Hi people. Today is the seventh and last day of the #sayNoToRape campaign brought to you by #bloggersville. I am sure that you have learnt a lot. We have three posts today but I’d merge two and make the posts two. 🙂 ………….Please read, comment and share. THank you for sticking with us through the campaign. God bless you.


I live amongst you, we wine and dine together. As supposed human beings we have thoughts limited to us, but what are your thoughts about me as of mine to you?
In the sanity of my quietness I create the insanity of my actions. I watch them provocatively dressed, the well dressed are not left out of it as I imagine the sight of the unseen. I crave for squeezing those boobs and making their ass clap with the spank from my thrust. As long as you are a woman, you are a prey.
The devil, the evil in me is what they do not see. The coward, the bastard that I am is what they have no knowledge of.
So I pounce on them, one by one like a serial killer. I devour them, time after time like a timekeeper making sure nothing passes him by. I watch them helpless, I love when they scream, it propels me when they beg. I crave for violence of that of body, mind and soul. I am feminine destruction.
I know, I am aware and I don’t need to be told; I am a curse, a demon that has a ready plan of blaming the devil if caught. I am a beast, a predator hunting for preys. I am what the sound of the words “No, please don’t do it” feels more like “carry on, am loving it”. I am heartless,…. I am Rape.

Written by Fowe Adetoye @hotsaucestillz



Why didn’t you tell anybody?
Why didn’t you run?
If it was me, I would have slapped him.

All these words kept hitting me from all angles, I wanted to scream.
I was the one that was affected, yet no one cared to know if I was fine.
I could silently hear them hinting that I should just have kept it all to myself.
I could hear myself on the inside saying over and over
‘I am the victim here’
But as usual I sucked it all in.
If you are reading this, don’t judge me.
I kept it all because I was raised to respect the elders
I was raised to recognize that the elders are never wrong
I was raised to never correct their wrong
I was raised to accept their wrong as right
I was raised to be seen and not heard
I was raised to never have an opinion.
Is it a culture attributed to only Africa or Nigerians?
I cannot tell.
So I am forced to keep mum and I did for 10 years.
I was taught that sex was a sin
I was taught never to look at a man.
I was taught to submit like a woman so that I would find a good man
But alas my sex organ were awoken
A little touch on my butt
A little squeeze on my breast.
And then it became agressive…
All the while I was in shock…
He is a father figure.
His love for me is just like that of my dad’s
Or maybe it was a mistake, and he didn’t mean it.
But is it not without my consent?
No it is wrong, but who do I tell?
I have reached the age of puberty, so maybe my mind is playing tricks
Or maybe my hungry desire to have a boyfriend is causing me to think thus
And so the mind game went.
My sister lay beside me one day and I whispered… “he touches me in a funny way”.
“He plays with my thing in a funny way. I bled today”
A hot slap and a warning to never repeat such
So I became mute.
I learnt the opposite sex, my peers, my seniors, my fathers: all love me.
Some want more but I cannot commit.
Confidants, best friends, bread givers
But I cannot commit.
I lost the power to love when he toyed with my genitals
Still I had principles…sounds impossible but it is true.
Despite the foreplay, my virginity remained sealed
That’s the rule at home.
I cannot be the exception.
So even though I am chaste, I am not.
God hates such and so in fear I trembled any time the males came close
A kiss and straight to the priest I go
I must confess lest I rot in hell.
They knew my life story…he did too
And so he waited till the time was right.
He took me and I refused
He took me and I screamed
He took me and I was naked
He too me and it was not with my consent.
He took me and I was voilated
He took me and I am no more a child
The act is done.
I don’t need to add by force
But this time I speak up.
The human spirit was made to thrive
So I speak up
Only this time I am lashing
I am angry
All I was taught was faulty
I drove prospects and invited suspects
I speak up and I find only hate
I speak up and still I cannot commit
The wound is deep
The scars have refused to heal.
I am not more a child, even at 25.
In my community he goes unpunished
But there is too much anger in me
But who do I blame?
My family, my community, or my religion?
All summoned me to keep shut.
I am a bitter leaf, but who do I blame?

I shared it with a friend, who tells a friend of a friend
And like wildfire everyone knows.
And once again I am at fault.
So I sit here quietly
Quietly wondering what my offense is.
Their voices begin to drown out my thoughts
But not before I asked myself.
“Do you want my younger ones to go through this?”
Hell no!
The silence is over
I will say no to RAPE!


Written by Tope Olofin
Follow on twitter @toperants

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Rape: The Facts!

So I got a friend to write something about rape from a kinda professional angle. Its the second post for today…..kindly comment and share.

