SEXUAL ABUSE (part 2)

Since I had no known relatives; my mum was the only child of her late parents and she left everything and everyone related to my dad after their divorce, I was taken in by my mum’s closest friend. She was a business woman with a very big boutique. Her husband worked with an oil company, so he wasn’t always around. I was registered in a school with their three sons, Pascal, Leonard and Julius aged 11, 14 and 16 respectively. Maybe it was because their parents were wealthy, coupled with the fact that they were over pampered, they were excessively spoilt. They treated me like an object to be avoided.

I was 13 years old when I rushed back home from school one day really pressed. I was at the verge of peeing on myself. My mum had always told me that the bad habit of holding back urine till the last minute would cause trouble for me if I didn’t stop it. I guess the trouble decided to come on that day. I rushed into the bathroom without knocking, only to be met with the naked and soapy form of Leonard. I was stunned and for some seconds, too shocked to move while he glared at me. When I recovered, I ran as fast as my legs could carry me into my room. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get the image out of my head. That incident marked a change in my relationship with the boys for the worst. Of course Leonard told his brothers and the hatred was increased tenfold. They would always look for opportunities to hit me and Julius would always tell me, “You see that thing you’re looking for, you’ll get it one day”.

Their chance came when their mum announced that she had to go on her annual journey to Dubai to get more goods for her boutique- a journey that would last for five days. It was like the boys had seen the perfect opportunity and they were determined to make the most out of it.

Part 3

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OIL SPILLAGE (Final part)

Later that evening, as I sat with papa outside, his friend uncle Barinua called in and they began to talk over a keg of palm wine about Unle Barido who had just died yesterday. I watched their mouths fill with palm wine and wondered if uncle Barido also drank palm wine, swirling it in his mouth for some time like papa did before swallowing and how it must be for him to not be able to drink palm wine anymore because he was dead. Uncle Barido had died shouting that he couldn't breath. He had been having such experiences for some time just like Uncle Dornu that lives along the way to the stream. I guess Uncle Barido wasn't a strong fighter. As I listened to Uncle Barinua talk about how his Uncle died from the same condition two years ago, I began to think that maybe, my village had done something wrong that we were being punished for. First loosing babies, next dying of breathing problems. I also remembered hearing nma & papa complain last week that the taste of the fishes c

WIDOWHOOD PRACTICE (part 4)

Early the next morning, I got ready and went with my host to the village square, not forgetting my tape recorder, writing materials, and camera. I wanted to do a wonderful job. Who knows, it might land me the promotion I’ve been praying for. When we got the village square, the place was crowded. I guess everyone wanted to see what would be done to the woman who had the guts to disobey the custom of the land. The air was tense. People were engaged in conversations with each other, no doubt, about the issue at hand. A woman beside me said to her friend, "that Akunna that refused to grow out of her pomposity. Since she came back from the city with her husband, she acts like she's better than all of us. Are you sure she didn't kill him with her sabi sabi? I hope they teach her a lesson". Part 5 Enjoying the story? Let me know your thoughts. Leave your comments in the comments section. Thank you!

SEXUAL ABUSE (part 3)

I was sleeping in my room that night when I felt rough hands shaking me. I woke up to find the three boys in my room, with scary and mischievous looks on their faces. It was Julius who spoke first, “We’ve come to give you what you were looking for by going to watch Leonard in the bathroom”. Before I could say a word, Pascal and Leonard had appeared on either sides of my bed and held my hands apart. I was filled with panic from the pit of my stomach. When I tried to scream, I got the slap of my life that dazed me for a moment from Leonard. With a wicked smile on his face, Julius spread my legs apart and knelt between them. Then he proceeded to unbutton my pajama shirt slowly; he wanted to make sure I’ll always remember every moment of it. My face was already drenched with tears and Leonard jeered at me, “we’ve not even started and you’re already pouring out all the tears in your eyes. Better keep some for the main thing”. I was too afraid to even say a word. I only cried the more. I’ve

WIDOWHOOD PRACTICE (part 3)

When I had settled down, I engaged my host in a conversation and I found out that the village was in excitement over the refusal of a woman- a widow who had just lost her husband, to obey the laws laid down by the Umuada to be observed by all widows immediately her husband dies. The woman, Akunna a mother of 4 children lost her husband two weeks ago. She and her late husband resided in the city and were forced back to the village due to hardship seven years ago. Though without any formal education, Akunna was an enlightened woman. She wouldn’t bulge to the pressure mounted on her by the Umuada to keep to the age long tradition of the community. Hence, the village head called for a meeting of all the villagers to the market square the next day to decide on the suitable punishment for her. It was the first time the law was disregarded. I was just in time, I thought to myself. Being present at the meeting tomorrow would enable me get the information I needed first hand. So I thanked my

Welcome!

