From You to me… 2

Hello people. Here is the second entry on this series by @Isaacola. Enjoy the first, then, follow suit with another unedited version:

My case is unique and I know you might have a terribly different opinion but that is your opinion and everybody no matter how big or small is entitled to his or her opinion. Like I noted, you are the General Overseer and General Superintendent of your opinion but hear me out before you take me to the gallows.
I am the only female in a family of three. To say my family was dysfunctional only understates the obvious. Hardly did a day pass without a bout of fighting in our home. We grew up seeing exchange of fisticuffs as normal most times one sided fistful fight.
My fierce looking father had this warped thinking that using your wife as a punching bag is a parameter for measuring manliness.
Whenever he arrived from work in the evening, we scurried, scampered and scattered in different directions to avoid the wrath of a permanently angry man. It was always in our interests to avoid the living room whenever he was around. It was so bad we avoided him like a plague, which he actually is. Like they say, he is the terrorist, the lion of the tribe of his dysfunctional familia.
My poor mother was a case study of wretchedness and emotional wreck. She took in all the pummeling with stoic resignation to her fate. She never complained, not even once. He forced her to stop working when we were young and that made her totally dependent on him financially. He was the sole provider so she had no choice but to be absolutely submissive and totally subservient to him. I think he relished the situation and it tickled the fancy of his sadism.
We were stuck to this man like leech and there was no way to avoid it. Mother soon ended up in the psychiatric ward due to the terrible emotional and psychological trauma arising from her constant pummeling by the beast she called husband, same one we called father.
Love was a strange thing in our lexicon because we all grow up without any trace of the human emotion called love. My older brothers left home as fast as possible leaving me behind with my monster father.
I also gained admission three years after my immediate elder brother. The irony of the matter however, was that I kept getting attracted to the so-called bad boys, like moth is drawn to a flicking light. As at this time, sex was out of the question because I was preoccupied with building myself up and creating a niche for myself as an independent lady.
I lived off campus in the high brow area of town because my monster father saw to it that my bank account was fat due to the fact that mother was ‘incarcerated’ in her psychiatric ward and my elder siblings attended a different school. My neighbor in the BQ (boys quarters) was one of the baddest boys in town. Big, bearded, well toned muscle and rich. All the wrongest combo that got me reeling and mushy, the closest I have ever been to emotional.
It happened one night while I was busy battling with my Generator. He offered to help despite us not being on talking terms aside the normal “hello”. He tried but as fate would have it, the generator just sputtered and hiccupped numerous times before packing up for the night. He tried to persuade me to come to his room to get my electricity needs met but I refused politely. Noticing that I was no going to yield ground, he joined my room to the power from his generator.
It was a cold evening littered with drizzles and the occasional rain. After going through the electrical connection process, he was a little drenched and started coughing. It was more like wheezing to me and I was right. I asked him what happened but I didn’t need to be told. He managed to tell me where to find his inhaler and I ran into his room to get it. I was surprised to see him follow me into his room and in a very swift motion, before my brain could process anything, he grabbed me. What I saw in his eyes in those few seconds rivalled what I saw in my monster father’s eyes whenever he was in his psychotic state, beating us or my mum up.
The terrible flimsy thing I saw disappeared and I saw something I could not really decipher. He brought out his well-muscled member, stripped me and forcefully had me. My protests were meaningless as he pinned me down and had his way. After some minutes, he collapsed in a heap and his wheezing returned. His bloodied member lay limp on his thigh as he grabbed empty air. I saw life slowly ebbing out of him and the desire to save him despite the fact that he violated me overcame. I stood up, even with virginal blood trickling down my thighs and I searched frantically for his inhaler.
Sighting it, I thrust it into his twitching hands. After a few minutes that look like eternity, he became normal. The full impact of what he did settled in.
I hate to love him, but in my more than two decades of living, he is the first person I am falling in love with despite the wrong footing on which it all started.
I have a feeling that you are judging me, calling me all sort of names that you deem fit. I really won’t want to care about that but all I know is that, he raped me to deflower me, and now I am terribly in love with him. I think I read it somewhere that if you don’t learn to forgive you will be living a life that is better forgotten.
Someone once told me also, that “to live, we must learn to forgive”. My conclusion is that, though the relationship started on a sour note, I must forgive or end up being like my dad living in perpetual bitterness and burden of anger.
Isaacolaa AA


