.

To my end, death hung on the last gasps of

my breath but it was nothing measured to the
numbness I felt, living. Everyone I trusted,
everyone I tried to speak to, failed me.

THE END

#SAY NO TO RAPE
#VICTIMSDEMANDJUSTICE

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