The man and the woman, a union ordained for bliss Bliss ethereal yet tangible, like the honeyed taste of a kiss But this bliss is sent to hell, when the man says he is a beast Of course not with his mouth, but when his pride becomes his fist. Iya Bisi said "For my children I will stay". "I need to be around to get the daily bread in place". Really, she had hidden fears about what people would say If she fled for her safety, away from Baba Bisi the Great Should we wait until her eyes are swollen and black? Before we see that our vision is blurry and dark Mandela's hands in the air spoke of a freedom age Why do the hands of our brothers speak of bondage? Zainab swore she would go to the university But Hassan came with naira for his bride Thus scissors went into her private princess parts Another child has become wife. Bolanle's oranges were neither ripe nor exposed And her thighs were warmed by a baggy pair of clothes She was three days in as the latest teenager on the street Then three rounds of rape sent her hanging on a rope. The pandemic strolled into our world Then quarantine drove us into our homes But Ogechi's home was a prison, and she was a detainee She lived in a ring with a stronger opponent and no referee In fact if their common name was Floyd, He would be Mayweather and she would be George. She was one woman with one thousand responsibilities. Everyday came with reasons to stretch her abilities. But even elastic strings have their limits Maybe hers would be the day her heartbeat is quiet. This message to our society must go viral. We must wake up to cherish our women. We are blessed to have these living, breathing temples Who are we to desecrate deity?!

The last week of May and the entire month of June was a very dark period for me. As I was working from home and trying to keep safe in these precarious times, social media had become my go-to for some relief (as well as the consumption of news as I see fit for my mental health). However, when I opened my Twitter app on this fateful day in May, I realised that I could no longer find succour on social media. A young woman had been raped and murdered. Again. As someone who is extremely invested in the protection and progress of the girl child, this news shattered me for weeks. I couldn't go on social media for fear of what I would see and the pain and tiredness I could feel from the tweets and posts from other women. Another thing that made me lose all interest in social media at this point was the "hot take" dropped by men about the heinous act of rape and how women somehow contribute to it. Being someone that already volunteers as a content creator to one of the most responsive rape centres in the country - Mirabel Centre - I quickly got to work expressing my frustrations the only way I new how, by writing. Below is what I had to say; On Saturday, May 30th 2020, the Mirabel Centre's Twitter account was tagged on a tweet about finding justice for a young lady named Uwa, who had been viciously raped and physically assaulted in a church in Benin. We immediately reached out to this young man via his DM on Twitter and provided contact details of lawyers and NGOs in Edo state that could help. Unfortunately, barely 3 hours after the conversation, the poster informed us that Uwa had passed and requested that we do all we could to get justice for her. With heavy hearts and a black cloud over our heads, we got to work and quickly put out a tweet announcing the tragic event and calling for justice from all and sundry. As the news spread to demand #JusticeforUwa, voices began to rise and statements were made to express that #WeAreTired. However, there were people (read men) who thought that a fight against the injustices that women constantly face somehow meant that men's rights were being neglected. Here is the thing; we all know “men also get raped”. Another thing we know is that no one makes jokes about these stories when they are shared more than men themselves. Infact, saying that the rights of men are not fought for is a big slap in the face of the many women who have been at the forefront of fighting battles that directly impact men's lives. We've called out police brutality, the offences of SARS, we've stood with men who were at one time or the other sexually assaulted and are now ready (and brave enough) to share their stories. The Mirabel Centre recently published a post about male-on-male abuse and we have also been known to take on cases of sexual assault against boys and men. So the issue here is that you're not really concerned about the support men supposedly do not receive when they share their stories. The real issue is that you are trying to derail the conversation currently being had and we will not stand for that. And to those of you who ask inane questions in order to shame and discredit victims, we can categorically tell you - drawing on the number of cases we have dealt with at the Mirabel Centre since existence - that it really doesn't matter where she was, what she was wearing, why she was there, what she said, what she did, how she walked/eat/slept/breathed, who she is, whether she fought or not, screamed or otherwise, MEN RAPE BECAUSE THEY WANT TO. In a bid to help, we also see people talking about self-defense and how it can help women avoid getting raped. This is shortsighted because it exposes the underbelly of the issue, which is that our society sees the crime of rape as something the woman should take responsibility for. This goes to prove just how deeply rape is ingrained in our society that it is subtly permissible to an extent - that being as long as the larger society does not raise awareness against it. So, we'll leave you with this - rather than teach girls how not to get raped, teach your boys that they have absolutely NO right to a woman's body! IT'S ABOUT TIME OUR SOCIETY STOPS FAILING THE GIRL-CHILD.

