MY NEW HOME

True aunty Nene and her husband were very rich and highly respected in the society. Their house was in Victoria Island  an area in Lagos largely occupied by the elite and middle class- and it had a servants’ quarters. They had two drivers and a cook, because my aunt and her husband were very busy people. Most of the time they were not at home. One would have imagined that with such opulence, I would have had my own room in the main house. Surprisingly, I was asked to share a room in the boys’ quarters with the cook who was a young lady called Betty. I was scheduled to work as one of the housemaids and as such the left over food was the meal I was entitled to. The cloths bought for me were taken away, and I was made to wear fitted adult cloths that my aunty did not need. 

I thought I would have access to children’s books based on the picture presented to my mother. From the day I stepped into my aunt’s house till the day I ran away, I never laid my eyes on any book. Not to mention going to school. Betty, besides being the cook, was in charge of cleaning the main house and she would often bring to our room old journals, newspaper and magazines for me to read. She understood my longing to go to school and since I could read at eight years of age, I took the opportunity to go through them after the daily chores. Most times I did not understand what I read, but I kept reading. This I discovered helped in my later years of studies, because some of the difficult words that I came across were not strange me.

Running Away from My New Home

At the age of ten, I had physical signs of puberty. I was growing breasts and looking beautiful. I never liked aunt Nene’s husband and I often tried to avoid him. He verbally abused me, calling me all sorts of names whenever he saw me around. I was afraid to tell my aunt for fear she would be angry with me. Whenever she travelled, I made sure I stayed out of sight. Psychologically I became ill which kept me away from the main house.

Betty being a good lady, was like the big sister I lost. She made sure I was fine. She prayed with me. We played together and I looked forward to assisting her. She bought me a little Bible as a gift. We often went to the market to shop for the items needed for the house. She was never tired of me. The sadness in my heart was the psychological abuse of which she was aware and being a servant, she dared not side with me or protect me or she would lose her job. Being an orphan her life in the house couldn’t be better. She was always happy and positive about life.

One day I was summoned by aunt Nene’s husband to help in the house because Betty took ill. My aunt was away on her usual long trips. She was sometimes away for a week or more. Betty and I made sure things were alright before we retired to our quarters. I followed him to the main house. To my surprise he invited me to the bedroom. I tried to decline for I felt I had no right to be there. Moreover, the bedroom was strictly under Betty’s care. She was responsible for the cleaning and making sure everything there was in place. So I really did not have any business being in this restricted area and I believed it was wrong of him to have invited into the bedroom at that hour, and in the absence of any adult, especially my aunt.

I stood by the door. He ordered me to come in. I tried to obey while silently praying because I was afraid and I felt insecure. He told me not to be afraid, that he would not harm me. He tried to be friendly and apologized for abusing me and all the maltreatment that he subjected me to in order to make me feel at ease. In my heart I was looking for an escape route because he was touching me in a manner that I did not like.  The fright in me was so intense I could almost imagine what his next move would be. Paralyzed by fright I was unable to move because I could not imagine that behind this so called respected man, was a devil, having no respect for a child’s innocence. He pulled me closer to him, I was rigid with fright. He kept touching me in an uncomfortable way and he wanted to undress me. I could not stand the  humiliation, and I remembered mother’s instruction that I should never allow anyone touch me in a way that made me feel uncomfortable. 

When I was a child she told me that it was important to live a holy life. The pride of every girl ought to be to preserve her purity and virginity till the right time in marriage. I saw my mother’s face and could hear her moral teaching. I could not imagine what my evil uncle was up to. In my own little way I struggled to be free from his uncomfortable embraces. He forced me onto the bed and covered my mouth to prevent me from screaming for help. What a horror for a child of ten! How do I get out of this ugly situation?  I remembered my rosary and I prayed to the Virgin Mary and asked for her assistance. Miraculously, I did not know where I got the strength from to fight him off me. In the course of my struggle with him, my dress was partly torn. Thank God I had my mother’s wrapper with me, because before going to bed I always used it to cover myself, to feel my mother’s presence.  