In a national violence against women survey which was conducted in 1977 in the United States of America, it was found that 1 out of 6 women and 1 out of 33 men had experienced rape (either attempted or the full) as a child and/or as an adult. Rape in this context is defined as forced intercourse (vaginal, oral or anal).

Most people believe strangers, perverts or “bad people” are the sole perpetrators of rape/sexual assault when indeed the act is reported to be committed most by friends, relatives, acquaintances, the nice neighbour who comes to watch soccer games on weekends, the maid who helps with chores and “other things”, the teacher who gives more lessons than the classroom legally allows. There have been reported cases of fathers detaining daughters and turning them into sex slaves.

What is most disturbing and alarming is that studies estimate that 50%–90% of rapes go unreported. In most cases, these rapes go unreported because of shame, humiliation, guilt, cultural taboos, stigmatization and the very real fear of secondary victimisation by law enforcement officials as well as medical and legal authorities.

Wife rape runs into stone walls in legal opinion even though there are now laws against forcible and violent non-consensual sex with one’s wife. Clinical psychologists use the term “sexual abuse survivors syndrome” to describe the post traumatic stress-like symptoms that follow the aftermath of childhood sexual abuses.

There are a few listed factors that affect the existence of rape. Baron and Straus (1989) theorize different causes, namely;

A). Gender Inequality: Relates economic, political and legal status of women in comparism to men.

B). Pornography: Reduces women to sex objects\, promotes male dominance and encourages or condones sexual violence against women. Pornography is reported to have high influence on rape as sex offenders confess to watch a lot of porn.

C). Social Disorganization: This erodes social control and constraints freedom of individual behaviour and self-determination.

D). Legitimization of Violence: Is the support culture gives to violence as portrayed in the media (movies, video games, music videos etc), laws permitting corporal punishment in schools, violent sports and excessive military exploits amongst many others.

There are personal and psychological factors common to perpetrators of sexual abuse/rape which affects both their decision to assault someone and the manner in which the assault is carried out, namely;

1. Offender acts in hostile, aggressive, angry, condescending and domineering manner and believes he is strong, courageous and manly, though he often feels weak, anxious, inadequate, threatened and dependent. This implies that his decision to rape someone can be as a result of over compensating for areas where he is weak.
2. Lacks interpersonal skills to make his point in society.
3. Needs to exercise power – uses the assault situation to prove to himself and his victim that he’s in total control and he’s superior.
4. May show sadistic patterns – often mutilates or murders victims to attain a feeling of total triumph over the victim.

Rape/sexual assault goes beyond trying to fulfill a sexual need or desire, some researchers interviewed rapists and gathered that;

i). Criminals who commit rape in the perpetration of a crime –for example, robbery – often see rape as an added bonus. It is there for the taking, so why not?
ii). For some men, rape is attaining the unattainable woman, a woman who is clearly out of his league and will never have gotten a chance with her other than through rape.

I have outlined also, most importantly the victim’s response to rape, they are;

-The victim may respond by showing no emotions; appearing unaffected.
May feel humiliated, demeaned and degraded.
-May experience impaired sexual functioning.
-May suffer immediate physical and psychological injury as well as long-term trauma.
-May blame herself or feel guilty (as society will make her believe her indecent dressing called the attention of the rapist or she feels guilt for not being cautious enough).
-Might find it difficult relating to and trusting others – especially men.

Rape has high potential for PTSD (Post-traumatic Stress Disorder), depression, panic attacks, GAD (Generalised Anxiety Disorder), social adjustment disorders, sexual dysfunction, eating disorders, dissociation, suicide and more negative world views and cognitive distortions such as blaming oneself, external factors and preservating on why the rape happened.

A rape victim however requires family support and acceptance in the early and latter stages of dealing with the event, also needs people to reach out to her (or him as the case may be), offering the victim attention to pour out all their pain (mostly verbally).

Written by Olateru- olagbegi Bode

Thank you very much Bode.

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My almost Rape story-Elsie

Hi people, today is day 6 of the #sayNoToRape writing series. Thank you for sticking with us. Kindly read, comment and share.

Rape is a topic on the lips of most people these days because the rise of exposure on crime has finally come to light in this part of the world.

Rape didn’t just start, it has always been but our culture and mentality never gave the female child, ladies or women who are victims of these wicked act the right to speak up and demand justice.

Thank God it’s changing now and a couple of groups are stepping out to be the voice to the voiceless, to fight for them and encourage them.

I remember closing very late from church due to a particular program. My home was quite far from the church. I could have slept in the church premises, but knowing that some of my relatives lived about7 blocks away from church made me decide to go there instead.

