Child Abuse

I was 10 Years old when a family friend's daughter came to stay with us during the holidays. We were about  the same age and she shared my room with me. One night whilst sleeping, I noticed someone touch me on my chest, I had no boobs then I was a little child, I let it slide as I assumed it was done by error, then I felt a hand and lips on my lips and I opened my eyes and found my little friend staring at me.

I jumped up and gave her a slap. The next day I refused to sit, speak or play with her. I became very hostile to her and wanted her out of our house. 

So at every opportunity I lashed at her, pinched her and became very agressive towards her. One day my elder sister caught me and I got spanked for being mean to our guest. I couldn't tell her anything, it was unheard of, I was a child, I was scared I would be told I made the story up, no one would believe me. More so she looked fragile and much more smaller than me. 

So I suffered the pain and zipped it. Now almost 30 Years later here I am speaking about it for the very first time.

She was a young girl herself, 'Am sure I was about a year older than her. All these years I have asked myself different questions about who or what got into her that night? If I allowed her would she have proceeded?

Did she watch it in the movies? Was she abused? Was she a victim of sexual abuse? Or was she born gay? 

If that was my daughter on that bed would she have told her off? Would she have told me her mother? Or you her father? 

I bet a lot of children would do what I did, and never speak up, I know a lot of children suffer sexual abuse by their own family members. 

We can't watch out kids 24 hours a day? We work, we have lives, we do us. We are human. But it's important to ensure we tell our kids that they can come to us at anytime for anything and we won't doubt them. 

Watch those uncles that come to the house and sit your kids on their laps. Not all the uncles have genuine intentions. 

Recently i was told by a friend how he was molested in secondary school by a senior in the boarding house. Please speak to your children, pray with them, talk with them and let them not be afraid of coming to talk to you. 

I honestly won't call my experience an abuse as it was attempted by a child and I beat the living day lights out of her. I honestly don't know what to call it, maybe child's play, the said family friend is now very happily married. 

Memories of that night still haunts me. 

Sexual abuse is real. Watch your little ones... 

NB: So my brother saw this write-up and he calls screaming on the phone, "Tope why didn't you tell me" I said to him! you were ten years older than me! I was the youngest child and had no one to talk to! You were all too old for me to talk to, more so I was scared. And he asked Tope who was she? And I replied never mind, I dealt with it then!  

26th of February I wrote a piece titled THE WOMAN AND HER BABY. http://www.victoriaosho.blogspot.com/2008/02/woman-and-her-baby.html?m=1 On my way from work this evening, as I was descending the VI/Falomo bridge, in the city of Lagos. I saw a badly burnt boy and his mother on the bridge. I stopped and asked her what was the nature of his wounds and she told me he got burnt in a fire. I asked her why she didn't take him to the hospital, and she said she did but couldn't afford the hospital bills,  and therefore brought him to the roadside to beg for alms. I then gave her a token and promised to come see her tomorrow and help take him to the hospital. I gave my word and I Intend to follow through. So I call on you my dear friends & family, wellwishers to help and assist

to pay Kingsley's hospital bills or if you know a good doctor or inexpensive hospital where he can be treated that would be a plus. Years ago I walked away from a sight that's hunted me for years. Today I have decided to follow and pursue my dreams of taking the sick of the road. Its weird that in our society with all the billions being stolen here and there, most Nigerians still live in poverty. To contribute towards Kingsley's hospital bills, please kindly contact, streethelpers1@yahoo.com. You will get a detailed report of Kingsley's progress.