From you to me… 1

Hello people. A very big good morning/afternoon/evening to you.
I sent a mail of thanksgiving to each ‘commenter’ on this blog for the grand support I have received from the beginning till now.
I accompanied the mail with a request for further support, by asking that you send in helpful articles/words/pictures/stuff to be run on the blog.

I have received a number of entries from some people, and for that, I say a BIG THANK YOU.

Please, I’m still expecting entries from those that are yet to respond, and you can send in as much as you can
I would run them unedited on a series titled ‘From you to me’… Enjoy!

Here is the first from Sopuru Christian:

I have one brother and one sister and of course two parents. I was born in Aba, Abia state and my family was a very happy one. I lived my childhood running around the streets with my friends, many of whom I do not know where they are now. I loved my family and enjoyed coming home until my final year in Secondary School.

The school I attended for my Secondary education was actually an average school- average in the sense that the students there were not from rich families. We were all basically equal financially so to speak. At the time, I could take 50 naira to school and it would take care of all my needs. In fact one of my friends once fought another of my classmate for 10 naira.

As the time for my School Certificate Examinations came closer, my parents enrolled me in a school that the students were relatively rich. My classmates in this new school had the latest phones. Some of them came to school with monies that I had never handled before. In fact it looked like I was the poorest of them all. We finished our exams and I entered the university, however the feeling of inferiority still did not leave me. I was just too local in my own eyes. The truth was that I steadily grew less and less in my estimation of myself. I had a terrible low self esteem then and avoided associating with people. The only place I could channel my grouse to was my family. Repeatedly I asked myself:

“Why is it that my father does not have money like other parents?”

“In fact what was he doing when his mates were busy making it in life?”

“If he knew he was too poor to give birth to me, why could he not have prevented my birth?”

The consequence of this was that I became more and more withdrawn. And of course I was bitter with my family. One day, I was invited by my friends to an event. The place was called WREALS. Immediately I stepped in, what I heard from the speaker was:

“Your parents do not owe you.”

Now that was some thunderbolt for me!

I reasoned it out, my parents really did not need to send me to school but they did; my parents did not need to provide food for me but they did. If they had considered me a useless baby, they would have killed me immediately I was born but they did not. My problem was that I was busy comparing myself with others who I did not even know their various experiences and was busy growing bitter. I was not even thankful for the mercies and goodness of God that was abundant in my own life.

As this reality dawned on me, my attitude changed. I started seeing all the efforts my parents put into making sure I enjoyed life. How they denied themselves of several luxuries just because they wanted a better life for me.

Slowly and steadily I was no longer bitter but grateful. I became grateful to God for giving me a loving family. I was also grateful to my family for giving me life and making my life enjoyable. After all, the sweetest thing in life is not having material things since they never satisfy, but in having a loving family where the simple things of life can be enjoyed in love.

His email(in case you’d like to get across to him):
He also runs a Facebook account with his name: Sopuru Christian

Why you shouldn’t sell your husband’s playstation.

Please read, laugh, enjoy, and learn a thing or two (or more)…


When I saw an OLX ad for the first time, I thought about what I could upload in my house and scream “Sell it!”.

My roving eyes rested on the Playstation. I dont know the playstation situation in your house, mine is not bad to be honest. At least Kabiyesi is not like my friend’s hubby who gets over an Arsenal match loss by setting Arsenal and the other team and scoring all the goals he wished they did against the computer. Kabiyesi never even plays against the thing, he prefers human competition. Did I mention that I play too?

Yet, in a momentary wave of Jealousy I feel like selling that thing. I never got round to and I never figured out why. I did today, the answer hit me at the same time the fumes from my palmoil bleaching did.

I can’t sell our Playstation. The day it…

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