I called to let them know I was coming over, my female cousin said she wasn’t home at the moment, but she will be returning the next day. She encouraged me to call her younger brother, even though her elder brother’s fiancée will not be home he would allow me pass the night. Confidently, I called him and he agreed. I got to the house and had my bath. I was about laying the bed when he asked if I was going to eat, I told him it was quite late and all I wanted to do at that moment was sleep. He said his good night and left the room.

Later that night, I woke up and discovered an object moving round my body. I was obviously spooked, until I realized it was human hands. I mouthed my displeasure which his reply was that I should not make noise. He didn’t want me to disturb his brother’s wife. I asked when she got back and he said it wasn’t long after I slept.

Then the talk began. He started professing his much suppressed love for me. How he has watched me grow into a beautiful woman. That he is sure I know what he wants and very sure I wasn’t new to his advances. At that point, I kept mute, thinking every possible action through in my head. “Is this how I am going to lose my virginity?”.

All I could do was pray in my heart and engage him with discussions. Telling him I never knew he loved me and that he never showed it to me I told him I would prefer he shows me this love before we go into this stage. I also mentioned that I was still a virgin and would like my first night pre planned.


I just kept talking and praying within. I remember telling God He has to save me from this one because I came here from church and not some sort of kurukere waka.

Eventually, he believed I was serious about dating him and that the sex would eventually happen. A miracle right? I thought so too.

He finally slept off. I couldn’t get myself to closing my eyelid. I regretted not spending the night in church. I thought of doing different horrible things to him as I watched him sleep. I just didn’t dare. All I could do was thank God for saving me from this one.

I mean, I regard these people as family even though right now, I now think twice. After the incident, I remember trying to ask my Aunt how our chain of relationship links with this people but she started with questions that made me forget about getting an answer.

I was able to escape this but so many people didn’t escape theirs. They have decided not to talk about it and die daily with the emotional trauma.

I have just this to say to you if you are one of those rapist out there:

I am not sure you have a heart or Conscience, but the next time you choose to take a woman by force. Imagine another man taking your mother by force. Or even your own daughter.

Oh well, I hear they even rape their daughters? God help us all.

Written by Elsie Godwin
Follow her on twitter @elsieisy

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This is a personal favourite of mine. #bloggersville presents the second post of Day 5. We are still saying #SayNoToRape

My fame has become shame hidden

Bottled up in my heart with the chain of pain

I’m bruised like a torn vein

Beautiful outside, but bleeding within

I long to say, but the wash of humiliation won’t let me

I fear that I will perish in this, my lost pride

I’m filled with hate for myself

If this is fate, I curse mine

If this is love, then I’m confused

I’m nothing more than a broken vessel

One that can never be patched

Like spilled water that can never be gathered

I carry a mark of unworthiness tattooed upon my forehead

With dark reflections from my own mirror

My rose thus becoming withered

My soul wearing away by the day

My first love now a total stranger

A stranger that exploited my meekness

A stranger that ripped into me and stole my dignity.

Breaking me! Is this love?

Breaking our bond? Is this fate?

Ours is a cursed bond.

Yours is a cursed life.

Mine is a cursed existence, a progression of ultimate misfortune.

Sweet memories suddenly become sour.

I lay and watch my rose dry up

A garment drenched in ashes.

A withered rose, a trumpet of war!

A war I have not the strength to begin.


My name is Amaka, and you are reading my journal. And just in case you don’t understand my poem, this is my story.

I was born on the 9th day of April, into the family of Mr and Mrs Oluchukwu. Mrs. Oluchukwu died while granting me entrance into this world; thus in exchange for my life, fate robbed me of the chance to know my mother.

Growing up without my mother wasn’t easy as I was the only child, but my father did all he could to make up for her aching absence. As a baby, he sang to me, bathed me, soothed me when I was fractious, fed me and rocked me to sleep. Just in case you are wondering how I know these, my aunt Ezinne never stopped telling me of what a wonderful father I have. My aunt is my mother’s immediate younger sister. She takes care of me like her own child, just another adult making an effort to fill in the gap of my motherless childhood.

I grew older. I became a teenager. I was loved. Among my peers, I was one of the brightest, and I did not fool around with my academics. I won academic laurels, and was rewarded with different scholarships. My father, a palm wine tapper, didn’t have to fret over my education. I was quite popular; within and beyond the borders of the local town, and I’m pretty sure you’ve heard about me. My childhood friend, Peter Clarke always told me that when he hit it big in the music industry, he’d dedicate a song to me. He got a record deal, and kept his word. His hot single ‘Amaka’ was composed some years back while we washed at the stream. He was actually gazing at my waist while he composed that song. I am not sure of many things, but I know my greatest asset is the undulating symmetry of my hips.