A Voice From The Grave

This is the most chilling letter I have ever read. Its a real life story but unfortunately the author is now dead. Why because she loved and trusted the one person who was supposed to love her for ever in sickness and in health, for riches for poorer.
Please be wise women and not only women but men too. Because we have alot of women too who are abusive and violent to their spouses or partners. My advice is Leave when you still have your life. No one should be made to go through this much pain. Please read below the Letter she wrote from her grave. My Heart bleeds for her children and her family.This was culled from her WEBSITE
Her Husband's name is Kevin from the letter and i believe he works with Mobil Eket as an engineer. Heard Her sister inlaw found her diary and published the story. From all indications he is yet to inform the family of her death and the kids are being take care of by her family.
This just messed with my head. Please read below



My mum is crying. I can see her from here. She has aged since the last time I saw her. Why does she look so old and why is she so thin? Can someone console her? Can someone make her stop crying?
I try to get up but I can’t. I try to reach for her, but I’m stuck where I am. It is very dark in here, and very cold, so very cold.
What am I doing here? Where is everybody? Where are my children? I begin to panic, to struggle; I want to get out of this dark room.
I can hear Uzo calling. She’s calling my name. Then, I see mum again. And I hear Uzo again. I don’t see my children. Where are my children? I can’t see beyond the walls of this dark and cold room.

Uzo calls again.

She sounds desperate to rouse me from my sleep. I am struggling to wake but I can’t. I open my eyes and they shut of their own accord.
I am powerless to keep them from shutting. And I find as soon as I stop struggling, my sleep becomes sweet repose. Suddenly I don’t want to wake from it just yet. It is peaceful.

I see mum again, and I see Uzo. Uzo keeps calling. She won’t stop calling. She is crying too, just like mum.

Can someone bring Kamsi and Amanda to me? Can someone bring my babies to me? I need to hug them, Kamsi, especially. Is he crying too and calling out for me? Does he understand that I am gone? Kamsi will miss me.

He is a special child, you know; Kamsiyochukwu - my son and my first child.

I prayed and longed for his birth. He was the blessing from above that would seal Kevin’s love for me and give me some footing in his home and some acceptance from his family.

Before Kamsi, I was a nobody in Kevin’s home. I was born the last of nine children, the baby of the family. I was used to love and affection. I was everyone’s baby. I grew up knowing that everyone had my back, I grew up knowing the safety and security of being the baby of the home. You may then understand my shock when I stepped out of my home and into new territory with the man of my dreams only to find that I was really not as special as I had been made to believe. I look back to that day when Kevin took me home to introduce me to my new family. The cold and rude shock of the welcome his brother’s wife gave me set off an alarm in my head.

These people didn’t think I was special. In fact, her first words were, ”Kevin, ebe kwa ka isi dute nka?” (Kevin, “Where on earth did you bring this one from?) That would be the first time I would be addressed as “this one” and from then on, I grappled with the realization that I was not welcome in my new home.

I remember my first Christmas at Ihiala as a new bride. My brother-in-law’s wife would sneer and clap and refer to me as “Ndi ji ukwu azo akwu” (the people who process palm fruits with their bare feet). I knew she meant my impoverished home town of Nsukka. She would sing to me all day long telling me the only reason why their brother married me was because of my beauty and complexion.

Now, I lie here and I wonder if I was in my right mind to ignore the several other alarms over my 12- year union with Kevin.

I had to ignore them, I told myself. I had already taken my vows to be with Kevin until death did us part.

They never really wanted me, I can now see. But I was too blinded by love to realize that. I needed to do something to cement Kevin’s heart with mine. I needed to remain Kevin’s wife and to prove to the world that indeed Love would conquer all.

When after one year of marriage there were still no children, the painful journey that sent me to my grave started. I went from specialist to specialist, ingested every kind of pill that promised to boost my fertility. As my desperation grew, so did pressure from Kevin’s family. My horror-movie life story started playing out; the horror-movie life that has sent me to an early and cold grave from where I write this letter to my husband.

*********************************************************************************
My sweet Kevin,


We started to fight over little things. The fights were worse after you visited home or attended any of your numerous family meetings. You came home one evening and asked me to move out of the bedroom we both shared and into the guestroom downstairs. The next time you returned from the meeting, you tied me up with a rope and used your belt on me. No one heard my screams.

