Ebele Ubaka - Personal Blog

In commemoration of the International Girl Child today, this post is for new mothers and fathers.

So, I’m stating categorically that I am a heterosexual lady.

I was exposed to lesbianism at a young age.

Precisely age 5.

I was in nursery 3 at the time.

Yeah, you will be shocked that I can actually remember what happened to me at that age, but it set off a life-altering experience in me.

I was a bubbly, bright little girl. Sharp, fearless, and outspoken.

I lost all that confidence.

It all started in the year 1996. I was only 5 years old. I attended a nursery school at the time and I had lost all my front teeth.

I couldn’t remember much about my life before then, but I remember their faces. Same class, same age bracket.

There were 3 of them. 3 young girls.

My father was a very strict man. He wouldn’t tolerate any misbehaviour from his children and being the first child meant that you took a lot of the testing phase for parenting; good or bad.

I lived in fear of both my father at home and the 3 young girls in school.

I hated going to school, but, refusing to go to school would earn you lots of cane strokes all over your body.

No matter how much I cried, I still had to go to school.

And so with low spirits and high fears, I went to school every day.

My parents were lecturers and they had to get to their own school on time which meant that I came to school quite early.

I walked into the classroom, hoping that our class teacher would have come to school but alas, it’s always me and the 3 young girls.

There were always a couple of other students in the class, but they couldn’t do much in the area of helping me.

So it was that every day, when I walked into that classroom, I would be cornered and taken to the back of the class.

I was made to raise up my pinafore gown and pull down my panties and the girls would derive pleasure from pulling and pinching my nipples as well as inserting their fingers into my vagina while I endured pain, crying and begging them to stop.

I was required to quickly cover up once our teacher walked into the classroom. They threatened to beat me up if I ever spoke up or told anyone about them and their act.

The school year continued until we finished nursery 3.

A new school year began in the year 1997, in the month of September. I was overjoyed when the news came to me that I was to resume the next school section in a new school.

It was an expensive school in that area and only the children of the neighbourhood elites could afford it. I prayed every day that those girls would never come to my new school.

I ran into them during errands around the neighbourhood but it was easy to evade them as we were no longer in the same school.

I woke up to terrible nightmares from fear caused by those girls. I couldn’t tell anyone and the fear already crippled my confidence.

I used to sing in church, in front of an adult audience, but I gradually started withdrawing from public events.

In 1999, I enrolled in a school debating competition. During my presentation, I lost my wit and began stuttering until I forgot my words.

I haven’t been able to pick up courage for public speaking ever since and no one knew and no one could help me.

I don’t know how long the nightmares lasted until I was exposed to another sexual abuse in primary 3, at age 8.

This was from a relative. I mustered courage and told our house girl at the time.

She believed me and told me what to do. I became vigilant to protect myself.

By age 15, I was sexually harassed by holiday school teachers. I was beaten for refusing to attend the holiday lessons.

I started hating men, and I saw nothing good about them.

I became harsh to both genders alike because I saw them in the same light.

I had questions but didn’t know who to ask.

So, I read anything and everything my eyes could see that had to do with sex, and by the time I was 18 years old, I knew things I shouldn’t know for my age.

I had learned to be on my own to protect myself. To be within just my space.

One pastor said, “You have known things even your own mother doesn’t know about and had therefore become somebody else in the spirit”.

That scared me.

I knew I appeared innocent except for my resting bitch face, but I was also aware that I wasn’t myself anymore.

I cried and prayed, I was lost.

I entered University with that mental struggle. It affected my behaviour even in relationships.

I feared being controlled and refused any change. I was not tolerant of people or welcoming or accommodating.

I was content being on my own.

I waddled through until I knew I had to make a change.

I made that decision in 2020.

I didn’t know where to start until I got an email, from a global community of women who helped each other.

I unburdened in that group until I was spent.

I started by forgiving, then I talked to people, and then gradually I’m healing.

I consciously started developing healthier friendships and exposing myself to business.

I became genuinely interested in people and sharing what I know with them.

I still struggle to remember names and faces and details of what we shared during a one-time discussion, please bear with me.

Do I still have those ug.ly memories of my experiences?

Yes, of course.

But the pain is lesser and that’s why I can confidently share this with you.

I still don’t have the confidence level I want to attain in terms of public speaking but it’s building up.

To young parents in these times, watch your children. Take note of changes, and be mindful of them. Be less judgemental.

Have proper discussions with them, and share stories. Let nothing be out of scope in what you can discuss with your children.

Don’t assume that they are too small and will not understand. Once they show an iota of interest, bring out the table and chair.

When you want to teach sex education, call penis by its name and not “ifedi”.

When I remember the story of that boy who got killed in a boarding school (Dowen College), it reminded me of me.

One of the stories circulating about that boy alleged that a few days to the day he was to resume school, having been at home for the holiday period without saying a word, he weakly requested for his school to be changed.

I cried because he would have been saved only if the parents could hear that weeping child begging to be helped.

Take care of your children. SOS. Save their Soul.

Happy International Girl Child Day.

#SOS