Naughty Peter would sing, “Amaka O, Amaka, you dey burst my oblongata, I’m liking your ways, I’m liking your waist, I’m loving the way you dey waka.” You know me now, don’t you?

When I clocked 15, my father threw a small party to celebrate me at the town hall. I had made him proud; I’d gained admission into the university to study performing arts. My love for writing poems and painting will outlive me. Did I mention that I got the American embassy award for the best painting by an African in 2007? I was just 18 then. I was quick to get a job with an art gallery after my graduation. Life couldn’t have been better.

But before I graduated, I met someone, a Yoruba guy named Adetoye. I was in my final year, and he was a corper. Toye – I loved that man. Even in death, I’ll cherish the memories of the good times we had. He painted my life with love like a rainbow. He was a good man, loving and sincere. Forthcoming with his feelings for me, and quiet, reluctant to draw attention to himself. However, his reticence made him unpredictable, and that unsettled me sometimes.

I graduated, and my relationship with Adetoye became intense. He introduced me to his family, and I did the same. But my father didn’t approve of a Yoruba man as the right partner for his only child. His reaction was a hostile one. With just me as his audience, I remember him smashing his palm wine calabash with the cutlass he held in his hand, before he thundered, “I’ll rather die than bless your marriage with a Yoruba man!” He removed his cap and dusted it with his hands. I had never seen him like that, so agitated as he paced from one end of the small corridor to the other, cursing under his breath and grinding his teeth together.

“Let me just tell you this, the doctor that was meant to be on duty the day your mother died was a Yoruba man.” The look he threw me was black with hate. “But he wasn’t there on time. It was God that spared your life. Now you want me to let you marry a Yoruba man. Amaka! It is a not done. Never, ever!” He grabbed his cutlass from the floor, and pointed it at me. “Tell that man never to come near you again, or else, as sure as I breathe, I will kill him!”

He stormed out of the compound. We didn’t talk for weeks after that clash. It took the intervention of Aunt Ezinne for us to reconcile. She is the only one that knows how to calm him; they are so close I remember the rumours that arose once that they were having an affair. Rumours I always denied. I love my father, and I know he loves me too. Everything he has ever done for me has been out of the fierce need to protect me. I’ll never forget the day he beat my principal for slapping me. I am actually like him; very stubborn and strong-willed. I didn’t yield to his will. Toye and I kept seeing each other, hoping that we would be able to convince him to bless our union with time.


Aunt Ezinne has a strong loud voice, one she never failed to utilize to its strongest timbre when imparting pearls of wisdom to me as I grew up. Back in those days, she would pull her ear, gaze into my eyes and said solemnly, “Amaka, hear me now very clearly. Don’t allow any man to touch you there” – and she’d point to my groin – “until he has paid your bride price. Is that clear?”

The message was crystal clear.

So, whenever Toye and I tumbled into feverish moments of passion, complete with all the necking and kissing, I would come back to earth the moment I felt his hands trespassing. He once slid his fingers through the hem of my underwear, and I shoved away from him, feeling the cold sweat of anxiety break out on my skin. I wasn’t ready to give it in. The fear of my aunt wouldn’t let me dare.

Toye understood my hesitation. I explained and he took it in stride. But then, he couldn’t stand my frequent withdrawals during our intimate moments. He began pressuring me for sex, starting by cajoling me, making promises about how sex with me did not mean he would leave me after getting it. He would still marry me. But he had to have me. Our relationship was three years old, and he’d been with no other woman in that time. He wanted me to give him a break. I wouldn’t yield. I almost did one day when he reasoned, “Is pre-marital sex not better than me cheating on you?” But it didn’t happen.

Then the issue of the sex – or lack of it – began to affect our intimacy. The moments we kissed and necked became less and less. His attitude toward me became stiff and oftentimes cold. Distant even. Then that one afternoon, he tried again to cajole me into parting my legs for him. I resisted, and he flared: “Why are you torturing me like this? After being with you for three years, do you still believe I could dump you just because I’ve had sex with you? Tell me! Or do you want me to go and find other girls to sleep with? Is that what you want? Because I’m a man, and men have needs – needs you are not fulfilling, Amaka!”

He was so angry as he hurled those words furiously at me. They stung me, every one of them. They made me feel as though I was half a woman for not satisfying the man I loved. I blinked back tears of anger and frustration as I just then realized that my father’s obstinacy may well get him what he wanted – the end of my relationship to a Yoruba man.