I remember when you told me that your family had asked you to remarry. You showed me documents of all your numerous landed property including the house we lived in. Your brother was listed as next of kin. When I asked you about it, your answer rocked the ground I was standing on. You said, “What have you to show that entitles you to any stake in this household?” You were referring to my barreness.

It is funny how to my family and friends, I was the beautiful and loving Ogo, whilst to you and your family I was a worthless piece of rag. You called me barren. I could have fled but your love and acceptance was of more worth to me than the love and admiration of the world outside our home. I desperately sought to be loved by you, Kevin.
In your family’s presence I felt unworthy, unloved and unwanted. Yet, I stayed on. I would make you love me one way or the other and I knew that one sure way would
be to produce a child, an heir for you. That was the most important thing to you.

I began the numerous procedures, painful procedures, including surgery. I gave myself daily shots. At some point the needles could no longer pierce my skin. My skin had toughened to the piercing pain of needles.

After seven years of marriage, our prayers were answered. God blessed us with our son Kamsiyochukwu, which means ‘’Just as I asked of the Lord’’. God had intervened and miracles were about to start happening because for the first time in seven years, my mother-in-law called me. Finally I was home. I had been accepted. I was now a woman, a wife and a mother. Finally there was peace. Kamsi will be four in November.

The miracles stayed with me because 18 months later through another procedure, Chimamanda was born. Her birth was bitter sweet for me. Sweet because you Kevin, my husband, and my in-laws would love me more for bearing a second child, but bitter because this particular birth almost cost me my life. The doctors had become very concerned. You see, I had developed too many complications from all the different procedures I had undergone in the journey to have children and these were beginning to get in the way of normal everyday living. I developed conditions that had almost become life threatening. So the doctors sent me off with my new bundle of joy and with a stern warning not to try for another child as I may not be so lucky.

I chuckled, almost gleefully. Why would I want to try for a third child? God had given me a boy and a girl, what more could I ask for. I was only ever so thankful to God.
Kevin, you and I gave numerous and very generous donations to different churches in thanksgiving to God. All was well. I was happy and fulfilled. Kevin, you loved me again. Your family accepted me. Life was good. And all was quiet again. …………………… For a while.

Then fate struck me a blow. As if to remind me that my stay in your house was temporary and was never really going to be peaceful, Kamsi – our son, our first fruit, my pride and joy and the child that gave me a place in my husband’s home, began to show signs of slowed development; the visits to the doctors resumed, this time on account of Kamsi.
We started seeing therapists. After we’d been from one doctor to another I decided I had to resort to prayer. I was frightened. I was terrified. I was threatened. I started to feel unwell. I had difficulty breathing. I needed to see my doctors, Kamsi too. He wasn’t doing too well either. He had difficulty with his speech. He was slow to comprehend things. I did not know for sure what was wrong with him but I knew all was not well. Not with him and not with me. We
were denied visas to the USA because we had overstayed on our last trip on account of Kamsi’s treatments. So whilst we waited for a lawyer to help us clear up the immigration issues with America, I applied for a UK visa and sought help in London. But by then, trouble had reared its head at home, again.

Kevin, you had again become very impatient with me. My fears were fully alive again. The battles it seemed I had won were again in full rage. My husband, in your irritable impatience and anger, you told me to my face that our son, my Kamsi, was worthless to you. You said he was abnormal. You said that our daughter, my Amanda, was a girl and that you had no need for a girl child because she would someday be married off. I remember, in pain, that you didn’t attend Amanda’s christening because you were upset with me. You told me your mother was more important to you than “THESE THINGS” I brought to your house. You were referring to our children, were you not? “THESE THINGS”.

My heart bled. I wept bitterly. Then I quickly calmed my fears by telling myself that you were under a lot of stress at work and that you were also probably reacting to all the money that you had spent on my treatments. Surely, all that was getting to you? Even when you threatened me with a knife, twice you did that, I still felt unworthy of you and very deserving of your hatred. Even when you would say: “I will kill you and nothing will happen because you have no one to fight for you”, I kept on struggling to get you to love me because, Kevin, your validation was important to me

You had refused to give me money for my medical trip to London. I knew then it was because you had your hands full with caring and catering for everybody who was dear to you. Your finances were stretched. I thought then that in time you would come around.

