Video: Sexual Abuse,13th Floor

“What kind of God will allow an innocent child, to be molested?”

“I’ve encountered years of molestation in addition to being beaten so badly I was unable to attend school for a week and a half.”

 “MissTerious Janette…ikz (pronounced mysterious genetics) is simply a young woman who is in love with Jesus Christ and has decided to use every gift He has given her for His glory. She has been performing music, poetry, and dance for over 15 years. She currently co-owns Zeneith Performing Arts and is an official P4CM POET. She has also taken part in sharing the word of God at many conferences and churches. By Gods grace, she has been featured on the cover of Testify Sister magazine and most recently featured on the cover of Spoken Vizions Magazine. She is a member of P4CM where she is currently serves as the Praise and Worship Leader. Her album is set to release this year.  Her ultimate goal is to keep the mind and heart of a servant!” – Source: http://www.mysteriousgenetics.com/bio.htm

Have a great Wednesday.

#VideoWednesday

Please Share.

P.S. Please, if you have any video you think should be shared with others and we can feature on our #VideoWednesday, please mail me at obafuntay@gmail.com

Thank you.

I just want to be normal. II

So, today we have Gbemisola, with the sequel of her short-story.

If you missed out on the yesterday’s post, you should read it here: I just want to be normal. by @Gbemisola_A before continuing with today’s post.

Enjoy.

alonewindowwomansilhouettegirlmorning-d428f4df58b35afcb10aa0618e157366_h

Pakistani weddings are so different. It all went so fast yet I went through it all in slow motion. First there was the proposal party which held at my ‘rented family’s’ house with my rented parents and siblings. Then came the engagement, I can’t even remember what happened or how it happened. After that was the Dholki, I liked this one, I got Henna all over my hands and legs and I thought it was pretty. After that was the Mehndi which I got even more Henna. Finally came the Shaadi, the wedding itself. Here I was, a young girl in her second year marrying a man who had overnight become a stranger to her and of course £500,000 richer than I was before it all. I guess this is pretty normal. I am now Mrs Vanessa Tauseef, my names don’t complement each other.
 
Now I spend most days just talking to myself in my room. ‘My husband’ hardly comes home. Spends most of his time with his true bride. The power of a British passport. Shahid Tauseef never loved me, he never even liked me, but he needed me, he needed me so desperately, I was the gateway to a better British life. I thought I was more to him but I was merely a pawn in his large game of chess. I was the ticket for his family and bride to come into the UK and be citizens as well. I would never forget the day he texted me to come out, I never should have gone, I remember clearly the words he said to me as we sat on the bench just outside my apartment building. “Vanessa, I know you care for me, and I need a favour. My student visa would run out and I have not been using it, I have been working, I need you to marry me so I can stay in the country, I know you’re a citizen and I know you care for me that much, you can’t afford to see me go, do you really want to lose me?’. I was so naive, so gullible, I saw the pain in his eyes and I was so utterly in love with this normal man that I agreed to do it. I didn’t want the money but his father insisted. It is a lot of money, I just couldn’t say no.
 
It’s been almost a year now, sadly the rules have changed in the UK, not only do you have to have proof of the whole marriage shenanigans, you also have to remain married for at least 10 years, remaining in the UK. ‘My husband’ wasn’t aware of all the rules but now that he knows he is terribly bitter. He carries out his anger on me, he blames me for all of it, he beats me, insults me, deprives me of dignity and altogether demeans me. The one person in my life I thought was normal was one of the most abnormal people I had ever met in my life, this was why I knew I had to do something.
 
It felt good returning all the money to Shahid’s father. It felt even better turning myself in to the police and telling them all I had done, I knew deep down somewhere in me that purchasing a gun and doing what I had in mind wouldn’t have helped me,I felt liberated and at peace this way and I could move on with my life. What I didn’t expect was ending up in the same mental clinic with my mother for severe bipolar disorder and Major depression disorder. 
 
Well here I am now, again on a search for normalcy, but what exactly is normal? Is it perfection or is it a word made up in our minds that makes us somehow part of a wider vast system, and gives us a feeling of involvement? Is it that thing that differentiates a functional family from one that isn’t? What exactly is it? I ask myself everyday. All I wanted was a mother to love, a father to look up to and a life to look forward to.
 
Well I guess I’ll never know what ‘normal’ is.

@ezi1nne’s Letter

Welcome to the second project on obafuntaydotcom, The Letter to my unborn child project. If you missed the preview, you can view it here, just so you have an idea what we are up to, as much as the project title, speaks for itself.