I had to speak to him. It was time for him to come around, and let me marry the man I loved. I packed a small overnight bag, and was soon out and on my way to the town of my birth.


I got to home to the news of the flood that overtook my father’s house. My heart pounded with disquietude. “Is papa alive?” I asked my aunt.

“He is alive and healthy. He now stays on his palm plantation,” Aunty Ezinne replied.

I was relieved by her report. I set off the vegetation where he now inhabited. We hugged when I met him, after which we went into the hut and had a very long talk. I said nothing about Toye in the beginning, and so it was a smooth conversation. I sat beside him as we picked through bush meat with our fingers and drank palm wine for dinner. I promised to renovate his house before leaving. My job pays well, and I hardly spend much; Toye takes good care of me.

Then, I brought up the issue of my relationship with Toye. My father tried to be dismissive of it, but I was persistent. Provoked by my persistence, he burst out in anger, “You will only marry that Yoruba boy! You hear me? Over my dead body! Tufiakwa! Mba! You cannot marry him!”

He stormed out of the room with a jar of palm wine. I sat transfixed for a while, and finally decided to go to bed. I planned to have Aunt Ezinne appeal to him the next day.


“Nne . . . Nne. . .”

It was my father rousing me with the pet name he gave me as a child. It was still dark outside, probably pre-dawn, but he was determined to talk.

“Nne, I’m sorry I shouted at you. I can’t just imagine a stranger stealing you away from me. Yoruba people are evil. They killed your mother, a pain I still bear. I’m not ready to nurse another pain. Mba!”

I turned away from the wall and faced him, and said gravely, “Papa, no man can steal me away from you. I will always be your daughter, but you have to learn to let go of the past.”

“Amaka, I cannot let that boy marry you. . .” He sounded plaintive. As though he was begging me to stop defying him.

“Let’s sleep papa, we will talk better in the morning. I’m still tired from yesterday’s journey.” I rubbed his arm comfortingly and laid back down, already feeling the pull of sleep afresh.

“I love you, Nne,” my father muttered, and followed the words with a kiss to my head. I felt a tug of elation at this gesture. He’d always kissed my head in the past, and whenever he did so, it was always a sign of good things to follow. Perhaps he was ready to grant my singular heart desire – to let me get married to Toye.


“I’d rather eat the fruit of my labour than have that Yoruba boy deprive me of it.”

The rough pawing of my breast was what pulled me awake again. I blinked my eyes open to feel Mr. Oluchukwu’s hot breath on my face as he fondled me. I slapped his hands and faced him in shock, “Papa, what are you doing? What is this? That’s my breast you are touching.”

“I know, Nne. I’m lonely, Nne. It’s been long since I felt the touch of a woman.”

“Haba! Papa, the touch of a woman, not the touch of your own daughter.” I was aghast.

But Mr. Oluchukwu was beyond the redemption of words. He pressed me down on the bed and shoved at my wrapper. I struggled to resist him, kicking and scratching at him. I screamed frantically too. No one heard. No one came. We were on an isolated hut on a palm plantation. My night clothes were rent, and Mr. Oluchukwu, sweaty and panting with the strength of his desire, shoved his way through inside me, a rough entrance that broke through the barrier that I’d maintained for the man I would marry.

Oh, Toye . . . Oh, God . . . I wept as I was mauled by the man I called father.

“Nne, please . . . Nne sorry. . .” Those were the words he moaned repeatedly as he heaved on top of me.

My father – my first love – defiled me. He ran out of the room when he was done, and I couldn’t stop weeping as I shrunk into a corner. I had no idea how much time passed, until I heard the trilling sound of the receipt of a text message in my phone. My tears were gone, and my body was still racked with chills, as I picked up the phone. The message was from Toye and it read: “I just arrived Owerri with the night bus. I will never try to disrespect you again. I’ll be at the park waiting. Please, come and pick me up when the day is brighter. We will survive this.”

I didn’t reply. What could I say? I could not love him anymore, not after what had happened.

And my father – I found him where he hung himself; on one of his trees. My heart sagged under the anguish I felt for losing him, and losing to him my virtue.

And so, I have decided not to see another day with this agony. I don’t think I will ever outlive it. I have prepared a rope for my own execution. Let me die by the side of the man that defiled me. Isn’t suicide better than humiliation after all?

Whoever finds this journal should share this story with the world, and have them answer me these: Should a girl no longer love her father unconditionally? Is it right for a widower to find solace in illicit intimacy with her daughter? Is pre-marital sex not better than the so-called chastity after all? When did rapists start wearing the face of a familiar man, instead of the rogues and strangers we’ve been told they are? How can a rape victim be consoled?