My health continued to get worse. Eventually, I made it to London. After extensive consultations and tests, I was given a definitive diagnosis. My condition was life threatening. It was from this time, when it was clear that I required surgery to save me life that I came face to face with a different kind of war from our home.

Kevin, you stopped speaking with me. I was in pain, in anguish and in tears. I didn’t understand what was happening. I had stayed three weeks in London and Kevin, you never called, sent a text or inquired how I was faring. You stopped taking my calls. Instead I got a call from my cousin in whose care I had left my children. She was frantic with worry because there was no food in the house for the children to eat; Kevin you had refused to provide food for our children. Kevin, you had also refused to pay for Kamsi’s home schooling.

Then Kevin, I received that e-mail from you. The only communication from you for the entire period I was in London.
Do you remember? It was an angry email. You berated me for putting your integrity at stake at your work place. Apparently your employers had called a hospital in London to inquire about me and were told that no one by my name was ever their patient. I later found out that you had given the wrong hospital name to your employers. Do you remember, Kevin?

For the first time in my 12 year marriage, the alarm bells in my head began to sound real. For the first time in 12 years, I felt real anger stir up in my heart. Kevin, I was angry because you paid no heed to the hospital where your wife was at in London. You had no clue and cared little about what I was going through. Yet you would berate me for putting your INTEGRITY at work at stake. Your integrity was your primary concern, not my health.

Then it hit me! All these years I was trying to be all I could be for you, Kevin, to make you happy, to please you, Kevin, ……… you actually hated me. You didn’t want me in your life. The signs were all there. Your family had showed me from day one that they didn’t want me. I was the object of a hatred that I could not explain. I
couldn’t understand why.

Then I saw the hand writing on the wall, all those many things that went on. You even sold my car whilst I was still lying on a hospital bed in London, with no word to me. I was not to learn of what you had done until I returned to Nigeria. The doctors had allowed me to return to prepare for surgery.

Kevin, do you remember that on my return I gave you a pair of shoes I had bought for you? Kevin, my husband, do you remember hurling those shoes at me? Kevin, do you remember me breaking down in tears? Kevin, do you remember me asking you that night, many times over, why you hated me so much, what I had done to make you hate me as much as you did?

“You are disturbing me, and if you continue, I`ll move out and inform the company that I no longer live in the house. Then they will come and drive you away”. Kevin, my husband, that was your response to me. Did you know then I only had days to live? Is that why you told me that would be the last time I would see you physically? Did you know it would only be a few more hours?

I still had a surgery to go through. Kevin, since you wanted no part in it, I had contacted the medical officer in your company directly for referrals. I left Eket for Lagos on Saturday. That same day I consulted with the specialist surgeon and surgery was scheduled for Monday morning.

In those final hours, as I prepared for my surgery, I was alone, my spirit was broken. I had lost all the fight in me. Kevin, I knew that nothing I did or said would turn you heart toward me, and I had nobody for whom you had any regards who would speak up for me.

In those final hours, Kevin, I called you. This was Sunday morning, less than 24 hours to my death. Do you remember, Kevin? I called you to share what the specialist surgeon had said. I was still shaking from your screams on the phone when I got in here. You did not want me to bother you, you screamed. I should go to my brothers and sisters, you screamed. I should pay you back all the money you gave me for my treatment in London, you screamed. Kevin, did you know that would be my last conversation with you? My last conversation with you, my husband, my love, my life, ended with you banging the phone on me.

Recalling the abusive words, the spitting, the beating, the bruising, the knifing, and the promise that I would not live long for daring to forget to buy garden eggs for your mother, an insult you vowed I would pay for with my life ……., I knew then it was over for me. There was no rationalizing needed any longer. Even the blind could see ………. You did not want me in your life.

