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“Trust is as brittle as glass. It can be shattered in a split second and quite often, it can never be mended back into shape.” –Amina Wamako.

My name is Amina Wamako. I am from Wamako local government of Sokoto State, Nigeria and I live in Abuja. This is the story of how I had my virginity from me by someone I trusted deeply in the most ruthless of manners. That very moment still lingers painfully in my memory. I was young, naive and overly trusting. At just eleven years of age, I looked physically mature while my mind teetered around eight or nine years of age, or even less. I was seated on a chair in my late mother’s hut. My uncle Kabiru sat opposite me. He looked amorously at me (now, I understand how lustful the look in his eyes was). My legs were barely closed as I chatted away with him. I was only a child, so closing my legs firmly while sitting was the last thing on my mind. Those lustful eyes have stared back at me ever since, haunting me like a ‘demonic ghost’.

Za ku kai ni zuwa ga suya tsayawar, kawu Kabiru (Will you take me to the suya stand, Uncle Kabiru)?” I asked him with my usual palpable exuberance. “Yes…yes, I will,” he answered still piercing my body with his eyes. He barely heard a word I spoke. His attention was firmly planted somewhere between my legs. I casually closed my legs a little out of childish shyness. It was hard not to see where he was looking. I could almost feel his eyes yanking off my clothes with animalistic passion.

Zan iya dauke ka kamar yadda na kasance (Can I lift you up like I used to)?” He asked me, managing a plastic smile. “Yes,” I replied with elation. He used to throw me up in the air. It had been a while since he threw me up and picked me up mid-air. My whole body would zip through the air like a rocket. Then, he would catch me and place me back on ground. I followed him outside where he treated me to the same experience. After a few throws, he carried me back into the hut. Darkness was beginning to mask the skies as the sun receded behind thick clouds. I felt safe in my uncle’s arms as he placed me on my late mother’s mat. That was before he lay beside me. His hands began to walk all over my young tender body. He tickled me, and I laughed violently. Then, his right hand went under my long blouse and began to roam forcefully around my chest. I did not know what this meant. Maybe this is a new game uncle Kabiru is playing with me, I thought. Then, he began to breathe harder. I felt weird sensations run wildly through my veins as he touched me where no one had touched me before. Soon, his roaming hand made its way between my thighs. Then, he stopped, went to the makeshift door and locked it.

He was quick to return to the mat. He worked faster this time, removing my clothes. I resisted for a moment, simply because I was shy…overwhelmingly shy. Sex did not exist in my dictionary, so I had no idea what was coming. Soon he overpowered me. My clothes were tossed to the side while he mounted me like an unsaddled horse. I felt sharp pains through my body. His eyes were shut, opening every few seconds and closing again. He looked happy…insanely happy. His body quivered almost violently with licentious excitement, while mine rocked pitifully with pain and shame. I managed to look down only to see blood gushing out of me. Fear gripped me. Am I going to die? I wondered. Is my uncle killing me? I was rendered completely immobile by utter consternation, pain and shame. How can something so painful be so wildly enjoyed by him? I thought as he ploughed away on top of me with ferocious speed and fervor.

When he stopped, he was fiercely loud. He could hardly control himself as he let out a deep, obsessive yell. He rolled off my tiny body and lay beside me, breathing heavily like a horse that had worked acres of corn field all day long. I looked at the blood and wondered what just happened. My heart was pounding. The last time I saw that much blood was when my mother was hit by a car in front of me. Blood meant death to me. Now, I am going to join mama on the other side, I concluded as more blood and a white gooey liquid dropped lazily off my body. “Ba za ka iya gaya wani (You can’t tell anybody),” uncle Kabiru warmed me. He was recovering from his exertion; he was still breathing heavily. “Ba kome. Zan mutu ta wata hanya (It does not matter. I am going to die anyway),” I answered. “Why do you say that? You are not going to die!!” He said in a hushed tone. I pointed at the blood. He smiled, rose to his feet and picked up a dirty, mangled rag in the corner. He began to clean me up. He was thorough. Baba (my father) would soon be home, so he wanted to clean up his mess.

When he finished, he said to me, “You are going to be alright. If you tell anyone, then you may die.” There was concern in his voice. “Really? I won’t tell anyone, I replied gullibly. He nodded. “What just happened stays between us, okay?” I nodded at him. He dug his hand in the deep pocket of his danshiki, which had been hanging on the wall and produced a wrap of suya (barbecue) - my favorite. He handed me the wrap. I began to devour the juicy, oily tasty meat with infectious relish. Soon, Baba was home. He had asked his brother, Kabiru to watch me and the goats while he ran errands. Kabiru had been taking care of me since mother died. Whenever Baba was busy, he called on his younger brother, who lived a short distance away with his two wives and five children. I ran to my father and hugged him. He hugged me back firmly. Soon, Kabiru was gone. I tried to distract myself all evening. Baba told me he had finally decided to take another wife. After mother passed away, he married another wife, who left him some two years into the marriage. He was beaming with smiles as he told me he had found a perfect wife.

I did not mention my experience with uncle Kabiru to Baba or anyone else. A few weeks later, uncle Kabiru was back at it. One year later, I had become his toy. My father had brought in his new wife, so Kabiru could not come around as often as before when Baba was not home. He was not to be stopped though. He devised new avenues to devour my body. He would encourage my father to bring me over to play with his children. He was devious. He would invent reasons to send his wives on errands. He would give his children chores to perform while he had a quick session with me. As the days went by, what was going on became clearer to me. I was ravaged by shame, guilt and confusion. I was disgusted…ravaged by shame and guilt, yet I could not bring myself to share my experience with anyone. My secret had become my fortress; my demilitarized zone into which I could not let anyone. The thought of talking about it sent scary shivers through me with my heart racing like that of a lion after a gazelle.

 Slowly, I began to withdraw from uncle Kabiru. Soon, Baba sent me to secondary school against uncle Kabiru’s advice. He wanted me around so he could continue to do as he wished with my body, but thankfully, Baba was eager to have me further my education. I went to a boarding school. Once, uncle Kabiru visited me. As soon as I set my eyes on him, I ran back to my hostel and refused to come out until he left. I was visibly terrified. That night, I could not sleep. Each time my eyes closed, I dreamt of him pouncing on me. I woke up breathing heavily as my body shook with debilitating fear. The next day, I walked around peering over my shoulders. I could not rid my mind of the thought uncle Kabiru would come back and nab me out of nowhere. My best friend noticed how edgy I was. She probed and pressed for an explanation, but I could not let her in on my scary secret. I held on to my experience, walking around in utter fear and trepidation each day…until weeks passed without uncle Kabiru returning. I managed to heave a sigh of relief.   STORY CONTINUES...
The above true life story was sent in by Amina Wamako (actual name withheld) and was edited by editorial team. Amina Wamako found us on Facebook and after reading some of our stories decided to share her story with us. Please be kind enough to leave an encouraging word for Amina. Thank you.

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