By Jonathan Oluwatosin O
At today’s gathering, Nadia recited a poem that ended with “…its okay to say that my Step Dad didn’t rape me, my Mother did!”. Palms were jammed in applause to the alluring words.
Benediction and everyone was dismissed. If only they knew that a prayer point had earlier stood behind a mic; telling her own story. But it is poetry right? Another Poet perfectly puts words down that addresses an issue that was already growing into being a cliché
The day before, Nadia told her mother of the things done to her by her Stepfather. Her mother replied “you know happy say we don dey see food chop, no tell anyone abeg”.
Nadia returned that night, made her way to their bedroom and wasted no time in calling judgement upon her defiler. Her mother was next, and no begging did spare her a bullet.
I stood faintly behind her, hoping I was much more than her shadow; so I could stretch my hands to cease the gun. I screamed, but it was all but silent yells.
Gently, she guided her shaky hands to her head; with the gun pointing just above her ear, smiling, she pulled the trigger.