dili and chi (recount..contd )

I am not sure when this happened so i’m not sure about the age but i think i’m about 5-6-7 years old.

My time markers are: this was the year that my grandmother moved to agboju market and we started spending a lot of time there. I especially spent a lo of time there refusing to go home and even going to school from there. There were some perks…my parents were constantly fighting or should i say my father was busy beating my mom so she too was sometimes at grandma’s “resting” and its not like i spent a lot of down time with her, and her shop was close ny on ojo road so under the prext of wanting to learn how to sew sometimes the driver would drop me there….that came in my early teens as more frequent behaviour before they closed/sold the shop.

Anyways in my bid to avoid okafor i started to spend a lot of time there, at my grandma’s i was allowed to HELP out in the kitchen, go to the market, fetch water..all these things distracted me they were a welcome escape. i would spend days in her t – shirts which she called blouses and she would bathe me at night and cover me with talc powder and dusting power. I was so happy there, i started to tell my mom that i wanted to move to agboju….

Then mama started going to the market and running errands and left me more and more with okwi. Okwi and i were co conspirators, he wasn’t much older than me and he’d encourage me to ask mama for milk, sugar, money for suya anything most things that she wouldn’t on if it was just him and her. He was her brothers son and his sister would be coming soon from the village. We played with makeup, he dressed me up and would wear makeup, my aunts heels and we would both me “madams” one day he got caught and they beat the living daylights out of him. I was not sympathetic by then i started to feel sike at the memory of him.

Anyways one day he invites me to his room, i never go into his room he shared the same room with my aunties, that room was huge with two queen beds in it and they were away at the university so he had thier wardrobe at his full disposal. Untill then i stayed in mama’s room and did not venture near that room cos my aunts had warned me to stay away.

So i went with him, he said he had storybooks for me to read and i stayed there and read them and then he showed me papa ajasco and hints magazine and read them to me, he kissed me and touched me on my nipples, sucked them and asked me to play with his penis..well he put my hand on it. it was soft, softer than okafors and browner and smaller. I started to cry, he begged me to stop crying.

This memory is so fucking fuzzy that i hate to remember. Anyway one day he was in my uncles room right by the parlour, i think i was sleeping or something. I noticed how quiet it was..that weekend my brother and sisters were there with us…cos one of our uncles came back from abroad. I heard voiced from his room i thought there were hiding eating all the candy, biscuit that my uncle brought back and did not want to give me any so i started banging and knocking on the door.

Okwi came out of the room with nothing on he was covered in powder and my sister/brother were in the room with chioma they were all naked, lying under the sheets and giggling? I was mortified. I knew what was happening so i asked them to get out of the room immediately, my brother, my sister. They said that they were only playing but i beat them, slapped them hard and told them that if i EVER found them playing that kind of play they would be sorry.

***more significantly, i have a displaced memory of feeling, sucking and tasting along with the overwhelming scent of talc powder okwi’s small penis**** i can’t seem to place it.

Okwudili was easy to forgive, i think one day he asked me for forgiveness….after that day i never talked to him, hung out or anything. I avoided him like the plague…i was cleaning my fathers bathroom when he came upstairs to say hello he was in secondary school by this time. So was i but he was a senior and very tall and handsome. His voice got shaky and tears welled in his eyes and he said he was sorry. I didn’t ask for what, i didn’t ask why. I was happy that he’d apologized, i had respect for him, though the disgust didn’t really go anywhere and that was it.

We lived around each other but were never close again.

****it is important to note that my brother went on to continue to “play” i suspect with my sister, myself with my sister, my cousins and brothers at diffrent points in my life. If not for anyone else’s sake i MUST remain anonymous. This stuff, thee stuff that i cannot blame on anyone, the things that i remember doing like a zombie indeed, the things that i felt compelled to do when okwi, okafor and everyone else is what haunts me because up untill i became a teenager…i perpetuated the cycle. Even as i wished that they would stopped what they did to me i did not think/it did not occur to me that what i was doing was WRONG, would create hurt, would do the same to them

Psychology has explained away this phenomenom with relativity, the attempt to normalize ones psyche, life and what one has lived through by passing on the pain. The theory of domination/power/ is simply a way of achieving balance by stealing power from another person and therefore becoming the dominator. I dont know how to forgive my teenage self or my young self for the things that i continued to do to other people, to other children even as i had managed to stop the abuse in my life.