My name is Amaka Oluchukwu. I didn’t wear seductive dresses. I didn’t I flirt around. Yet, I got raped. Not by a stranger, but by the man i called father. You cannot heal my pain, no one can.


Written by Olufemi fragile

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Sour 16

Day 5: #SayNoToRape

“He forcefully thrust inside of me, tearing my womanhead all the way to my heart, tearing my emotion all the way to my soul, tramping on my feelings and stampeding my self-esteem. I can only feel pain as he forced his way into what is mine; my temple, my body, my future. I’m his brother’s 16 year old daughter. He is my uncle, was my friend and role model until now, how could he? He wouldn’t listen to my cry for mercy, he wouldn’t acknowledge my hoarse voice from endless scream of pain, he ignored my tears and my blood-shot swollen eyes. I must have cried a river but he kept thrusting inside of me, knowing fully well that the stickiness between my legs is not wetness but my blood. How cruel can he be? I tried to look in his face, I can’t recognize him anymore, I can only see the face of my “rapist”: the devil with red face, two horns, green eyes, long ears and evil grin.


That afternoon, uncle Toba came home with a can of my favourite pringles. I always looked forward to his visit because he wouldn’t stop buying me things and I could talk to him about anything, unlike mum who is so uptight. He was my idea of “cool” and I had a girly crush on him.  I was wearing a tank top on shorts . I sat across him and told him all the new gist from school; who had a new boyfriend and who was no longer a virgin and who still was. Suddenly, he was beside me on the sofa looking at me in that stupid way men look at women in adult movies. And so I pinched him, “uncle T did you hear me?” He replied by forcing his mouth on mine and sticking his tongue in my mouth. It was gross and I pushed him back trying to recover from the shock. How could Uncle T have kissed me? Our eyes met at the same place where his bulge was visible between his pants and I bolted for the door but he was there before me. He clamped his hand on my mouth and carried me back to the living room where he dropped me unceremoniously on the centre rug. He turned up the volume of the home theatre system and I could feel the floor vibrate beneath me. I clamped my teeth on his palm and bit hard, he jerked his hand away and smacked me hard with the back of his hand. Uncle T had never laid his hands on me and I shook in fear. I burst out in tears, “Uncle T! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bite you. I was just joking”.

I still believed he was playing with me and I never imagined sex with Uncle T talk more of rape. However, he was far gone, his eyes were wild, he slipped off his jeans and I could see the outline of his manhood through his boxers, It looked very huge and my eyes grew into saucers. I forcefully swallowed the lump in my throat. “You think I’ve been buying you gifts for free abi? My dear, nothing goes for nothing and I will reap the fruit of my labour today”, he said as he reached for my breast. It finally penetrated my brain that Uncle T was not joking, but intended to rape me.

I scrambled up and tried to make a go at the door and he put out his right leg and swept me off my feet. I landed on my back. He tore my tank top and used it to tie my hands above my head. He mounted me and held me down with his legs while he removed my shorts. He tore my pants to shreds. Fear wouldn’t let me scream and I still assumed he would soon stand up and tell me it was just a joke – my naïve 16 year old mind. He pushed my legs apart with his knee and tried to thrust inside of me, first time, it wouldn’t go in. He opened my legs wider and tried again. He put Spit in his hands and rubbed it on himself and on the third try he succeeded in thrusting in. I could feel my Maidenhead tear like ankara and screamed from the pain. After about 10 minutes of thrusting and grunting like an animal, Uncle T stood up, spat on me and told me I was a little bitch who had been tormenting him with my plum body in shorts and with my little pointed breast. Nobody will ever believe, not even your own parents, you so don’t try to tell.

It’s been exactly a month and two weeks since the rape and I’m pregnant. How can I explain that I’m pregnant for my own Uncle? Everybody thinks Uncle Toba is a saint and nobody will believe me, even you mum. I feel very dirty, used and so ashamed of myself. My sudden quietness is not from my first period like you think, neither is my continuous tears from my menstrual ache and of course, the blood is not from my period. I can’t sleep as Uncle T keeps coming to rape me in my dreams. I shrink whenever daddy tries to touch me, not because I’m sweaty but because I can’t stand human contact anymore. My three times daily ritual shower is not from cleanliness but from trying to wash away the memories. Every touch feels like Uncle T’s hands. I went by the pharmacy earlier today and bought “indocid” on the pretence that there are too many rats in the house. By the time you get this, I should be …”



Mrs Williams dropped the letter as she rushed into her daughter’s room and found lifeless body on the bed.


