Mrs

MrsI am experimenting a style of prose writing in which a character narrates the whole story to the reader in a personal way, like the reader is a spirit/ghost and the chosen character is the only one that can see them, like a secret best-friend of some sort. I am still working on it, not done yet. Enjoy!

We just spoke, for three hours straight. Tomorrow is ‘the day’, our wedding day, and to say that I am extremely nervous would be to say the least of the emotions that I feel right now. There are probably ten more that I cannot describe with words. See my palms; they are so sweaty.

My friends are having a good time in the room next to this one; I just don’t know if I need to let them know that I am freaking out. I need to use the bathroom so bad too.

Before I leave for the  bathroom, I just want you to know that I am very happy; don’t get me wrong, but just as worried as I am happy, worried that something might go wrong with this contract that I’m about to sign. I’ll tell you about the call I had with my man first, after my bathroom break, and tell you something I’ve never told anyone later.

I’m back. Sit with me on my bed.

About the call, I had never heard him say the words “I love you” so many times in three hours! He kept going on about how happy he was that we were finally getting married, and how lucky he was, and all that. I had never heard him talk so much, so I guess he is nervous too. In-between sentences, he would ask if I was listening, and I would say “yes”. Then he would tell me he loves me and I would reply that I love him even more. There were about ten “I love you”-“I love you even more” pauses before I told him I needed to sleep, and that he needed to sleep too.

There is a problem though. Well, I don’t know if it’s a problem or I’m just being petty. I had never really considered it an issue before now but I can’t get it out of my mind. He hit me a year ago with his belt, I’ll tell you why later, and I’m scared that he might do it again. I had never seen anyone that angry in real life.

He promised it would never repeat itself, I believed him, and since there were no permanent scars on my neck and arms, I didn’t tell anyone. Giving an account and telling someone else my business wasn’t at all necessary.

This is the thing- he has anger issues that I have refused to fully address, and I might be done for. Babe becomes a beast, a raging monster, whenever he’s angry. Oh! I should tell you something else before I forget. I went to an astrologer/psychic out of curiosity. I’m a Leo and he’s a Scorpio, if you would like to know. She said we have several Venus-Chiron-Mars-Pluto connections in our synastry analysis, and because those aspects are hard, we both need to learn to understand each other and we would be fine. He came up as The Emperor reversed/4 of Pentacles,and I came up as the Queen of Pentacles/Strength cards, in the readings.

Maybe I shouldn’t have said “yes”, but I love him. I don’t ever want to get a divorce; the thought of it is so frightening, because I hated it when my parents got a divorce. I don’t know; I don’t know what I’ll do if he ever hits me again.

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It’s Still Rape/Abuse If You Enjoyed It

Bus Stop

“Bus Stop” by Larry “Kip” Hayes

Many men and women (who were probably first abused as children) find it difficult to agree that they were abused. They think “well, I enjoyed it; is it still abuse then?” Your little “peepee” was pulled or rubbed against your consent by an older person or your breasts/vagina were touched against your will, whether or not the abuser had sex with you, and you think it’s alright then. Actually, it’s not.

Don’t think- “well, it was just a little stimulation”; it was abuse, whether or not penetration was involved. I have spoken/had chats with a couple of men and women who were abused as children. Their innocence was taken away by older persons, usually, and they were convinced into thinking they were enjoying some sort of secret, pleasurable activity.

Forever-Friends----Larry-Kip-Hayes----Folk-art_art

“Forever Friends” by Larry “Kip” Hayes

In some cases, they believed the other person was helping them become an adult or become more mature. In a few of those cases, they had a crush on that older person at that time. Even if they wanted to report the issue or tell someone else at some point, the older person- the abuser- would convince them that they were going to be blamed instead, and so they would not.

Well, it’s still abuse if you enjoyed it. It’s still abuse if, as a child, you had said “yes” to being touched because you were naive and innocent, unaware that it was wrong and it would result in psychological trauma and regret. 

