Ok um...I don't know how to start this but I guess I have to start from somewhere. I met Kennedy for the first time when I was around 8 or 9 years old. We had just moved to Port Harcourt to get away from the growing Boko Haram insurgence. My dad was a pastor so he had to stay back in Kano to take care of the church branch there. He'd come once in a while to see us, but this particular time,he sent Kennedy to run some errands and well, that's where we met. It turned out he was living with my dad and was working as his personal assistant. The next time I saw him again was when we moved to Enugu to stay with my dad when he was transferred. I would say that Kennedy and I clicked. We became friends, good friends. I felt like he understood me and always loved to spend time with him, because I was a very weird kid, I still am, and I found it very hard to connect with people. I had no friends and didn't really fancy playing with my siblings and their friends. I was always indoors and kept to myself. Funny enough, Kennedy loved being with me, and made me talk and laugh all the time. We were cool. But then I began to notice that there was some kind of bad blood going on between him and my parents. I was concerned but never really thought about it because I was still a kid. Then one day, I woke up and found Kennedy throwing up at our backyard, he was sick and my parents were with him. And then a few days later, he was gone. I was confused. I woke up, no sign of him. I asked around and I was told he had left. He had gone back to Kano. That's all they told me. I knew something was fishy but no one would tell me anything. I was really lost. He left without telling me, no goodbyes, nothing. I was hurt but I moved on.

The next time I saw Kennedy was in Lagos. My dad was transferred again and we had to move. We were at the park, my dad came to get us and that's where I saw him. I still remember my reaction. I was surprised and happy and couldn't just help giving him this "what on earth?" look. My mom on the other hand was furious, and I didn't miss that. Which made me more confused. Till this day I can't really pin point what happened back then in Enugu. We were taken to the house and my parents had a fight over Kennedy. Not really a fight but they weren't on good terms. It lasted for a while but everything went back to normal, I think he was forgiven or sth.

Well new state, new school, new environment, same girl, zero social life. That didn't bother me because I had two good friends: Godson and Kennedy. Back then those two were my all. They really got me you know, and I loved them. They were my big bros. Kennedy was 9 years older than me and Godson was much older than him. Weird right? Nice choice of friends, huh? But they were good to me. In hindsight, I think the reason for my attraction to guys( not necessarily romantic though) was the fact that my parents always welcomed people under their roof. You know as a pastor people look up to you and see you as perfect. I hated that. Everyone always wanting me to live this kind of life. I mean he was the pastor, not me. I'm just his kid. Why can't they get that!? I have my life to live and it doesn't really involve pleasing people. Well, then I knew nothing, but now? When I think about it, I realize that it really affected me, positively and negatively. And I'm sure that irrespective of the fact that pastors are seen as holy and all that shit( forgive my language) they still have the most wrecked homes. And most don't even know it! They don't even realize it, probably because it's the vulnerable children like me who bear the full brunt of their failings and never speak about it to preserve our image and that of our parents.

Our parents, it may not be their fault or whatever but I feel like they're too busy caring for other people that they just don't see that the people they give their care to are taking dangerously from them. I've heard about a lot of things going on in pastors' homes and how people badmouth the victims instead of helping them and it's just sad because that has been my story. Our parents may feel like they're doing their best but it's not just enough. My parents would welcome people into their home but would never let us out. I never for once connected with my parents. It was difficult. I couldn't do it. Right from when I was a kid I was very secretive. I kept my feelings to myself because my mom would rather scream at me for having some thoughts or even for not wanting to talk and my dad just doesn't care. He just wants to preach to people and would get mad that we his kids aren't trying to be like him and all. So it was just hard for me. When I finally connected with my dad, or I think I did, he broke me. He did and said some things that really wounded me. And I left him. I mean I still live with him, smile, talk, but deep down, I know there's nothing there. My mom was another issue. I never even wanted to. Well, around 2020, I started trying but honestly, she's making it hard for me. It sucks that she's always judging me and not coming to me to talk things out. She rather discusses me with other people. Something I hate about them both is that they don't trust me. Why? I don't know. Don't really care.