Worse i have found little or no resources for talking about this, people have threatened me, lost all respect for me, attempted to call me a monster, attempted to blackmail me for things that they themselves had done, once they have found this out about me but the reality is that this is me. If i am to fry for it one day then i shall fry. I am doing all this now, saying all this now because i have to find a way to free myself. I am in “bondage.”  I remain bound by the pacts of secrecy that existed/exists among all of us. I want to live my life, i need to give myself permission to live and mean it.

AND it must stop. IT MUST STOP. IT MUST STOP. this bullshit that has been going on in my family, that has touched us, someone must talk about it, i will not live in fear that one day i will touch my kids or that i will be blind while someone else does or that someone else will because i am too busy hiding anything to do with sex from my children, it must stop. Starting with me.

I think that is why the whole way, current and very popular method of conceptualizinf “healing” and survivors must be reconceptualized…because the present explanation of coping/learnt behaviors does not address the fear that i am trying desperately to debunk: that since i was touched, licked, kissed and tasted and consumed by the tainting damaging hand of EVIL, torture and abuse then i must have changed become deformed, ugly and equally monstrous..that i learnt this is no consolation AT ALL because i am now and will forever remain condemned as monstrous…+disability and theoretically the vision/story is not much of a leap..doesnt take people long to make the connection, this i can see in my life. It has manifested itself before me…like a monstrous shadow that i cannot hide/run away bury my head in the sand as much as i wish…it is thier preconcieved notions of me, they give it breath, it is created before my very eyes and it takes on a life of its own….

What to do with the monster/ghost: either we vanquish it for all eternity or we simply live with it…normalizing it, acknowledging as she is transformed and we are transformed recognizing shared connections/similarities till we cant help but start to see ourselves as ugly, familiar, monstrous as the monster/ghost….not sure that made any sense..not that anyone is reading REALLY!

Oka…(recount)

Okafor came to our house in lagos at the time from the village..i remember hearing everyone describing him as a village boy who was ugly. He shared a room with one of my uncles, all the uncles shared one room, it smelt like them, the room was lit with a yellow bulb and was full of boxes of paper. Looking back it smelt mostly like aftershave and old paper.

He used to bathe us, well me and my brothers and sisters.  When he was bathing me his hands always lingered around me nipples and too long in my vagina, i complained once and he told me that i was dirty i needed to be clean down there and thats what my mother told him to do.  That is how it all started. Till today i wonder if he touched or did anything to any other of my siblings. We had come to agreement much later on when i was eight that he would use only me and that he would in turn get full cooperative access to me.

When i was three (i calculated how old i was from the year we were still in our first family house before we moved to our present family house in lagos) I was three.

I used to dance to ABBA really loud while he cleaned for some reason that day i was home alone with him. He had finished cleaning for the afternoon and watched me danced to dancing queen. I flounced around the room imitating my mother, my aunties and then i noticed that he was watching me closely. I moved to him and started to dance for him, I remember twisting and rubbing myself on the wall and looking at  him to make sure i had his attention and he was staring.

later that afternoon Okafor took me into his room, it was dark, he was sweating profusely, there was no light and he was naked. he asked me to come to the bed he kissed me for a long time..i didn’t feel anything…cannot recall the image i just know that i kissed him, i remember his lips..i remember thinking that they were so big and so black compared to mine. he smelt of saliva and sweat…i sat on top of him  lay naked beneath me and he was rocking, moving, my head was stuck in his armpit and my whole lower body was covered in white stuff…i fell asleep.

