Alariwo Story: Scars and Stripes

Ok so today we are having a Guest Writer…* Applause* ok…. Ermmmm i would have loved to gist you about the story…but that would be spoiling the wonderfully written piece by @DayDesola….you can check her blog out Kidd Extraordinae


Growing up in my house was mostly fun, and not just because we changed houses almost every two years or changed location every other year. We must have moved between Lagos,Abuja, Port-Harcourt  and Kaduna like a million times within my first 10 years.

To an extent it was fun, new schools, new friends, new memories. I didn’t have any of those hard stories that people who live in such areas usually do. Yes, the story of my family was a grass to grace story, but that happened so early on that my mind forgets what it was like. The grass wasn’t even grass, it was more like fully formed trees that held just the right amount of fruits. We were never poor, we were comfortable. The grace wasn’t even extreme grace.

You see, my father hasn’t always been an overly loud person, he feeds his family and provides in every way, ensuring there is no lack of anything, but not in a show-off manner, the hatred in his extended family wouldn’t even have allowed for that.

What I’m saying is that I had a normal childhood, surrounded by the right balance of love and dislike for my siblings, depending on how they treated me and my toys 🙂

There was nothing bizarrely wrong with my childhood, and there was even nothing to suggest that down the road of me growing up I’d get abused. But that’s the thing with sexual abuse…you never see it coming. It creeps up behind you silently tip-toeing its way past societal and religious norms and beliefs. I’ve never understood it. Is there usually a voice in the head of the predator that doesn’t shut up until he has thrust his over-sized penis in the insides of a weeping child?

But I’m getting ahead of myself. You know how I said I was surrounded by love? Most of that love was showered on me by my brothers.
At some point growing up, the usual “mummy is too busy” and “daddy can’t right now” came in to play. But my brothers never let me
feel anything other than to be constantly fawned with love and attention and adoration.

I had cousins always present too. The fun about this was that I was always included in the “male talk”. Being the last of
four children (3 boys), and always having 4- 5 male cousins sleeping over at a time, and constantly bombarded by the presence of all their friends, you can be sure that I had my exposure at an early age.

But at the age of 10, hearing about sex, being told about it, how do you really understand? And how much do you even tell a 10 year old? Kids today mature faster than we did…11 year olds are being sexually active of their own free-will. Technology has destroyed every atom of innocence that was present in the generations following ours. They have it easier. At 10 I didn’t want to be fucked by cousin while my brother’s friend watched. I think it’d have been different if I was born here, this generation.

But again, I’m getting ahead of myself. It was one of those days after the usual group discussions of who did that to what girl, and how
best it could have been done, or what someone couldn’t do, and I was seated somewhere in between them, no truly understanding but for some reason, nodding occasionally when one would say “X, don’t ever let a boy do that to you o!” Or “X, you should only do this with your husband”.


He took that choice from me. Z came into my room and asked if I wanted anything. No. He came back in with Y, and said “X, we are serious about all we tell you, only do that with people you love and people who love you” I was engrossed in Popeye eating spinach and miraculously growing muscles on my screen to even notice the door being locked, or to notice that the distance between us had been covered. At some point I might have even leaned back on him to watch my cartoon more comfortably. He was after all, my cousin.

And he didn’t rape me as much as talk me into it, making it sound like the most amazing thing in the world, having someone inside you, and it is, but not when you’re 10 and he’s 23. And at some point I decided I didn’t want to play his game anymore, he was hurting me. So I had to have my arms pinned down by Y, and my mouth covered. I had to have Z shove his pulsating penis inside me, tearing my walls
and thrusting into my crevices. I had to have him painfully squeeze my barely visible breasts and use one hand to stop my withering legs as he demonstrated over and over the things they all warned me about.

But I was never abused as a child. I had all the love and adoration and attention that anyone could possibly want or desire. Years down the road of forgiveness and personal growth, I realize that all my cousin did was out of love for me, he wanted to make me understand how much he loved me, and I love him too.

Disclaimer: This is a fictional story and did not happen to the Writer…but then as we all know stuffs like this happen out there, thanks for the read  and Pls comment below

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5 thoughts on “Alariwo Story: Scars and Stripes

  1. MzLucyM says:

    Hmmm 😦 dis shit happens to many times dse days. Its scaary ! Love my fooot! Hian

  2. monsieuruwem says:

    This rape issue is really geting outa hand and parents should be careful as well as young guys n girls cos any1 can be a victim

  3. Ola says:

    Hmmm!! Rape out of love!! Nice story anywaiz :]

  4. ibetapassmynebo says:

    Na wa ohh. . .

  5. Femi says:

    I was scared for a moment until I read the Disclaimer. Nice write up. Not surprising, this sh*t still happens all over the place.

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