THE DYSFUNCTIONALS

Serie 3

My Story

Let me tell you a story, my story of my first sexual experience. No wait! Let me deviate a little. Don't whine, I'll get to the story. I was 6 years old and my father had just died leaving my mother to cater for 6 children alone. Oh! I remember how she used to cry her eyes out back then; but now she's over that phase. I mean, who wouldn't after 17 years.

My Uncle had come from Lagos to pick me up. He said I'll be living with his family in Lagos and that he'll be my new father. In my little mind, I wasn't really sure if I liked the idea. I was thinking how I would cope without my family, who will be my mum since I was going to have a new dad; so many thoughts ran through that day but in the end, I had no choice. I had to go with him or nothing.

My mother packed my bags and two days later, we left Onitsha for Lagos. Oh! Things were really different in Lagos. My Uncle and his family was living a lifestyle of luxury. Everyday I thought about my family mostly because I felt it was wrong for me to be exposed to so much when they had little or nothing. I felt like I was betraying my own, my very own people.

Living with my Uncle was grand. I got to eat well, sleep on a good bed, take good snacks to school, go to a school where fighting wasn't cool and watch tv. In my little mind, my life was forming.

Two years of living with my Uncle got me settled in. I began to relate with my present status as fate. Unknown to me, half bread is truly better than none. My half bread eating family who understood love was far better than this no love plenty bread place. Here, we had everything except LOVE. This lack of love has shaped my life negatively because till date, I still find myself searching desperately for love in all places (good, bad, wherever) and most times I end up with nothing.

Living with my uncle was luxury but what is the essence of luxury that you can't enjoy. 

In my uncle's house, all the children slept in a room. My uncle had two sons who slept on the main bed while I slept on the foam on the mat (way better and softer than the mat I slept on in Onitsha). We slept by 8:30pm everyday and TV was turned off (we had a television in the room while back in Onitsha we had only one television).

While sleeping one night, I felt someone touch my thighs. I dismissed it as a dream probably because I didn't expect that anyone would touch me or because I loved my sleep better. I mean, that was my only rest time and I had to make good use of it. Two days later, this same thing happened but in a slightly different way. The toucher shifted my night dress up and was stroking my body. I couldn't dismiss this as just anything this so I woke up to find my cousin (I was only 8 and my cousin, a year younger than I).

I didn't understand what was happening so I asked him what he was doing. He goes on to say he was searching for something. I went blank because I didn't know what he would be looking for on my body. I asked him what it was he was looking for and he said nothing. He then went back to the bed. The next morning, I told my aunt before going to school what had happened at night and she calls me a liar and goes on to say she would tell my uncle to send me back to Onitsha if she hears anything like this again (I couldn't imagine going back to Onitsha. Worse off was what my mother will be told and she would believe).

That night my cousin was up for his search again. This time, I threatened to report him if he touches me again when I sleep. His response shocked me. He asked "to who" and then said or you want me to touch you when you're awake. I then said I was serious and I meant it. I couldn't tell my aunt and I didn't have access to my uncle. So I kept my challenge to myself. It continued like this for days. Days turned to weeks and weeks to months till the day my cousin found what he was looking for.

The 7 year old molested me sexually with his fingers and left me crying all night. I cried till I could shed tears no more, then like the biblical David, dusted myself up and went to my aunt's room. I knocked till she woke up. She asked what was wrong and why I was in her room at that time. I began explaining while stuttering because I was afraid of what would happen next. My aunt pulled me into the room, closed the door and flogged me. After the serious beating, she warned never to say a thing like that again and if I ever did, she'll deal with me and then take me back to Onitsha. I cried that night and had no one to console me.

This unwholesome experience continued for years. I don't know why he stopped, maybe he grew up and realized it was a terrible thing to do or he found a new prey. All I know is today, my cousin no longer creeps in my bed to touch me but the wounds he inflicted on me hasn't healed and I do not know when or if they would ever heal.

-The PenAddict.

THE DYSFUNCTIONALS

SERIE 2

MY FRIEND MARIAM

I remember the first time I saw Mariam. I had just joined the NYSC Band CDS group. Mariam sat two seats away from me chatting happily with a friend. She must have caught my stare occasionally because I was there wondering how a lady could be that beautiful, physically endowed and rich. I mean thinking about my status at the time; beautiful, not physically endowed and trying to survive. I was determined to be friends with Mariam.

The next CDS meeting we had, I sat beside Mariam and tried as much to keep a reasonable conversation going but it was clear she wasn't interested in me. Immediately her friend came, she pleaded with me to adjust my seat so her friend could sit beside her. That day, I swore to myself not to go close to her again. I was hurt, sad and devastated. I felt I had been rejected (though that's what happened) and I kept surfing through the previous event to see where I had gone wrong. I know I had the gloom till the end of the meeting.

Forward to four months later when a mutual friend was celebrating his birthday. He called to ask if I could assist with the preparations and I agreed to. On getting to the venue, I found out Mariam was the lady in charge. There I was, asking myself if this was a bad idea. Well, we worked together, I did my part and everybody got hosting at a point. That was when I changed my thought about Mariam. Mariam and I began bonding in a special kind of way. Like we had known ourselves for a very long time.