The next thing I did was to run out of the room, and luckily the door was open. I made my way to the main entrance, opened the door to the sitting room and ran out into the dark. I hid in the garden close to the security house. He was fast asleep and unaware of what was happening. Betsy too was ignorant of what was happening, as well as others, because they believed the master to be a perfect gentleman.  The security guard usually opens the gate at six in the morning. He preferred using outside for his convenience, to urinate. I could not sleep for fright. I was awake all night and I heard the boss muttering some angry words. He did not have the courage to chase me or go round the compound in search of me for fear of attracting attention.  At six a.m. in the morning the security opened the gate to go out. Somehow luck was on my side. He went  went back into his room, and the gate was open. I quietly sneaked out and ran out. This was how I became one of the little ones that slept under the bridge.

AUNTY FROM HELL

 In the Hands of Aunty from Hell

I cried all through the night and was pampered for only that night. As soon as we arrived Lagos, things changed and I saw the true colour of my once kind hearted aunty. 

In her deteriorating health condition, what could mother have done better than letting me go to this aunt’s place? I looked back and saw that perhaps mother might have known that this relative of hers was not the best choice, but her fear of leaving me all alone as she wasn’t going to live for more than a few more days made her took such a decision. 

What could a girl of eight do in such a situation? Frightened and uncertain of my future, here I was in Lagos. The only treasured possession I got from my mother was the wrapper she gave me which I cherished so much. Till date I still have the wrapper. In all my journeys I never lost hope in God.

Betty, besides being the cook, was in charge of cleaning the main house and she would often bring to our room old journals, newspaper and magazines for me to read. She understood my longing to go to school and since I could read at eight years of age, I took the opportunity to go through them after the daily chores. Most times I did not understand what I read, but I kept reading. This I discovered helped in my later years of studies, because some of the difficult words that I came across were not strange to me.

THE REALITY OF DEATH

I lost my father at the age of eight, his properties was shared among his relations. Mother was left with nothing but a small house out of many houses and landed properties my father owned. As I mentioned earlier, my brothers and sisters were shared among our relatives. I being the youngest and the last, was left with my mother who saw to my education. She went through financially challenging times, which meant that there was a threat to my education. Her health deteriorated quite fast due to so much thinking and depression. However, she  managed to mask it with some bravely and motherly love. She reassured me that I would realise my dream to become a neuro-surgeon, with God’s help. I would often played with her by saying to her, ‘Mummy, may I take your temperature? You know as a doctor I do not want you to be sick. I need to give you the medicine you need.’ She would smile and give me a hug.

Leaving Home

One evening, when I was eight years old, a distant relative of my mother, an aunty, came for me, and assured me that I would be looked after like her own child. She said that she was childless and had been married for close to twenty years. She promised my mother that she would assist in my education and well-being, since I would be the child she never had. She came from the city. She was a successful business woman and was married to an influential man. Both were highly respected in the society based on their financial status.

Mother assured me that the aunty would take good care of me, and that she would be waiting for me to come back, on completion of my education and realising my dreams. She was very brave, she gave me a hug and one of her best wrappers as a symbol of her love, protection and prayer. I happily followed this aunty, not knowing that it was to be the last time I would see my mother. I left home with the assurance of coming back to be reunited with her after my studies.

On the evening we left my mother, we spent the night in a beautiful hotel in Enugu. My aunty, to impress my mother, brought new clothes and shoes and gave them to me in her presence. She gave my mother some money and bought her some food items. I never knew that this was to hoodwink my mother’s judgement. 

Unfortunately, the ‘show of gifts’ from such a rich relation, was for my innocent mother a sign that her little baby was in good hands.

MY COUNTRY

The current economic situation in the country has given birth to an increase in various social ills.These  ills are plaguing our society that once valued the sacredness of life and the dignity of human gave room for various social vices in a country I love so much, reflecting on the dreams of my father and his  ancestors.