What I'm trying to say here is, my parents took care of a lot of people. We left Kano when I was 8. Right after that and even before that, heck! Even before I was born, people were always living with us. And it's mostly guys. One time in Enugu we were living with 5 guys. I mean like grown up guys. The only one who is still decent till now is Godson. He was my friend but I didn't really give him attention like I did Kennedy. I didn't realize he was the better one. One time, one of the guys kissed me. My parents were home, everyone was home. He just called me to the kitchen and slammed him lips on mine. I couldn't tell him off. I was never outspoken and always chose to be polite. And he tasted like beer. It was horrible. But what was more horrible was that he'd do that repeatedly almost every evening and even wanted to touch me till I started running. Before he came back from work I'd go to bed. I was literally running in my own house. My parents would ask me what's up and I'd just say nothing. What was I supposed to say? Um, UC kissed me? I didn't even want to imagine their reaction.

Well, the thing is, I got used to seeing a lot of guys around and rolled with it. I'd rather start a conversation with a guy than a girl anywhere. I had a lot more guy friends than girls and I'm just realizing where it came from. I kinda drifted from the main topic so I'll just get back to it. Yeah, so Kennedy was living with us again. They were just two now. Godson and Kennedy, the rest were gone but people still visited to either pass the night or stay for a few days, weeks, or months. So we were all about pleasing people. My siblings and I couldn't even laugh freely in our house because the "visitors" wouldn't like it. Kennedy and I picked up where we left off and we were good. We even had petty fights and childish banters, but there was this one fight that changed everything. I had just fought with Kennedy and we weren't speaking to each other for like... days. So that day, I went with my bro to get fuel for the generator. When we got back, Kennedy and my brother were having a conversation and I tried so much to be invisible because we were fighting. But all of a sudden, Kennedy grabbed me to his side and, well I didn't understand because we were supposed to be fighting. But then I felt him rubbing the side of my breasts. I was just a little over 12 then so my boobs were not too pronounced. I was wearing this knee length gown that was sleeveless and had no bra on because it was evening, I didn't bother. Kennedy kept stroking my breasts and I couldn't even tell if my brother noticed, well it was pretty dark then. I wanted to squirm away from his grasp but I felt it'd be rude and on the other hand, I liked what he was doing. I didn't feel repulsed or anything. So I just kept mute. After a while, my brother left to put on the generator so I had a little time with Kennedy. Giving him an inquisitive gaze which he conveniently ignored, I asked if he was still mad at me. He didn't answer me and I then had to say sorry over and over again playfully though, thereby forgetting or should I say ignoring his earlier actions. That was the beginning.

Little by little, I became used to it because he'd call on me almost every night when everyone was sleeping. Not really everyone because my brother and I were night owls. We love the night so we hardly sleep early. He'd call on me from the room into the parlour and he'd touch me. All over. He was mainly after my boobs and mhen it was heavenly. One time he tried to kiss me and I moved away. I was surprised too but we didn't stop though and funny enough, no one noticed us. One night, we had closed from church and about to go home. I stayed back because a girl wanted me to be her backup singer for her song. So I stayed for rehearsal. My dad couldn't wait and so he entrusted me to Kennedy. Getting home with Kennedy, I found that the lights were off and so without thinking I slammed my lips in his taking him by surprise. That was the first time I encouraged him and I think he noticed it because other times, I would just let him do his thing. My brother once reported me to my mum over an incident that occurred between a girl and me in school. Instead of coming to my defend as someone whose opinion I deeply cared about, Kennedy supported my brother. Feeling betrayed, I began to sob and he felt compelled to console me. I was enjoying his hug when I felt his hand inside my panties. I froze. He was fingering me! Of course I didn't know what he was doing, I just knew that I felt pain when his finger was inside me. All of a sudden,my brother barged in and he quickly retracted his hand and pretended to still hug me. Well, everyone knew how close I was with Godson and Kennedy so it's not a surprise for us to hug. In hindsight, it's either my brother was an idiot not to have seen it or he saw it and chose to ignore because I can count some occasions when my brother saw us in compromising situations and acted dumb. And to say he's older, tsk tsk. Well, my brother abruptly left and Kennedy pushed me to the wall and continued his assault. This time around he removed my trousers and really fingered me. I was hurting but I just let him... again. When he was done, he said some things I can't even remember and I left. Hell, I couldn't walk properly. I had to rest on the sofa and gather myself together. He left the next day, and I felt this void. Strangely, though I remembered how his finger hurt me, I missed it and I wanted more. This was level two.