I spent so many hours, days, weeks, dare I say months thinking and wondering where we went wrong and now and all those sleepless nights, stressful mornings, and days I spent mourning lead me to this conclusion. Nothing went wrong we just grew differently in the last few months of our relationship. You had your morals and I had mine but something changed in our morals in the very few months that we dated and I don't wanna point fingers but it was primarily you. I don't need to explain what I mean by this, you aren't dumb you know what habits you took up. You know how grapes grow on vines and how someone needs to wrap the little stems around a wooden frame for the grapes to grow and survive. Well we didn't garden our grapes, we hoped they could rap themselves and how did that end? They fell off the wooden frame and died.

With the National outrage in India over the rape and murder of a 27 years old Veterinarian and another 23 years old rape victim being set on fire on her way to testify in court, I can't help but recall an incident that happened years ago. I got to thinking about the way our society perceive rape and how more often than not , the victims are the ones who get punished. We tend to blame the victim rather than the perpetrators. This incident happened years ago, I was a teenager and living in Aba with my family. Our neighbors had a daughter named 'Chinyere' whom everyone termed ' Promiscuous'. Opposite our house is a two storey building owned by a rich Merchant who has 3 sons. One of this sons is a well known trouble maker called 'Osy'. On the day the incident happened, Osy pretended to be sick and so was left alone at home . He then called Chinyere to come and prepare spaghetti for him. Unknown to her he had 5 of his friends waiting and when she got there, they raped her one after the other . After the crime, they seized her clothes and pushed her out on the street stark naked. You would think people will condemn Osy and his friends but the reverse was the case. Chinyere was severely beaten by her parents and that was it. For months, Osy and his friends boasted openly about how they flogged her with belts when she refused to open her legs and other details of the rape. The girl couldn't walk through the street without one of them taunting and mocking her, she was about 19 years old then. Last I checked, both perpetrators and victim are still alive, all married with kids. Looking at the incident now from the perspective of an adult, I can't help but wonder! Why the parents thought their child deserved to be beaten and the Criminals spared? Why no one spoke out for that innocent girl? Why the perpetrators were the ones mocking the victim and not the other way round? Why the victim had to bow her head in shame while the perpetrators walk with their shoulders straight and their heads high? Could it be that deep inside, our society doesn't really see rape as a serious crime? Could it be that deep inside, we tend to think that anyone who gets raped had it coming? Why is it that judges in court are quick to tell victims to dress the way they were dressed the day they were raped? Why are there more excuses for the perpetrators than sympathy for the victims. I can't even begin to imagine the trauma, that girl had to go through , first in the hands of her torturers and then in the hands of her parents or the shame she had to face afterwards. Our society has to start looking at rape, not with the eyes of the rapist but with the eyes of the victim. We need to first chase away the Wolf before we blame the hen for being careless with her chicks. Women and girls please be careful, who you trust and where you go. It isn't safe out there and at the end of the day the only person that can truly take care of you, is you. Like the songwriter wrote' No one else can feel the rain on your skin'. Be safe this season.