I went in for surgery on Monday morning, February 27, 2012, and after battling for several hours, I yielded my spirit.

Kevin, my husband, I lived my promise to God. The promise I made on the day I wedded you.

For better ………………………… For worse
For richer …………………………. For poorer
In Sickness ………………………. And in health
To love ………………………….. And to cherish

Till DEATH US DO PART!

And it has.

NOW I AM DEAD!!!!!!!

Just as your mum predicted ….. Her cold words follow me to morgue. She swore to me that I would leave her son’s house dead or alive. I couldn’t leave whilst I still breathed. It had to be through death, and death it has become.

Kevin, you are FREE! And, so am I.

Your freedom is temporary. Mine is eternal.

Whilst you still have freedom, remember Kamsi and Chimamanda.


Lovingly yours until death,
Ogo.


I am gone. Gone forever. But if one woman, just one woman will learn from my story, then maybe I would not have gone in vain.

My heart weeps for my children, my mummy, my sisters and my brothers, my extended family. These ones, I was a gift to. These ones, they loved me. These ones, they wanted me. These ones, they needed me. These ones, they wish I had spoken out earlier.
***

Written by someone who was part of her life and witnessed her struggles. RIP Ogo.

The Boy With The Powerful Voice

Jotta A, A little 12years old boy born in Brazil with one of the most powerful voice in the World. He gives inspiration to the commoners. 'Have still got the shivers just listening to him.... Even the angels in heaven rejoice with this beautiful voice.

Denzel Washington's Humanitarian Generosity To Brook Army Medical Centre in San Antonio Texas

My definition of wealth or being wealthy is when you are able to touch the lives of those in need. A lot of people who are blessed take for granted that, giving is an important part of living. You make a lot of money and one day u die, what happens to all your wealth? Your Billions and Zillions are not buried with you. But your generosity lies in your soul and the souls and lives of those you have blessed and touched.

Denzel Washington and his family visited the troops at Brook Army Medical Centre, in San Antonio , Texas, (BAMC) the other day. This is where soldiers who have been evacuated from Germany come to be hospitalized in the United States, especially burn victims. There are some buildings there called Fisher Houses. The Fisher House is a Hotel where soldiers' families can stay, for little or no charge, while their soldier is staying in the Hospital. BAMC has quite a few of these houses on base, but as you can imagine, they are almost filled most of the time.
While Denzel Washington was visiting BAMC, they gave him a tour of one of the Fisher Houses. He asked how much one of them would cost to build. He took his check book out and wrote a check for the full amount right there on the spot.
The soldiers overseas were amazed to hear this story and want to get the word out to the American public, because it warmed their hearts to hear it. Thanks Denzel, God bless you more

Wicked Father: Pours Hot Water On Daughter’s Private Part

This man is not deemed fit to be called a father. How can anyone do this to any child let alone the one u birthed?

A 33-year old man has poured hot water on her daughter’s private part, damaging part of her vagina, for licking soup in the pot. The incident happened in Ikorodu area of Lagos State, Southwest Nigeria.

The girl, a 14-year old Junior Secondary School II student (name withheld) is currently undergoing treatment at a government hospital while the father, Mr. Solarin Muyiwa has been arrested by the Social Welfare Department of the Ministry of Women Affairs and Poverty Alleviation, WAPA, and will be arraigned in court soon.

The incident, which took place at 3, Adeyiga Street, Ikorodu attracted lots of unsavoury comments about the father, a Laboratory Assistant at Spintex Mill

Muyiwa created a stir when he was brought to the WAPA Ministry after his arrest. Staff of the ministry, mostly women, described him as a wicked man to have inflicted such punishment on his daughter.

“The incidence took place two Fridays ago, but a concerned neighbour who saw the state of the young girl, put across a distress call to the ministry. We responded immediately and rescued the girl and she is presently being treated in the hospital,” said Mrs. Alaba Fadairo, Director, Child Development, WAPA.