I never went to his room again. I avoided him, no more dancing to abba, no more dancing, no more skirts/dresses if i could afford it. When we moved into the new house it was harder to avoid him, by them he was the master houseboy and we had other househelps that deffered to him, so he would insist on bathing me, insist on making my lunch, insist on lifting me up when i came back from school so that in front of everyone he would stick his fingers into my vagina and then put me down but by then i was often in tears. Okafor was beloved by my parents, they said he was honest, no girls around him, worked in the shop, didn’t steal and he was learning the trade very well.

Whenever he was bathing me he would stick his soapy fingers into my vagina. I told my aunt and my mother once that he had put his finger into my vagina with soap and that is why it was paining me. My aunt called me aside and begged me to be sure of what i was saying because they were going to beat okafor and send him away. (now i look back with a clear conviction that she knew but instead sympathized with him or was the power drug denial and her hope that it was not true that led her to encourage me to sympathize first and foremost with him and everyone else but myself ) So i never mentioned it again. At other times he would force me to play hide and seek by following me around and i would run and hide, trying to escape and he would corner me behid the curtains, under the dining table, behind the couch and play with my vagina. Sometimes i got wet, i felt aroused…i didnt understand. He would smile and tell me to stop pretending that i liked what he was doing. Over the yearsi simply gave in, would let me do as he pleased and when he took me to his room in the boysquarters, whipped out his penis, I did. all i remember was his hair, the coarse hair, the smell of his sweat and com. He always smelt like onions.

When i was 9yrs old i travelled to london england for christmas and there as another girl touched me and her brother confronted me and asked me if she had touched me and told me that she had touched/touches others i realized that it was all wrong. He gaved me words to think about it all. I started to hate myself, hate the fact that sometimes his mouth on my nipples felt good, that he gave me extra eggs in the morning or whatever i wanted, I hated him. When i got back from england he chased me down the house and i fought back, i threw a can of baked beans at him and he stuck his fingers into me by force, i bit him hard..he enjoyed it. I withdrew i wondered why nobody noticed. I still do.

Then one day i took the kitchen knife that used to cut green sometimes and i told him that i would tell my mom and dad and that i would cut him the next time he tries it, i cut him, not hard enough..that day he was even rougher.

So i stayed away, slept in my aunt house and i started to steal so they’d blame it on him, i stole perfume money and it worked. Then one day i closed the glass divider, i was playing. Okafor heard a car at the gate and ran to open it, he ran straight through the glass. I was happy, he bled everywhere, they took him to the hospital, his face bore numerous scars from the stitches. He never touched me again. After that incident he came back for a little while but they settled him.

The next time i saw him i was 12, i came back from church and there he was in my living room with my mother in a white caftan and his new wife from the village. He said how beautiful and all grown up i looked, my mother said i could make abacha now and wouldn’t i make some for him.

I oversmoked the oil, the abacha was hard, dry and burnt. i served  it to him and his wife. My mother said that it was strange, that my abacha is usually good. He said it was perfect he and his wife ate it. When i came to collect to plates, he stared i picked them up and took them to the kitchen. lost in thought, i was so angry that he had the audacity to come back and pretend that everything was ok…the tray dropped from my hand the glass, the plates they’ used to eat were broken.

I was glad i didn’t want to wash the utensils and dishes that he’d used to eat.

** i try hard to black the images from my head, i wont let myself relive them to the fullest cos they were painful, they hurt, i felt taken advantage off, i felt left alone. I have been told later on in my life (boundaries, promiscuity, lying, cheating, stealing become coping behaviors, this view HELPS ALONg the survivors are monsters theory that i thoroughly despise and disagree with, to state from obvious i could have learnt picked up these behaviours from anywhere as a young girl growing up in lagos or anywhere else in the world for that matter) that i learnt very many disturbing behaviours from everything that he did to me the emotional manipulation, the abuse, my present eroticization of fingers.., i have not oVERCOMe anything, i Have not become more than anything because my lived experiences are a part me, the same way i cannot/will not overcome any day soon the pain the small of my back, okafor stays**i used to feel consumed in a way by his fingers like they blotted out every thought in my head, squeezed out everything that was me – displaced in my own mind/head.. this is really what i’m battling. From Okfor to everyone else that has attempted to utilize my body/ embodied self for thier own purposes.

