Uncle Ayo took off all my clothes and told me to lay down. I obeyed without a word. He moved his hands all over my chest and they felt really cold and clammy as he began to breathe heavily. I didn’t like the feeling and begun squirming, attempting to get away from him. I did not want this.
‘Relax, I am getting to the rollercoaster’ then he put an arm over my chest, imprisoning me.
When he put his hands between my legs, I felt sick. It felt really wrong and I did not understand what was happening. Mrs. Martha had only told us not to let anyone touch us without our permission and mum had said to tell her if it ever happened.
‘I don’t want to do this Uncle Ayo’ I mumbled, shaking my head.
‘But you will like it and if you are a good girl, I will buy you that new dress you have been asking your mom to get you’.
‘Okay’. I really wanted that dress, but mom wouldn’t listen to me. Besides uncle Ayo said that I was going to like it. Maybe this was going to be fun.
I didn’t like it when he put his finger inside. It hurt so much, and I began to cry. But Uncle put his other hand over my mouth and continued breathing into my face. The tears kept pouring and it seemed like it was never going to be over.
I must have blacked out because when I opened my eyes I was in my room and it was dark. Maybe it was a dream.
I stood up to go and check if mom was back. I had barely walked a step when someone walked into my room and switched on the light.
‘Shush…’ it was uncle Ayo.
‘If you tell anybody what happened, I wouldn’t get you the dress that you want from the mall’. And just like that, he was out of my room again. I tried walking but it hurt to move. I just wanted to roll over into a ball on the floor.
Uncle Ayo got me the dress the next day. My mom was not happy about it, but he convinced her to not make a mountain out of it. I was excited. I was looking forward to wearing it to Lola, my best friend’s birthday party.
But the next day after school, Uncle Ayo invited me up to his room again. And again, he touched me. This time I didn’t black-out, but I cried all through and I bled. He tried to clean it up, I think. It was all a blur to me, like an out of body experience.
This time I told my mom about it, but she didn’t believe me.
‘Ayo would never do something like that, he’s my brother’.
‘You must have been dreaming Kara and I am sure you just started your period that’s why you are bleeding’.
‘I’m telling you, mom, it happened and what is a period?’
This time she screamed at me, ‘I don’t want you to repeat this rubbish! Ever! Now come and sit here and I would explain what periods are.
That night as I lay in bed, I realized that Uncle Ayo was going to keep having his way. I cried a lot that night. Things took a turn after that day, uncle Ayo no longer got me gifts, but he touched me frequently while mom was at work. The first few times, I tried to get away, but he grabbed me and held me down. Soon enough, I stopped fighting him. I just lay there, and the tears kept running.
My teacher noticed my changed behaviour. I was extremely quiet in class and withdrawn. When she called me, I was reluctant to talk at first because no one was going to believe. Even my mum hadn’t believed me.
‘I’m not going to let you go for recess till you tell me what’s wrong Kara’.
I simply sat there and stared out the window. I was too tired to argue. We sat in silence for over twenty minutes before I whispered, ‘my uncle touches me and I hate it’.
Mrs. Martha carefully put down the pen she had been using to grade assignments and stood up. When she got to my side, she simply hugged me and said nothing. I began to cry, uncontrollably.
‘Where does he touch you? Between your legs?’
I nodded in the affirmative. ‘Have you told your mom about this dear?’
‘She doesn’t believe me’, I almost screamed with my nose running, ‘do you believe me?’ I really wanted someone, anybody to believe me.
‘Yes, I do’. Mrs. Martha held me till the end of recess.
That day, she sent a mail to mom. When mom got back from work that night, she summoned me and warned me never to talk about such rubbish and bring shame to the family (her words, not mine). As she cautioned me about telling lies to strangers, I looked over her shadow and saw uncle Ayo standing at the door smiling victoriously.
PRESENT DAY
Uncle Ayo grew bolder. The next day was Saturday. Mom was in the living room watching tv while I hid in my room. Uncle Ayo snuck into my room and held my mouth as he quickly tried to do away with my clothes. This time I bit his hand hard.
Maybe mom was going to believe me now. In shock, he quickly let go of me and I got up and raced for the door. I was at the top of the stairs when he made it out of my room. In fear, I began screaming with my eyes closed as i made my way down.
That was when it happened, I slipped and rolled down the flight of stairs, ending up unconscious at the bottom. I woke up in the hospital and when I opened my eyes, I saw my dad sitting beside me.
‘Dad, what are you doing here?’ I croaked out slowly. He quickly picked up the glass of water and held it to my lips to drink.
‘Don’t move Kara, you have a broken neck. I am so sorry. I am so sorry I failed you. I am sorry I left you’. He was crying. I had never seen my dad shed a tear before.
Apparently Mrs. Martha had also sent a mail to dad and he had gotten to the house with the police, just in time to see mom and Uncle Ayo rushing me to the hospital after the fall. He grabbed me from uncle Ayo’s arms and the police had arrested him.
Dad had then brought me to the hospital and refused mom from seeing me. Mom came to visit me when Dad left each day. She had made arrangements with a nurse to inform her of his absence. I was discharged about a week later and when I got home, mom wasn’t there. Dad was pretty mad she hadn’t listened to me and so he told her to move out.
My parents ended up getting a divorce. Dad couldn’t stand to be around mom. I felt responsible for their split. Uncle Ayo was sentenced to thirty years in jail. He died about six months later.
It’s been a year and I still carry around the guilt of being the reason why my family fell apart. I am no longer the vibrant tomboyish girl who loved video games and soccer. I am now the girl who struggles to get through each day without breaking down.
At what age do you explain sexual abuse to kids?