Kennedy returned after two weeks and our make out session took a level up. So now he'd kiss me, fondle me and finger me. I started changing. Always thinking about him and started feeling something stronger than the so called friendship. I fell for him. At least I thought I did. I loved him and would do anything for him. My visit to his room was more frequent than usual. I know you may be asking about Godson but he left a little while after we came to Lagos. He felt like he was a burden and left. So Kennedy was the only one in the room. My parents would always go for vigils or one service or another thereby enabling us to spend more time together. I became wild. I don't wait for him anymore instead, I'd go to him myself. He was the first guy I gave a blowjob to. Again, I didn't know what it was. I was just doing what he asked me to do. And I hated it. Having him in my mouth was always horrible for me but sweet for him. And I also enjoyed what he did to me so I didn't mind. One time my mom got back from vigil and had to slap me awake to prepare myself and my junior ones for school. Guess what? I overslept cause I spent my whole night with Kennedy. I was truly wild because I was the one who willingly got naked on top of him on his bed for the first time. He was surprised and I heard the uncertainty in his voice when he spoke. Now you can imagine a 12 year old kid with that kind of boldness. The only time I stayed away from him was during my periods. Otherwise, I'd be on him like glue and my mom noticed it. She started telling me to stay away but then I was already far too gone, I couldn't stop. Once she met me sleeping beside him and beat the hell out of me. Did I care? Nope. I was in love.

Now coming to my virginity part, I had no idea if I was a virgin or not. Because from the stories I do read and from what I do hear, you're supposed to bleed right? And it's when you have sex. Now I wasn't having sex with Kennedy, at least not yet. But almost every time he fingered me I'd see blood stains in my panties. I couldn't tell if I was injured or if I'd lost my virginity. If it was my virginity, then how many times was I supposed to lose it? I couldn't really wrap my head around it. Now coming to the level three of our story. One random evening, I was in his room when he tried to have sex with me. He'd tried a few times but I wasn't ready. I was always afraid but this particular evening, he wasn't having it and coerced me into it. The pain I felt that night was one of a kind. I really didn't want him inside me because it was too painful but he kept pressing on, coupled with the fact that I couldn't scream, he'd cover my mouth and whisper yell at me not to make a sound. How the hell was I supposed to do that? Plus, my parents were in the next room. That night was just bad, let's leave it that way. From that day, he'd not just settle with fingering me, he'd have sex with me over and over though he never released inside me. And I wouldn't ever complain, because I always wanted to please him. I was a fool for love. However, after a while, I noticed that he became a little rude towards me. He'd yell at me anyhow, order me around and at times insult me. But I didn't really pay attention to it because I loved what we were. If I said I was wild before it was an understatement, I was beyond wild. I'd always be in his room and ask for sex. I was a maniac. I was addicted and he was the drug. I'd go to school and be the good girl I was but back home, I was a sex freak. I couldn't stop. It got to a point that my mom had to warn Kennedy to stop me from entering his room. She'd beat me almost every time because I never listened. All this while she just thought I was being too close, she never knew the depth of it all. Even when we went for a church program where we had to lodge at a hotel, Kennedy would still come over when others were gone and have sex with me. My junior ones were too easy to distract so I wasn't bothered about them knowing. A year and some months later Kennedy was moved to another branch and we moved to a new house. I was sad. He wasn't regular at home anymore and I began to twitch. I'd become restless, needy, edgy, I couldn't concentrate on my studies. I remember dropping in my math then. Of course he'd come but it was once in a while.