counselling log: abandonment “issues”

Aight so today was a good day regardless of the nasty day mostly due to the encounter with the toxic crap that the ex hubby NEVER seems to run out of. In any case, I did a little reading recommited to my school work and went to bed at say 8-9pm with the intention to wake up in the middle of the night (don’t laugh i actually used to do this, back in the day when i still thought that higher education and academia was about learning but thats another post). I woke up you guessed it, at like 7pm well in all fairness my alarm woke me up but then i looked at the thing and just went to back to sleep. I got at like 7am, decided to get organized so i could make it to class did the dishes (did i mention that i’ve been doing the dishes now every 3-4 days!!) Thats just ridiculous i don’t want to have “visitors”, my buidling definitely has a pest problem and i’ve been keeping it under control with pest treatments every other week and they’ve for the most part stayed away but if i keep this up they are sure as hell to return.

ANYWAYS….to cut the long story short. Part of my getting OUTside of the house and trying to live for myself program has involved ACTUALLY making it to counselling which ever since the divorce i’ve been VERY VERY VERY sketchy about the whole thing. So anyways I get to talking, and the topic of my mother and my feelings regarding my mother and he reaction to all of this and her role in my life through all of this and SHE jumped on it, sunk her teeth in and wouldn’t let go….questions, questions, questions….

She said that i seemed to have SO many feelings and that i was joking them away but that underneath all the jokes and even my understanding there mUSt be something more I said yes of course, of course there is something more..i just don’t want to go there. Well, i told her that in the past and i’m taking a couple of years when i shared such issues with people who were supposed/claimed to love and care for me it was utilized with another emotional agenda (THIERS) and i was left to deal with the repercussions of my actions as a result BUT also that it scarred me in ways that have left me wondering how usefull it is to share, process the feelings that i have about my family (as i write that down i realize how stupid that is because its for my own good anyways to continue to beat it, process it and work on it as much as i can). I also said that i wanted to deal with the bottled up and unexpressed feelings so that maybe i could either have the relationship that i have always wanted with my mother or fund some peace with it and get some clarity on my part so that i can feel confident about being a mother.

Through all this divorce stuff, unlike all the other varying relationships i have had, my mother was there in ways that i had never imagined. I leaaned heavily on her for the moral support that i needed to deal with ex hubby and she was constantly unflinchingly inmy corner and it felt good. WHY?

It felt good cos it was a little surprising, i was expecting her to yell, cuss me out etc but she reserved all judgements at least untill later and just problem solved with me, after the numerous betrayals i had encountered with so called loved ones, it was good to be affirmed and validated like that. It brings tears to my eyes just thinking about it. I have always wanted a relationship where i could actually tell her anything and she would fight on MY corner, not the mutherfucker who raped me, not the ex, not my dad…JUST ME.

And I’m glad because this time, i was there, enough words, screams, yells and blaming had passed between the both of us that i think this time she was actually able to take care of me for once, regardless of what anybody would say or do.

Anyways..now that everybody knows that i love my mother and and have unfailing blood bound loyalty to her.

Detox…please tell us about the times you felt abandoned, neglected, rejected, unwanted, like a heavy burden that they did not want any part of not to mention carry so that you have to chase them down so that they will carry it, even though for most of your life up untill you came out and they told you that you couldn’t come home anymore, at least not like that, and then you SERIOUSLY started considering and exploring non bio family options and constructions that did not go very well, which they smugly blamed you for and that makes me feel like if they weren’t such demanding, blood sucking, insensitive, willingly ignorant and unkind people that kicked you out of thier little family and banished you to exile in this cold cold agbara of a place then there would have been no problem in the face  but then again it doesn’t matter cos even there i was thier little child that was disabled who made them uncomfortable so they decided that she wasn’t REALLY REALLY disabled, how fucking convenient because she was REALLY REALLY REALLY disabled and she found that out that she was REALLY REALLY unfixably and unpretendably disabled and they just all continued to pretend like it never so yeah i’m fucking pissed, hurt, cant believe it, don’t like thinking it, there is a gap in my head about what my family have told me they are and what i hoped they would be and what they actually ARE.