Between war, negative life circumstances, depression and my dreams which one will win? You will be an important person, an American soldier told me. Alone in the jungle, I am freezing, I am hungry, I am afraid. There is a lot of blood. Let me hide. There are dead bodies. What's going on? I do not know where I am. I am lost, I am afraid of Dracula. The Bush is moving, it might be a lion, not maybe a tiger or cheetah. Oh my God, I am too young to die. Anyway, I am not ready to die. Come on, dying at this age. I just totalized 11 years old one week ago. “I am screaming mom, dad, where are you? Like ten times”. My parents are not responding. I am hearing some noise, it is a roar. How did I get in a jungle? All these thoughts in my head, let me take a nap and maybe tomorrow will be a better day. I remembered Mama once said to me “jo never ever forget to pray before sleeping" in my prayer I thought God to bring back my parents and help me remember what happened? I found a tree where there was a little bit moon shadow far away from those dead bodies. I decided to force myself to sleep despite it was cold. In my dream, my mom and dad calling my name I am alone in the jungle. It was all dark. ''They found me and mom asked me why am I alone and crying?" "I told them I am lost, and I was looking for you". "'My dad told me don't cry any more, my son". "You are the son of a leader who will be a leader". "He said son remembered you have my blood." "I gave you everything u need". "Life is going to be difficult but if you are keeping working hard and praying". "One day you will be successful and make us proud". "Life took us away from you, but we are watching over you and just know we love you". After that, I saw a person with a bright shadow appearing and tell them the time is up. My mom and dad hugged me for the last time, and they disappeared. Directly I woke up in the jungle early in the morning, I thought about my dream, but I realised what happened yesterday was a bad dream. instead, it is a reality; I am a child turned a man. So, I decided to find a way out or find where people are. I started walking, walking without resting and I didn't eat. I kept walking until I saw a river. I was thirsty so I decided to drink water from the river, and it tastes like salt, but I had no choice. Then I had a pen and a small paper in my pocket, but I don't know where it was from. the pen I had in my pocket just felt down in the river. It started flowing and I decided to follow the pen as I followed the pen, I saw a girl running so I decided to follow her. By following her, I saw there was a kind of armed soldiers I never saw before after her, so I decided to run smartly behind them to discover what is going on? Then I saw one of the soldiers getting out of the car and took her by force, so I was behind the remaining soldiers. I saw the soldier who was before her, trying to take off her clothes so she is shouting leave me alone and I thought they want to rape her.

I wasn't always so anxious around people. When I was younger, sitting still was not a problem. Being around people was no scary to me. A lot of kids had trouble sitting still, but I never understood it. I had lots of friends, too. After the incident, of course, things changed. It sucks when you don't get to make choices for yourself. When others around you always make choices for you, you really forget how to make your own. It's different though, when choice is completely out of the question; when you have no control. When he held me down and I could not scream; that wasn't a choice. When he grabbed my body and I hit me if I squirmed; there was no choice. When I cried out in my mind, but he was the only one there. No one would ever choose that for themselves. After that, the loss of choice made me lose my mind. I couldn't sit still yet I could not move. There was nothing anyone could say or do that would snap me out of the deep hole I was trapped in. I watched in horror as my brain threw itself off the cliffs of sanity and into the bottomless pits of crazed depression. I could do nothing, and I could not tell anyone. If I had, he would probably come back for me. My mind would scream for help, but no one was there and no one could be. It was all my fault, anyways, why put that on someone else? No one in the world could convince me otherwise. Or so I thought. Almost two years later I met a boy. Now, I had been with boys before, but my hidden PTSD kept me feeling on edge, and ruined my relationships. This boy felt perfect for me. He snapped me back to reality. I thought I loved him, and he told me he loved me. Only after he hit me, or he snapped at me. It was his apology. After he gave me that black eye: "I love you, Jenna." It took me too long to realize what I was in was wrong. He cheated on me, and I had to live knowing that even though he hurt me, abused me, put me down, and I let it all happen, I was not enough. When I said I was depressed before, it was nothing compared to then. Hurt twice, abused twice, touched without consent twice. It was like clockwork. So when I met another boy, I pushed him away. The men in my life always hurt me, so why should he have been any different? Except he was. This boy supported me, loved me, cared about me, and helped me. He would hold me tight when I was having a panic attack. He would soothe me when I had flashbacks. He helps me when I forget that the pain is over. He lets me steal his jackets when I need something to hug at night. He doesn't mind when my tears and runny mascara stain his shirts. He treats me with respect and loves me. I never thought it possible to find someone who pushes the pain away. I thought it was impossible to trust a man. And if you have been through this, I am writing this to you: Don't hide away. You will hurt, but there is someone there for you. Cut the negative people out of your life. Do NOT allow abuse. You are stronger than you think. So many times, I was close to ending my life. So many times, I hurt more than I could possibly imagine. Yet here I am. I am in control and I have someone who supports and loves me. There is always someone who will support and love you, even when you think it is impossible.