A country with positive cultural values that are now disregarded at the expense of materialism and  corruption. I ponder on the evils that have plagued this  lovely country called Nigeria, with its beautiful endowment. I sometimes ask myself if it is ‘a sin’ to be a Nigerian. Nigeria has become a country which wages war against itself, where there is  lack of love, moral decadence and religious hypocrisy. Child abuse and a variety of social vices confront us as a nation and the deadliest of these is corruption

because this is the seed that has been germinating for decades and is deeply rooted. This malaise is extremely difficult to uproot though various governments have tried. "What is the essence of trying to prune the branches when the roots are so deep"? This was the question my mother often asked in the course of her several discussions with me

My Family

I was born into a simple family and we were happy with what our parents provided. I was the tenth child and the ‘baby’ of the house. I have three sisters and six brothers. My mother married my father at the age of eighteen. According to her, the marriage was arranged, based on her family history and background of having a good name. A name that one could be proud of as regards to good deeds and morals. My father had asked his mother to search for a girl with good morals, from a good and responsible home. A family that valued reverence and had the fear of God. My mother said these qualities in our present day society were far reached.

There are a number people with misplaced priorities. The ‘get rich quick’ syndrome, seems to be a dominant factor in the lives of many young people. Mother was right on this, as she was on many occassions. I treasured my discussions with my mother, as I learnt a lot about life from her. Her teachings would later on become my strength and guiding force, particularly in difficult moments.If only I could have foreseen the future, I would have prayed, rejected and cancelled the destiny ahead of me. Somehow, with much faith and hope in God, and my mother’s guiding spirit, my dream was eventually realised but at a cost that no child should ever have to pay.

DEDICATION

Dedication:  This book is specially dedicated to all parents, especially those who spend time and resources to raise up those who are not their biological children. It is also a contribution to the work of all those who raise awareness to fight against all forms of abuse, killings and human trafficking.

My Story

I am on the same pedestal as my ancestors, asking myself how I can get out of the entanglement of slavery, and break free from the forces working against the realization of my dreams. How can I break free from the bondage and conspiracy of being a Nigerian, an African child and the limitations hovering over the whole black race and its leadership styles?

I grew up in the eastern region of Nigeria, where today there is a culture that the present youth are trying to break away from. It is the culture of a widow being married to the relative of the defunct, and sharing the children among relatives and uncles as a means of assisting the helpless widow.

The relatives who take them in often say they do so as an act of charity to the widow, with the promise of raising them well as their own children. Unfortunately many of these children end being subjected to different kinds of abuse and inhuman treatment. Only a few end up in the hands of good guardians.

NKEM THE VICTORIOUS ONE

 INTRODUCTION  My father often said to me, “Nkem my daughter, you will be victorious in life if  you   remain determined.” 

These words kept echoing in my heart while growing up. My father told me that his father said those words to him and he had experienced the truth in them all through his life. Therefore he wanted me to take them at heart too. As a young child, I would sit and ponder on my father’s words. I often asked myself, if, with the financial hardships we experienced at the time, I would ever realise my dream of becoming a renowned neuro-surgeon.

Today I am an accomplished neuro-surgeon. Iam now thirty five years old, having spent some of my life as a street child, a victim of child abuse, and of human trafficking and slavery. I truly thank God for making me a victorious one in all my trials. After several years of being away from our village, I returned home. There I was standing before my parents’ graves in the family compound. I went to tell them that, “Yes, Papa and Mama, I did make it to become a neuro-surgeon.” Thanks to their prayers from heaven. I believe, they have been watching over me all through these years.

My deepest regret was not having to see them alive again. After my father’s death, being the last child, I became very close to my mother. I was taken away from her on that fateful day when a distant relative, an ‘aunt’, came calling, offering to assist my mother in raising me up. I was later informed that my mother died the day after I left home. Although I was physically separated from her, I often saw her in my dreams. I still treasure my father’s words to me and I will teach them to my 

children and their children.  

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The story is about Child Abuse, and Child Trafficking.  

This is to draw parents attention that

offenders are either close relatives, friends or those who have information about their families.  Pick a copy to educate your child. We need to fight against child abuse in all forms.