Alordia, one of Nigeria's finest female rapper, is
one matter that is already generating a lot of
concern. Below is her sad revelations:
It is some months before August, the dates
running all the way back into the calendars of
the early 90s. In a few months from this day,
she will turn 7 years old, maybe even have a
big school party like her friend Aisha had
weeks back.
But today, while she's still 6 years old and
counting, he will satisfy the incessant needs
of his groins. He will have her to himself and
make her feel like he was right and she was
wrong to refuse him. So he towers his tall
lean frame above her, looking down on her as
he intimidates her with his size.
She's scared, confused and lost all at the same
time.
' This is Uncle Emeka,' she reminds her poor
little head. 'Uncle'. Not by blood or family ties,
no. But Uncle, cause he is friends with Dad and
Mom.
He picks her up from the floor and props her on
his chest, all the time saying, "You know I'd buy
you some more buiscuits when I come tomorrow
eh? Did you like the ones I brought today?"
She nods. Barely knowing what else to do but
nod in fear.Not too far off from the house just
outside, she can hear her brothers playing in the
yard. The maid is out on an errand and she is
here by herself... With Uncle Emeka, who said he
had come to see Mommy.
She feels his finger as they begin to find room
big enough to fit, in the wells beyond the cotton
lining of her baby panties. She yelps in pain.
He closes her mouth with his, swallowing her
screams down his throat as he kisses her without
shame, his finger still gliding in and out of her.
It is painful. It burns like hot coals of fire. She
lets the tears roll. He tells her it is right.
"Am I not your best Uncle?" he asks with a smile
that curves his bushy moustache into an
awkward arch.
She nods.
She was only 6 years old. But this was to happen
again three more times before her 7th birthday,
each occurrence bringing with it several wraps
of biscuits and candies. "Don't ever tell your
Mommy," he'd say. "She'd beat you very hard.
Do you want her to do that?"
It's many years ago. But I write this now and I
tell you, that little girl was me. Was. Because
with time I overcame that. I found the strength
to walk away from it and not feel like such a
dirty, good-for-nothing girl as I felt every time it
happened.
For a couple of years after that, I asked myself
several questions I was not to find answers to if I
didn't seek help. So I did! And I let it all go. But
not until I made sure I didn't feel like such a
whimp of a girl who couldn't defend herself.
And so I grew up into a tough, smug, tomboy of
a girl. I hated boys, but I had them as best
friends. My playmates were the biggest boys in
the class. My toys were water-guns and toy
soldiers. I wanted to be tough. I wanted to be
able to defend myself.
I was involved in sports, and every other thing
the little girls in my peer group thought was too
dirty to do. I didn't care about dresses, and
skirts. I hated them. So I wanted to be dressed
like my brothers, and look like a boy.
For years I let myself believe -"If he was ever
giving me anything, he wanted something in
return." This was the logic with Uncle Emeka,
wasn't it? Every time I got a present, or cookies
and candies, it was because he wanted me to
keep my mouth shut about everything, because
he wanted me to be happy, because he wanted
to come right back to prop me up on a wall and
give me pain.
So I learned to get mine. I wanted to have what I
needed on my own terms. I was never to ask for
help from any boy, I was never to accept gifts, I
didn't want anything if I couldn't get it myself.
I don't exactly come from one of the richest
homes. I have parents who made sure we had
what we needed, and on time. I watched my dad
and mom put in work, from morning till nightime
tirelessly just to make sure we were okay. It
began to dawn on me very early in life, if I didn't
start getting it myself now, I might never have
the chance to when I am older and I might have
to depend on taking from boys.
I didn't want that!
It reminded me too much of Uncle Emeka. It
brought all the pain from the past right back
with hot burning tears each time I thought of it.
I wanted to work. I wanted my own. I loved
school, I excelled at school bringing my parents
much needed joy for all their hard earned
money.
But school wasn't to be over so soon. I had two
more years to be done with secondary school
and then to face another four after that for
university.
I couldn't wait.
At age 13 I realised I loved to read and write, so
I began to write... and write even more! My dad
applauded my stories, said I'd make a great
writer and tried to get me published. But that
was tossed in the wind as I fell in love with
Eminem and focused my writing on Rap music.
I took my first job as a photography model at
age 15. It wasn't much of a job but it was a
period in my life where I got to know much
about business first hand. I didn't take anything
for granted. I had the sharpest, piercing stare
ready for any guy who dared look at me like he
wanted something!