Support for all the above stated are as follows

• When i was little, my parents would periodically forget me in random places, in school, babysitters house, friends house, once they left me there late in the night in YABA!!!!! we lived closer to mile 12/satellite side. sometimes, i’d wait and wait and wait and then i’d find my way home and other times i’d try and call them and they would all of a sudden remember, or there was no fuel in the car, or they would have to send someone to come and pick me up by bus or they would find the driver and come and pick me up. The worst part? THERE WAS NEVER EVER EVER AN APOLOGY, no sorry honey heres an extra slice of cake. I’d come home, sulk, not eat, go to bed and nobody would say shit to me untill me too i just follow them “forget” as them dey talk am say na you go tire, in regard to my family and silence…yes, name tire. Oh wait..and then later on i got the rep for holding shit in well WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU EXPECT? Now, several failed relationships later and i am proud to say that in my last relationship there was very considerably little of that, cos if i held it in, i might find my head bashed up againt a mofo wall….there was very little holding of anything in. I learnt to express myself, not because i wanted to, or because i thought it was healthy no, i learnt because if i didn’t my boundaries would get crossed in fact they would dissappear and i just couldn’t afford to let that happen. It would have been very very very risky.
• alone
• caretaker
• blamed me for the abuse
• pretend i’m not sick
• not calling/checking to see if i’m still fucking alive

to be continued in more detail later  (time limit up)

      

              

     

        

when grandma calls… (passing down patriachy)

See i think i was raised mostly by my grandma…i love that woman so much but then again i kinda have to keep my distance from her because she is very very conservative. She was the one who advised my mother to stay with my dad even after all the beat downs she got fro m him.

She made me think it was ok that i wet the bed, no laughter just told me to clean up after, she taught me how to make my most favorite things in the whole world eg: ABACHA and ugba, she used to do my hair she just took care of my without any thing.

She wants me to get married and have kids, she wants me to pray she’s anglican, she told me her dead husband eleazer cam to her in the shape of a water ram, she taught me to trust and believe in spirituality but she is still MAMA.

She raised her daughters and aunts to be silent and submissive and pasive agressive and she is.

I haven’t spoken to her in years cos i can’t get into conversation with her about feminism, about being queer, she just asks me to do things and expects that i do them. I say yes, cry because i can’t really talk to her and then most often than not not do it but still…she has a direct line tto my obedient, passive, good girl self.

She must have heard about mutherfucker ex hubby and is calling to make sure that i’m ok. I can’t start telling her that i am losiing my fucking mind. that i feel soo sucking unworthy, that everything sucks and that i’m on meds cos i’m actually thinking of committing suicide or hurting myself on a daily basis. that my right leg can barely move unless i’m drugged up. how do i ask her if it is trye that i am indeed cursed, that every fucking dick and harriet, every mutherfucker who has ever been in relationship was right about me, that i’m dead, that i’m a zombie, that i’m empty, that i’m wicked..thats all i hear. that i’m no good. that i’m failing have no money.

I don’t want to smile and pretend like everything is ok so that she won’t worry so that go can around telling everyone that her first grandchild is doing well and is a fucking scholarship recipient in CANADA!!!!!. How do i tell her that if i do not fucking shape up this next week like today instead of crying all the time, sleeping all the time and eating then i will fucking have to pay that bursary back because i would have flunked out.

Aint no nobody i can tell these things to…i feel like everyone expects me to be strong, to shape up and face it all…but lately i am not doing so well at it AT all.

gotta go find a calling card and call her, i’ll just smoke and get ready to cry my fucking eyes out after the convo.