Then one time my parents had to go for the traditional marriage of my uncle so my siblings and I were alone at home. It was blissful. But then Kennedy dropped by and it became merrier because he'd always come with new films and games for my siblings and well, he'd come with himself for me. Somehow my mom heard about it and panicked thereby sending someone to stay with us. Guess what? We frustrated that person and even locked her outside pretending to be asleep. She never came again. So we had the house to ourselves. We kept the others busy and did the usual deed. But then he started being a jerk and I was tired of it. We disagreed over something and he stopped speaking to me. Till he left the house we never settled it. Well, that was the last time we ever made out. Just like that, he never came again. I wasn't ok with it but I decided to get over him. If he's ok with it, I should be. But it wasn't easy. It still isn't easy. For months my dreams were filled with him. I was constantly day dreaming about having sex with him. I always had strong sexual urges with no way to deal with them. My mood changed drastically and I was finding it difficult to get over my addiction. So I resorted to masturbation. It felt good the first time but it couldn't replace that feeling. But it was better than nothing. Then I heard that masturbation was bad and when I tried to stop, that became another addiction. I felt...I can't even describe what I felt. I wasn't right in the head anymore. I became socially and emotionally worse. Whenever I look at a guy sex must cross my mind. I couldn't help it. But no one knew. It was all inside me. I didn't tell a soul. I got home from school one day and my mom suddenly asked if Kennedy ever raped me. I was shocked. She said she had a dream and asked for the truth. Of course I couldn't tell the truth, so I said he fingered me. What I actually said was that I was feeling a kind of way one time and asked him to finger me. My mom busted into tears. About how I failed her and all that. I was touched. I hurt my mom: the more reason I couldn't tell the truth. She still thinks I'm a virgin and I want it to remain that way. I'd bear my pain alone. Speaking of pain, I still see Kennedy at least once a month and he doesn't even look at me. I once told him what I said to my mom and he wasn't pleased. Years later, it dawned on me that I was just his test toy. He used me and I let him, and boy it hurts. I practically fell in love with this guy but was just his sex thing. Now to think that I would hate guys because of this? Nah. At times I can't even bring myself to blame him because I let him have his way with me. I wasn't stupid when I kept going to him. It was a two way something so I usually blame myself. It's not like I was raped. I had a choice. On second thoughts, I'd blame him for treating me like thrash. I mean he has a sister just like me of whom he's very overprotective. I was conflicted. If you ask me now, I'd say I'm over Kennedy. But the after effects of what I went through is still with me.

Not hating guys doesn't mean I'm not aware of them. I always look over my shoulder whenever I feel like a guy is suspicious. There was this security guy my dad hired and from the moment I set my eyes on him I knew he was no good. The way he'd stare at me and ask me stupid questions and always wanting to touch me when talking. It was just gross because he was way older. He should be a junior to my dad. Going to school I'd always be alert and always hold my kid sister because I didn't trust the guy. He'd hit on our neighbours' kids with no shame. He once asked me if I was menstruating yet. It was sick. I'd always tell my dad to sack him to no avail. There was this time he was in the house when my mom called me. She pulled me to her lap so my gown went up a little. She noticed it and pulled it down quickly. It then happened that we had to go downstairs together. My dad sent him and my mom sent me. I followed a different staircase because I wanted to be as far away from him as possible. But to my surprise he joined me and asked if he could pack my hair to which I politely said no wanting to leave as soon as possible. Then he suddenly pulled me to himself trying to press me against himself which was gross. And mhen was he strong. How I got out of his grip, I can't tell. Till today it's still a blur to me. Since that incident, I turned into a tigress to strangers at home and always tried to watch out for my sister. I don't want her to tread down my path because this path is sure as hell a lonely and painful one. I'm 18 now almost 19, of course if I want to have sex I can, but it doesn't mean I'd let someone touch me without fear and without my permission. I'm a good girl but I have a fiery temper and I'm ready to shred anyone who tries shit with my sister. She's free to make her own decisions of course. But she must not be like me. Honestly, if you ask me, I'd say that a majority of Nigerian homes have had their own share of sexual abuse. But what's unsettling to me is how parents are ignorant and nonchalant about these things. Thinking it's not there. They're always talking about their children upholding the name and integrity of the family but over looking these things. And shockingly, it's those who are close to us that do more damage. You don't necessarily have to look outside or protect your kids from strangers, because they're all around us, closer than we think. My parents are really nice people and are trying their best for us but if I'm asked to tell them about what happened to me I'd over and over again say no. Because I'm very certain that they'll condemn me like a criminal if not beat the hell out of me and make me feel worse than I already do. I know I'm partially to blame but it's what happens. A girl reports about being sexually harassed by a relative and her parents instead of telling the person off or trying to protect her, yells at her or punishes her. I mean it's stupid. Condemning the victim instead of the what, molester? I don't know. But it's got to change. It's one thing to not be able to protect someone before the deed's done and it's another to not want to get justice for that person afterwards. I mean, my cousin who is younger than me just gave birth a few months ago. She gave birth! Now guess what? It's a close relative that's responsible. Isn't that incest? And to top it all off, it happened under my grandparents' roof. When everyone discovered she was pregnant, she was beaten to get who did it and when she finally spoke up nothing was done to him. The highest thing they can do is to ask him to marry her. After leaving that girl to go through all sorts of pain, he goes scot free? Because he's family? It doesn't even makes sense. They're the real enemies. The ones you never suspect. I know for one thing that no one's ever going to make me feel vulnerable ever again. If no one can stand for me I'd do it myself. I'm not that polite anymore when it comes to protecting myself.