“We were surprised when we saw the girl. There were deep wounds on her body. Her father poured hot water on her private part. He said she licked soup from the pot. The girl said she was given N50 for the day and that she wanted to test if the soup was hot or not.

“The father first beat her with a wooden stick and told her stepmother to heat some water when the wife reported to him that he caught the girl stealing from the soup pot. It was that hot water he poured into a plastic and ordered her to put her hands inside.

“His wife also confirmed that he asked her to boil the water and after that, he asked the girl to put her hands inside the water, but she said at that juncture, her baby was crying and she had to go and nurse her baby and she didn’t know what transpired. This incident happened on Saturday, February 25, and we got to know about it last Thursday and went to save the girl,” she stated.

•Solarin Muyiwa

Fadairo said the government would prosecute the father over the incident as it violates the girl’s right under the Child Right’s law.

“We are at the stage of prosecution. We have passed the stage of prevention; this is the stage of prosecution,” she said.

When asked, the father of the girl, Muyiwa confessed that he poured water on his daughter’s private part, saying his intention was not to harm his daughter he had during his secondary school days.

“I just want to apologise about it. I did it in annoyance. I regret what I did and I just want to apologise. She has been stealing, but I did not mean to pour hot water on her, I just wanted to scare her with the water so that she will know the difference between good and bad. I did not know it would result in this. I am very sorry.

“I took her to Jobi Hospital after the incident. I never knew it will get so bad like that,” he stated.

Narrating how he got a baby while in secondary school, he said his relationship led to pregnancy, saying that the last time he saw the mother of his daughter was in 2005 and now he does not know her whereabouts.

Strangers In Your Homes

Beware of those you call friends and relatives that you invite into your homes. Rapist, serial killers, peadophiles etc don't have it inscribed on their foreheads. Especially when you have children, you need to be super alert and watch out for little changes in your kids.

Alot of Peadophiles are your best friends, relatives, inlaws, close friends and in a lot of cases, the PARENT and even the most trusted persons called the men of God eg pastors and clerics.

How a parent chooses to abuse their child is still shocking and unbelievably strange. Recently in Belize When a sodomized 14-year-old youth could no longer bear the mental anguish and physical pain caused by his abuser, an American national, he burst into tears and confessed to a close family friend what he had endured behind closed doors.

The peace and quiet that is felt in the village of Sarteneja - a relatively small community situated in the Corozal District and about 40 miles from Orange Walk Town - was shattered on Saturday, October 8, when the allegation surfaced that the American man, Bryan Sears, 35, had sodomized three teenaged brothers, one of whom was allegedly under his care.

Sears, a missionary from Somerset, Kentucky, has since appeared in the Corozal Magistrate’s court, where he was read charges of three counts of unnatural crime for allegedly having forcible sex with all three teens, ages 13, 14 and 16. Bail was not offered and Sears was remanded to prison.

On Saturday, at around 3:40 p.m., the three boys, accompanied by their mother, a Guatemalan fruit vendor, filed the report, which subsequently lead to Sears’ arrest. A medical examination ruled that all three minors had been sodomized.

There was a feeling of anger and betrayal when we arrived in Sarteneja Village. According to the three brothers, they had been sodomized on different occasions by a man who had made the village his home for several years now.

Sears had a reputable role in the community. Reportedly, in the fall of 2008, he came to Sarteneja, where he volunteered and served as counselor up until the summer of 2011. He also doubled as a Bible teacher and youth pastor of the Christian High School. Sears was additionally a pastor within one of the denominations in Sarteneja.

When we sat down with the mother of the boys, she told us how she had met Sears, and later, the pain of finding out that he had sodomized all three of her sons.

About a year ago, the mother had met Sears through her church. She said Sears appeared generous and said he could financially assist her with school expenses for one of the boys. He even provided his home computer if they needed to do homework.