Rape is a physical, emotional, mental and spiritual abuse. Violation and assault of a person’s body, mind and soul. That which no one should be subjected to. It doesn’t just break one’s spirit, it practically ruins one’s life.. Accept and respect her No as NO. Say No to Rape..

Written by Adegoke Adedoyinsola


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She said NO ………………….. I was raped, now revenge

A popular saying goes “a problem shared is half solved.” Yes! But a heart bottled in the pain of humiliation can never know peace. The issue of rape is one which is discussed and shared amongst us, but yet without the simplest solution.This is very perturbing, and thus has sounded the alarm within us to keep on speaking till we can reduce or inhibit this violence and ungodly act.
Let us not fold our arms and watch our ‘PRIDE’ being trampled upon and tormented without giving it a fight.
Rape is fiercer than a civil war, yet if we must win this battle, we must fight with our heart and watch on.

#Bloggersville presents “the pain of a withered rose, a trumpet for war.”
Kindly read DAY FOUR’s posts ……………..there are two of them today. it’s my 50th post. 😀 I had to make it special.

Here it is. We like_

She said no
It meant no, and not yes
You grabbed her hair
And tore her dress.
And bruised her flesh.
What you didn’t know
Was the gaping hole you left in her soul.
What you didn’t know…

Daddy was never around
Mother said he was in heaven
Grandma said he was in hell
Years ago, like you today
Violence had conceived you
Your mothers freedom to choose
Taken from her.
Bruised. Humiliated. Denied. Abandoned. Then you.

She would swear she taught you better.
Respect. Especially for a woman’s choice.
Self-control. Because that is how men ruled the world.
Love. Because it isn’t forceful, nor violent and never about sex.

She said no.
It meant no, and not yes.
You grabbed her hair
And tore her dress.
And the demon, the hate, the evil
That conceived you
Was in manifest.
How do you look at yourself in the mirror and not cringe?
There are guns, and knives.
Then there is your penis, and your mind.
She said no. It meant no. And not yes.

Written by Caleb Olorunmaiye
Follow him on twitter: @_ceefour


This a true life story!!!

My name is Efe and I finished from UNIBEN. That’s all I will be willing to share on this platform as I crave my anonymity.

Where do I begin from? I am a rape victim and now …..

It all started some few years ago while I was seeking admission into the tertiary. I was eager and full of life. I had a male friend whom I had a strictly platonic relationship with, and that’s because I was aware most guys were interested in the triangle between my legs.

Let’s call his name Jeff. He was cute and easy going, and had a way with words. He carried himself in an aristocratic way and commanded the respect of student because of the air of superiority he evoked. Ummm, am I eulogizing him? Far be it from me. I am just saying the obvious. I lost contact with him when he eventually gained admission into the university.

I went for pre-degree but eventually wasn’t good enough for the admission because I was carried away by the liberty trusted unto me unbidden. I lost focus and failed woefully.

Thank God for another opportunity to re-write JAMB. I sat for the exam and passed. I got admitted into UNIBEN, and wow, my dream of studying Industrial microbiology became a reality.

I stayed with my God-mother until I was able to stay alone. The day of my matriculation soon came and I was buzzing with happiness. I was still intact and untouched below the belt, you get my gist! A vir….

My godmother got an urgent call, and so she left without sharing in my celebration. “Tsack! Such is life” , I sigh in Ibadan accent.

I am not a particularly party person but I was overjoyed to see Jeff in the same school with me and especially as a “staylite”. We gisted and talked for most of the day after the matriculation and he insisted on following me to my hostel.

He stayed put even when the hour was getting late. I urged him to leave but he shrugged, “what are you afraid of?” He asked for the umpteenth time and I relaxed.

He slept on the couch – my temporary sleeping space – while I slept on my godmother’s bed in her absence.

In the middle of the night, I was dreaming about the long soothing conversation with a friend from the past. I felt the presence even before the touch, I saw another Jeff with sweat glistering his forehead, eyes bulging with animalistic desire and his third leg threatening to burst the seams of his trouser. His hands were groping everything under my dress without invitation. I opened my mouth to scream but in a flash he stuffed some clothing into my opened mouth.

I pleaded and whimpered but Jeff tore off my undies and with the carefulness of a pervert he thrust his bulging manhood into me, tearing my fragile hymen and taking away my innocence with it.

Every thrust damaged my self-worth, dignity and every iota of my personality. After the damage was done, he looked at me like trash and whipped his bloody flaccid member on my lacy white and shredded panties. Leaving me with a damaged ego and damaged panties.

I refused to tell anyone but the scar of the event and the damage done to my psyche is irreparable. I avoided men like a plague but that also couldn’t heal or help me.