It’s still abuse, and you should never ignore that. Don’t tell yourself otherwise, so you can find healing, if need be.

Who Sat and Watched My Big, Fat Head?

Who sat and watched my big, fat head,
when sleeping on my queen-sized bed,
and tears of sweet, planned revenge shed?
My brother.

Death III: Lifeless, but Deathless

Death is the new life.
Death is the old lie-fe.
Although we become lifeless when we “die”,
we become deathless when we leave.


oya-alisa-kuumba

My gentle Oladapo is okay. He fell sick and he left me but he is okay. Bolanle is okay. She was so energetic.

Uncle Ismaila is okay. He took me to write my common entrance exam at ISI and taught me Mathematics the day before. That bread and egg and tomtom though. That year. Immediately after the exam, we began to look for where to shit. It wasn’t until we got to Osogbo where my other family members were before we “shat”. I can’t believe we held watery shit from Ibadan to Osogbo. We should have been on the Guiness Book of Records. The way we were sweating. My uncle Ismaila is okay.

Debra is okay. One day, during one of the social events at the ISI cafetaria, an A-Z list of the junior and senior students was mentioned. “As attractive as so-so-so. As beautiful as so-so-o. As creative as so-so-so. As dirty as Ronke Babajide. I was going to get some food [I stopped going for socials] at the tuck shop when I heard my name on from the speaker that could almost cover the whole school.

Gosh! I ran back to class so fast and placed my head on the table. I was so embarrassed and sad. Whoever it was that submitted my name, I hope it was worth it. It was the exact thing that I needed for the low self-esteem that I had. I, for some reason, thought being different was bad and I had to keep up. I didn’t fit in any group.

Debra was a class higher but we became friends. She didn’t let me get depressed. We would walk to the main gate together and spend our money on suya or corn. Debra even bought chicken suya for us one day. Romance-novel gang. There was always one woman that needed to be “saved” through sex but it was worth it. One day, Debra took me to watch Amos Tutuola’s “The Palm-Wine Drinkard”. Debra passed on after a car hit her. Debra is okay.

My grandmas are okay- Mama Ireakari and Mamee. My grandpa is okay. Jane Davenport is okay. She didn’t stay so I could show her how I tie my scarf, but she’s okay. My cousin’s baby is okay. Gorgeous-eyed Matt is okay.

All our “dead” relatives and friends are okay. They just don’t live with us anymore, they are living, and they are okay.

One, Two, Unbuckled My Shoe

One, two,
nobody knew;
three, four,
I was so sore;
five, six;
he gave me licks;
seven, eight;
then he laid me straight;
nine, ten,
he was uncle Ben;
eleven, twelve;
until I was twelve.

P R O T E C T     T H E     C H I L D R E N:
Nobody is your child’s wife or husband, whether or not they refer to your child as that as a joke. Let the children be children. Listen to them, check their bodies if you are their parents, assess their behaviours, and be their defence against the world. Don’t “protect the family name” when your children are involved; if a family member molests your child, report them to the appropriate authorities.

Heal: You Are Beautiful

Were there terrible men and women in your lives,
relatives or non-relatives, at any point,
who found it pleasing to compare your beauty to someone else’s, 
in order to get to you and make you think less of yourself
or get you to agree to whatever perversion they wanted to try with you.

“You are fine but not as fine as your mother; why are you feeling yourself?
Remove your skirt, let me see your legs” and such.

I bring you healing. You are beautiful, and I’m not just trying to patronize you. Don’t ever let anyone determine what you think of yourself. 

The Beds and the “Bih”s

Have you ever seen a flower cry because they aren’t being eaten up and feasted on by parasites? Well, I have.

My best fairy tale was the Ugly Duckling
because I felt her every pain.

I was the flower with thorns
that no man wanted to touch,
and while the other flowers had butterflies
and bees and birds circling
them and perching on them,
none of them came that close to me.
Their pollination took place
at the wrong time, of course;
they multiplied before they were fruitful.

And what about the butterflies
and the bees and the birds?
Well, they all went away after a while.