When I picked up the book 13 reasons why at a book store many years ago I had no clue it would change my life. I didn't know that I was fixing to read my story written by a stranger. A noticeable difference is that I am 31 and still alive. I lived Hannah's life but I made it. When I was 15 years old a friend called me one Friday night. She was intoxicated at a party with all males. She wasn't comfortable and asked if I could walk across the street to where the party was and stay with her. I thought nothing of it and told my parents I was sleeping over with the neighbor (just not the neighbor they thought). I cared for my friend and got her to bed with no issues. I locked her in the room and made sure none of the males present went near the room. We had all been friends for years with the exception of an older guy there. He was very attractive, rich and popular. As the early morning hours approached the friends all started to pass out. I was given my own room and soon found myself fast asleep. I woke up to the guy I didn't know asking if he could crash in there with me because the rest of the beds were taken. I remember hearing the door lock and even telling him that was a fire safety issue. I wasn't nervous because I was in a house full of people I had known for several years. I must have fallen back to sleep quickly but that wouldn't last. I was awoken to him on top of me, forcing himself inside me. I was a virgin and scared truly to make a noise. I think I may have whimpered but that only made it worse. I don't know how long it lasted. I remember he left the room and didn't come back in. I was scared to leave the room. When morning came I practically ran home. I can remember my friends calling me the next 2 days asking what had happened because the male was saying things about me that were not nice. I realized later that he immediately started saying things about my character so people would believe him when he said he never touched me. I had no intentions of telling anyone but made sure no one would believe me if I did. Something I didn't realize was that he was already 18 which made what he did statutory rape. I can remember that first day back at school how all my friends shunned me. People I had known since elementary school treated me like I did something wrong. I never told my parents. I quit cheerleading and the school newspaper. I didn't talk about it with my childhood best friends. They knew something was wrong but I shut down anytime I was asked. Things moved on and I finished the year barely passing after having been an straight a student. I thought for sure the next year would be better as junior but I was shocked the first day of school to find that my attacker had been held from graduation and would be back at the school for another year. Not only was he back at school but would be in some of my classes. I told myself that I could handle this by just pretending he didn't exist but he seemed that he needed to make my life hard. He would say things under his breath when I talked, he would loudly make comments about my reputation and would try to turn my few peers in the class against me. After a few weeks of this abuse I started taking sleeping medicine to get past the nightmares. One day he seemed particularly nasty towards me and called me to his table during lunch. He had some of his female friends call me some names and tell me how he would never have touched me. I took enough sleeping pills that night to never face him again. People wondered how I got the pills. I asked an older neighbor friend to get them for me. That moment of survival changed my life. I still didn't speak out of the attacker mostly out of fear. I felt like I was having a heart attack when I saw in the local paper that he been arrested with trying to pick up a 14 year old girl in a sting when he was 30. My first thought was he may have hurt other girls. I was so scared to tell and that may have left him able to harm others. I have dealt with the ptsd of the attack for years. Sometimes are better than others. Everyday I am glad that I didn't die when I wanted to so bad. I I am so happy that I got to meet a great man who understands my cold days. I am so thankful I got to be a mommy. When I hear people say that Hannah Baker from 13 reasons wanted attention I want to scream that she is real. She is me. I never asked for his bullying. I never asked for the whispers. I never wanted the sympathy. I just wanted to make the choice of my first time being with someone I loved not a stranger who prayed on virgins.