" I'm not here for rubbish, I don't have anything
to give you, I don't want your 'gifts', I will get
mine." I repeatedly told myself.
At age 16 I had auditioned for 2 movie roles and
was successfully cast to act in them. On my first
day on set to shoot, the director told me he loved
me and tried to touch my young tender breasts.
Wasn't that the same thing 'Uncle Emeka' said
many years ago?
I got up, fired him my 'I'd kill you if you ever try
that shit with me" stare and walked away from
location never to face my acting dreams again.
By the time I turned 18, I had taught myself
makeup artistry. I had also learned how to sew
clothes from watching my mom sew in the house
late at night after a long day at work. I was at
university to study Computer Science at the time
and I was by now a full time business woman.
There I was, investing my N20,000 pocket
money on bend-down select clothes from Yaba to
sell in school and making over 400% profits each
time.
I was finally beginning to get mine. It was "Work
Eva, Work!"
I would hate to take you on a journey through a
long post reading all about my experience to
where I am now as a rapper/entertainer, so I will
stop here.
Look at me. I have strived hard to get to where I
am today. I did not happen overnight. I am
hardly where I want to be, but God is ever
faithful. I have done just about anything to make
sure I never had to feel like a whimp. To never
feel like I had to give myself up to get anything.
To never feel like all I was good for was
satisfying a man's needs down-south for a gift in
return.
Now, I'd tell you - I never granted an interview
to anyone with the aim of revealing the fact that
I was molésted as a child. There's no pride
whatsoever in that. I was put in a tight situation,
asked my opinion on "Child Not Bride" - and I
apologise for not being able to control my
emotions while I let my answers spiral out of my
small mouth. We are talking about underaged
girls being married off and having it right by
law!
How do you think I feel about that having read
my story now? This is rather too much of an
emotional and delicate subject matter for me
and I couldn't help but relate to these young
girls. And so I did say in passing without making
that my focus - "Hey! I can relate, I had bad
things happen to me as a child and I was
molésted."
If you are going to find a punchline to draw
attention to your blog, on a matter such as this,
as a writer - how much effort would it have been
to relay the emotions under which I said it in
your post? Instead you chose to make me out to
look like I was mouthing off and being proud
about being molésted as a young 6 year old
child!
Is it just me or wasn't that pushing a little too
hard for the negative attention?
I'm not asking that you care about me. I'm
asking that you care about the situation, I'm
asking that a woman be a woman for another
woman. In an attempt to drive traffic to your
site, do not portray my story for me like I was
out to brag about it. In an attempt to "not care"
and just be a gossip poster at least be a woman
for another and not make my own story look like
a cheap attempt at quotations for fame.
But who am I to talk here right?
I was molésted! I had my 6 year old vagina
prickled with fingers and nails that left sores for
days! I felt like a total loser of a girl. I was
traumatised for a long time.
There are probably thousands of children in
Nigeria, molésted everyday. By their teachers,
house maids, uncles, aunties - even their own
parents! This is a serious issue, not just for the
family but the society at large. I have kept this
to myself for many years and never expected I'd
break down emotionally and let it out in passing
to express my opinion on #ChildNotBride.
I almost died weeks ago in an auto crash. But I
am here. Alive. I did not intend to put my sad
story out like this, but it is here now and I refuse
to run away from it. So while I am alive now and
can use my story to hopefully inspire one person,
I stand for every young girl who has gone
through even a tiny bit of what I have.
Talk to somebody. Anybody. Don't keep it to
yourself. Talk to your parents about it. Don't feel
bad about yourself. You must remember that you
are beautiful, very beautiful. You must see
yourself in the purest of forms. Everyday.
To every parent out there, I implore you please,
guard your beautiful children under your wings
like the mother hen. You might not be able to do
that 24/7 because you must go out to work and
fend for them, but you must, I beg of you, be
ready to ask and be there to listen.
I am here. You are there, reading this.
I don't know what you have been through, but I
have talked to a great many people who were
molésted as kids. Boys. Girls.
So I do know that I am not here alone, and you
aren't either. What I went through was
disgusting, but it propelled me daily to where I
am now.
I am not traumatized anymore. I did not let this
consume me. I am asking you now not to let it
consume you. We sometimes think everyone else
is perfect until we hear their stories. I have no
idea what yours is, but this is mine.
This is not something I'd ever wish on any child.
It is not anything to be happy about.
I was molésted, I am not proud about it, I
am proud that I rose above.
Sent from my BlackBerry wireless device from MTN
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