It wasn't up to two weeks since I started bonding with Mariam before people started talking (and with what I've learnt in life, people will always talk. Some because they have a mouth, some because they have something to say and others because they just want to talk. In all, people must talk); telling me stuff about how Mariam jumps from bed to bed sleeping with men for financial benefits and all. I wasn't bothered, probably because I didn't want to believe or because I already had this inbuilt thought that Mariam is from a rich family.

I mean, her apartment was touché; everything a young lady needed was in it. Her appearance was always like that of a queen; adorned with sweet smelling fragrance. How could it then be possible that this sweet, gentle lady could be involved in such. Mariam and I got closer by the day. A week to her birthday, she invited me to come spend 2 weeks with her. I was really glad when I received the message because I needed a break from my routine. I agreed, packed my bags and moved to her place. While there, we started preparations for her birthday party.

One night, I received a call from an older married man who was asking me to be his girlfriend. After the call, Mariam asked me what was getting me angry; I told her everything from when I met the man till that day. She left her cooking, came and sat beside me and said "my dear, that's how we survive". At that point, I wasn't sure it was my friend talking. Within me, I was doing multiple checks to be sure. She went on to tell me how she's been catering for herself and her family with the financial benefits she received from these men. I just sat there in complete bewilderment. I was trying to convince myself it was all a lie.

Then she went on to tell me about her family. Her mother got pregnant out of wedlock and her parents were angry. When the man responsible (Mariam's father) came to ask for her hand in marriage, her parents chased them away and said they never want to see him anywhere close to their daughter. As I write this, Mariam still doesn't know her father. Her mother got to marry another man who didn't want Mariam staying in his house so she had to grow up with her grandparents. Her grand father died some years later and she was left in the care of her grandmother. Her mother got involved in an accident which cost her her ability to walk. Her mother's husband got tired of catering for a paralyzed woman and sent her back to her parents. The burden of catering for both mother and grandmother was placed on Mariam's shoulders.

As a young lady struggling to get an education, she decided that having sex with men for financial gains was the only way out.

I do not condemn nor judge my friend Mariam not because I like what she does but because circumstances have placed her in a position where she had to choose a way out and she chose what worked for her. I've visited my friend in her family house several times. I see the burden she has to carry and I can't help but say she's a strong woman. I mean she literally feeds, clothes and pay bills for the family. The shocking part of it all is, she doesn't have a regular job and nobody bothers to ask where the money comes from. What do they care anyway; as long as they're comfortable. It's not their body, the multiple abortions isn't theirs; the pain, the shame and the hurt doesn't affect them.

I really do not know what has become of Mariam as we lost touch a long time ago. I do not know if she's still running a race she started at a tender age of 14 but one thing I know is that she's a fighter and that can never change.

-The PenAddict

THE DYSFUNCTIONALS

"It has been quiet in here for a while now... A year actually. And that's because there has been ongoing work at the background to come up with something Fresh, Fun, Educative and Exciting to all who visit the blog. It's safe to say that we've found what we've been looking for.

Debuting today, and to feature on every Friday, is a purely fictional series titled "The Dysfunctionals" by (The PenAddict).

The Dysfunctionals would be published in episodes, with each episode totally unrelated to the previous one.

I implore you to let your mind wander through the lives of The Dysfunctionals"

- Bright Eugene.

_______________________________________

SERIE 1

MY NAME IS RITA

Me and my scattered mind. This minute I'm thinking about this, the next I'm on another thought. Sometimes I get this feeling my head needs a thorough clean up.
And then this morning, I wake up to a message from my step mother to send my tribute to my late grandpa. So I'm lost because it reminds me how dysfunctional my family is. Yes I'm really from a dysfunctional one (trust me, you don't want to know how bad our case is).
First thing that comes to my head is if my mama sees my tribute, what will she say (because I didn't send it to her, so how did it get there). To think my mama and my step mother are great enemies. But then I really wanna write a tribute to my grandpa. This man you see (to me) died because he wasn't well catered for (though nobody wants to admit it).

Last time I saw him, from my little understanding of medicine, I knew he was showing conditions of haemophilia (believe me I didn't study medicine but I know a lot about medicine. I study medicine in my spare time.) and his immune system was getting weak by the day; major reason his sores weren't healing completely. And when I voiced it, the response I got was the usual 'what do you know? Industrial Chemistry isn't medicine'.

Second reason I think he died was because they just wanted him out of their lives. If there's anything I've learnt from my family, it's that money can never buy love. (Yes, just so y'all know, I'm from a rich family. Money has never been and will never be a problem. This is probably why I don't chase money). Well, the money was there but the man wasn't taken to the hospital; his first nurse (well, the only one who actually took care of him at the time) became my step mother (could this have been the reason why she took good care of him? Because she no longer cared after the ring) and the nurse after her just had a title and no ability.

Why am I hurt I lost my grandpa? Well, he was everything to me. At 6, I could read a newspaper the way the news caster on NTA read the news. I learnt how to read fluently at a tender age. All thanks to my paternal grandfather. All the time my papa was busy, he was there for me (unlike my maternal grandfather who was a nuisance and made my childhood a living hell. Always inserting his fingers in my private part and telling how wonderful I felt. In fact, he made me hate being female). He taught me to read the dictionary with understanding, how to spell correctly and proper use of tenses. I can boldly say I'm bright today just because my grandpa The Late Sergeant Alfonsus Ibe made me so.
I'll probably not send a tribute to the man who called me his doctor, his pride and the cutest Ibe grand child but deep down, I know what this man means to me.



- The PenAddict