"When I stand before God at the end of my life, I would hope that I would not have a single bit of talent left, and I could say, I used everything you gave me" Erma Bombeck Hello, welcome to Vinapriscaz blog. My name is Amadi Ogechi Vinaprisca. The whole reason for this blog is to utilize my talents and develop myself on positive things. And I use things I see around me; things going wrong in the society. They say change begins with you, so I want to speak against these ills in my own way, through creative stories. Youths are leaders. The problem is that we don't realize it early enough. Let's make our voices heard; let's stand up to the evils ravaging our society. Don't wait till you become the president! Let the world feel your impacts, in any little way you can. So in this blog, I will take you through relaxing stories that illustrate real life events. Feel free to comment and let me know your thoughts and ideas. Note that all stories here

WIDOWHOOD PRACTICE (part 2)

When I got to the village, it wasn’t much of a problem settling down because my mum was from the eastern part of the country and I spent a good part of my childhood vacations with her relatives in the village hence, I was very fluent in Igbo, the language of the east. It wasn’t difficult to find an elderly woman who was willing to rent one of the rooms in the small house she shared with her son to me at a fair price. The people of this village were known to be kind to strangers- history had it that many years ago, one of their gods in form of a weary looking man had visited the house of a widowed woman one night. And due to the hospitality shown to the human- god, it blessed the community and that led to a very bountiful harvest that year. So it was a law to always be kind to strangers; you never know when a god will come visiting. Part 3

DRUG ABUSE (final part)

We were in the sitting room one night watching television when we heard loud laughter from Chima’s room. We ran to check, and there was my brother seated on the floor pointing at the window and laughing hysterically. My mum broke down in tears, ‘heeeeeiiii my enemies have done it! My only son has gone mad. What have I done to deserve this? Haaaaa! I’m finished. My only son!’. At the word “mad”, I remembered Aunt Esther’s words, “let madness fall on you”. I looked at my brother and felt goose bumps on my skin. Chima had indeed gone mad. I was stupefied. Was Aunt Esther a witch? How can Chima be mad? These and many other questions filled my heart as I watched my mum wail. My dad walked in the room while I followed him and became aware of the smoky smell. We didn’t have to search for the source; right in front of my brother were rolls of tobacco wrapped in papers. My dad opened his mouth in shock. Chima was a smoker. My dad looked like he had been punched in the chest. We couldn’t fathom

WIDOWHOOD PRACTICE (final part)

" My husband and I loved each other. He would never have wanted me to suffer. What you want me to do is cruel and no human being deserves it", she said with tears in her eyes. But the people would have non of that. Other women went through it, so her case can't be different. At the end, it was decided that she should be banished from the community- she had already enjoyed a grace period of two weeks. Even now as I write my report, I still ponder on the cruelty of the whole thing. It is utterly dehumanizing and no human being should be made to go through all of that. Widowhood practice, sadly has not completely come to an end in our society. This gross dehumanization of the very people who need the most care is still there, doing all harm and no good. Let's all in one voice, speak against this ill. Human rights activists should put in more efforts, to ensure that this wickedness is completely eliminated from the society.

SEXUAL ABUSE (part 1)

In this century, I’ve always watched marriages fall apart. Sometimes after many years and sometimes in less than five years like my parents’ and sometimes even after months. But I never thought I will come this close to being a victim, just after seven months of being married. Like I said, I’ve being married for seven months, and in all that time, I’ve never slept with my husband. You heard me. And before you start thinking, my husband is perfectly okay and innocent. He’s at the receiving end of all these. You’ll understand better if I tell you my story. I was two years old when the three years old marriage between my parents came to a bitter end. I still don’t know how it happened; my mum never talked about it. She took me away from my dad and relocated to another state- she wanted to be as far away from him as possible. But sadly, she didn’t last. She died eight years later. Cancer. I don’t know how long she’d been living with it, but her death was the beginning of my nightmare.

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