I AM WHO YOU THINK I AM

I am a wild, wicked ,arrogant, over-aggressive, shameless woman, who doesn't know her place. That is the way many men who I have encountered over the years would describe me. And they won't be wrong!

When my daughter was three years old she lived with my parents in a different city from me. On this day when I had gone to visit them, I was giving my daughter her morning bath. As I did that, I used the opportunity to teach her about body awareness.

"This part of your body is private. No one should (ask to) touch it or make you show it to them."

As I went over her pubic area repeating those words, she froze.

"Who touched you?", I asked.

"Monday", she said.

The name of my father's driver/home assistant.

Needless to say, I was wild with rage and hurt. I quickly finished off her bath, then walked to the kitchen, briefly telling my mum what I had heard, and grabbed a machete that was used for culinary duties. Monday had gone on an errand but I was impatiently waiting for him to return.

In that time, I recalled my own sexual abuse by my grand-uncle at the age of 14. The residual effects being a lifelong battle with a lack of self-esteem, a proclivity for unhealthy relationships, and a warped sense of self. I was livid at how much I, like most female children, had to contend with in Nigeria. Avoiding sexual abuse from looming predators, and violence from family members who felt it was their right to pummel you into shape. And in wider society, struggling to be heard above the sexist ridicule, that exists at work and school (which when addressed would result in accusations of igniting “gender wars”).

When Monday returned I lunged at him with the full weight of all these frustrations. The idea, in my blind rage, was to push him down giving me a better opportunity to severe his head. I laid the machete down to free my arms for the push, and in that moment my mother stole it away, saving me from a murder charge. But the lesson was learnt by all.

In 2019, when my father died, his family came together ostensibly to discuss plans for his funeral. But what should have been deliberations about time and place quickly devolved into discussions about me!

Apparently, when two years earlier I had openly declared my HIV status, in a bid to help other women living with HIV, I had disgraced the precious family name. Not only had I come out with this 'disastrous information', I had broadcast it on international media bringing the already tainted family name into international disrepute. They were scandalised by my unabashed self-promotion of 'negativity'.

About 3 years ago, my elder brother left me with a disconnected knee, bruised face and abdomen when he mercilessly beat me over an argument. It wasn't the first time he had done that. Years before, he broke my nose and left a deep gash in my head when he hit me over and over with my (then) baby's flask. This time, however, I was determined to put an end to this once and for all. I reported him to the police twice, and cut off every family member who tried to make light of the situation or settle it amicably, including my mother.

I received numerous phone calls and texts messages urging me not to be so wicked. Some were telling me in subtle terms that I should remember I am a woman and not act like a man, blah, blah.

But here's the thing about me: I am an unrepentant feminist, and a vocal activist for girls and women's rights. The only place I know for a woman is any place she wants to be. Also, I have ZERO tolerance for (child) sexual abuse and I believe judgment for the perpetrator should be swift, painful and memorable. That is considered wicked and overly-aggressive to some people, and I happily bear those titles.

In addition, I am determined that no girl or woman around me will endure the suffering I did, be it with violence, social inequality or in preventing/managing HIV. For that I am - and will always continue to be - shameless and arrogant.