Six months down the line, he came begging. He said it was the devil’s handiwork and that he loves me – blah blah blah. His sweet nonsense was irritating me but I played along because I had my well planned and thought out revenge package for him. I agreed to date him but guess what? Revenge is sweet when served cold.


As I keep saying, any man that rapes a woman is less than an animal, because animals in their wretchedness don’t RAPE. I stand up against all forms of domestic violence and rape.
Written by Isaacola AA
Follow @newnaija on twitter


Kindly leave a comment. Thank you

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Rape & The Blame Game

A popular saying goes “a problem shared is half solved.” Yes! But a heart bottled in the pain of humiliation can never know peace. The issue of rape is one which is discussed and shared amongst us, but yet without the simplest solution.This is very perturbing, and thus has sounded the alarm within us to keep on speaking till we can reduce or inhibit this violence and ungodly act.
Let us not fold our arms and watch our ‘PRIDE’ being trampled upon and tormented without giving it a fight.
Rape is fiercer than a civil war, yet if we must win this battle, we must fight with our heart and watch on.

#Bloggersville presents “the pain of a withered rose, a trumpet for war.”
Kindly read DAY THREE’s post

Here it is. We like_

Are Rape Victims To Blame For Their Predicament?

YES Because:
By dressing provocatively, being promiscuous, encouraging male attention with overt flirting and teasing, drinking excessively and by knowingly placing themselves in situations where they can be attacked like walking a deserted path home, some women
consciously place themselves in danger of being sexually assaulted and are partly to blame.

To use a common comparison, if a man walks down a dark alley in a rough neighborhood with his money clip out, or engaging in other ostentatious displays of wealth, would we say he was completely without responsibility if he were robbed? We would likely conclude that while it was not his fault, and while he did not deserve it, he does bare some responsibility for putting himself in such a situation. On the other hand, he might be robbed in his driveway.

Similarly, the fact that some women are raped in circumstances in which they bear no responsibility does not absolve others who put themselves at risk of bearing some small amount of

NO Because:
If it were true that the fashion of the day was the reason for the rape of women – then how could it be that rape exists in countries where women are not dressing according to western
fashions. Does every attractive young woman become a victim of rape? No that is not a logical reason to suggest that Rape Victims are partly to blame. What could we say of an elderly woman or man who is raped by those who commit these crimes.

The reality is that no woman or man is going to knowingly place themselves in a situation of seeking rape. But there are many who are raped because of other situations – such as not being able to afford safe public transport – having no option but to
walk a lonely path home. Sure there are cases where the social situation seems to contribute but it is not the environment but the rapist who commits the crime.

The affirmative argument has but one purpose to allow rapists and those who sympathize with them the opportunity to feel as the victims of a crime. Feeling encouraged or in a good position to commit a crime isn’t an excuse to commit a crime.

YES Because:
A victim should fight their rapist or try to resist, as if they didn’t they could have been seen as consenting or consenting at the time and regretting it later on. If rape is about violence and control and not about sex then there should be evidence of injury on the victim. When the victim does not fight back then they should be considered partly to blame.

NO Because:
This is a very common myth both in popular thinking or rape and in the criminal justice system. If a victim does not fight back, or if there is a lack of injuries on their body then this is not a sign they need to take some responsibility for what happened.

Many victims submit to the violence and control for fear that they will be harmed further or killed if they resist or try to fight back.

For victims it can just be about surviving the attack. A lack of injuries does not mean the assumption must be they consented.

YES Because:
The notion that rape is a crime that is about power rather then sex is to look at the issue solely from the victims point of view. If we wish to understand the phenomenon in it’s entirety, we must also look at it from the perpetrators point of view.

There are clearly many ways in which a violent individual may express violent tenancies that do not involve rape. Football hooliganism would be one example. That a rapist chooses
rape instead of these other means, suggests that for them, rape IS about sex as well as power.

If we are to offer effective advice to people on how to protect themselves and minimize the possibility of themselves becoming victims: we must recognise the sexual dimension of the crime and tailor our advice accordingly. This includes encouraging
people not to engage in behaviour which is liable to make them more vulnerable or more attractive to a potential predator.

NO Because:
The idea that a rape victim can be partly to blame is based on the idea that once aroused the rapist can no longer control themselves. Studies have shown this to be untrue and completely ignores the point that rape is about violence and control and not about the act of sex.

There you have it… What’s your thought on this issue. Join the debate (Join the #SayNoToRape Campaign), leave comments below.

Written by Glowville

Follow her on twitter: @glow_ville

no to rape

Posted in Uncategorized | 1 Comment