Ever thought of writing a letter? Better still, a letter to your unborn child?

What would you name him/her? Why not give your unborn child a name now and write him/her a letter? Yes! Right now! Doesn’t sound like a bad idea to me.

What do you think?

Today, we’d be reading Ezinne’s letter.

Hang in there.

Olamide's Letter.

Ezinne’s Letter.

My Little One,

Your arrival has been long anticipated, if by none, by me

For my bosom swells with the words I have harboured for a lifetime

I hoped to tell the story myself, but I’d rather you read

For in writing, I have poured the misery of my pent soul on a blank sheet. A clean slate. My heart’s desire.

I loved. I loved a man. He loved himself

I lost my heart. He lost himself

He was my passion. Misdirected passion is death. I died a thousand times

He was my thousand pasts, my infinite future

But he lost himself. Nowhere, just in himself

He was the cordage holding the pieces of my heart, for the heart never breaks even

He was my heart in the whole, but he lost himself

Then I was certain that I’d never understand, until it was broken. I was broken

And in gathering the fragments of me, I began to understand

That to love a man, is to love yourself

And to give love to a man, you must give love to yourself

For you cannot give what you do not have.

I amassed what was left of me, and so perceived

That man is a judge, this plague, his sense of security

The finding of fault in another, his haven

So I learnt never to compromise, for in surrendering I condemned myself

I revelled in this understanding, (for I’d be judged by my actions) as wisdom, I’d heard, is supreme

As I regained what was left of my broken womanhood, I began to understand

The need to speak and let myself be heard of the world

Not just speak, but bespeak with apprehension and timeliness

For the difference between the wise and the fool is in knowing when to speak

I understood the need to find strength, a succor for my will

To stand for what I believed in, for if you stand for nothing, you fall for everything

And then you lose respect; respect is given to the man who merits it

My helpless enervation helped me know never to trust in man

For even man cannot trust him self

And in trusting no one, never to play the fool, the need for cutesy no matter

For I have come to know and revel in the knowledge that God loves ugly

The distraction of outer beauty I abhor, as a lesson I have learned from experience

In the catacombs of my misery I revered the sweet stench of truth

To hold independence as a scythe, and hardwork as a buffer

To stay disappointments from putrid promises made by man

An ever dynamic fragment of reality, capable of showing hell and heaven in one heartbeat

And between these two realities, a negligible chasm of honesty

Which is paramount in life, for an honest man is God’s noblest handwork

Through the darkness and fear, the whispers of lingering shadows of regret

In myself I found hope, for I yet lived, though none too gloriously

I compared myself to no one for no two people have exactly the same capabilities

God is creative you know

I amassed a wealth of endurance in hardships and patience in tribulation

Revering the prize I was worth, of laughter, of life, of love.

Love

The cordage binding man to woman, woman to child, child to friend

Making foes of friends and friends of foes

I had loved and lost and loved again

With the my broken shards of misery I vowed never to let innocence make me vulnerable

For I know beasts crave the innocent, my unguarded heart, their victual

As the worldly man craves the gullible, her ignorance, his bludgeon

I learned never to betray my happiness in seeking unrequited love

For love solicits not just one’s happiness, but the welfare and contentment of the one loved

I vowed to give the love around for karma was now my companion

I knew my heart was gold and he who will earn the broken pieces

Must bear battle scars, the epitome of mine, in giving and in forgiving

I have come to discover the evil days

The days when I look in the mirror and am a stranger to myself

But my woes are well spent, for I know now, that I am a stranger to my past

For in finding these new virtues I found myself

I found the stubborn kindness in me and honed it with discipline and perseverance

For I know of wolves who take advantage of kindness, selfishness is their burden

But this couldn’t change me, only if the change wrought development

In this did I know that my fragile soul whispered at every phase

For angels that may never come, as they feared the darkness in my heart

Do not despair, this strangeness, for there is no strangeness without beauty.

My Little One, I have reproduced a refined me in you

That you may learn these and more at my feet as you will feed from my bosom

Beauty, wisdom, hardwork and the light of the mind

I picked the pieces of my heart and stood up straight

No longer afraid of the dark, no longer in shame

No longer loathe to exhibit the illuminative excellence of my mind

My mind is my beauty and beauty should be left unscarred

A scar is a memory and memories should last forever

I have loved and lost, I have built and have been broken

But despite all I come unscathed

I will love again, I will love anew

I will love. I will love you.

Your mother,
Ezinne Onyeka.

• • •

A PENNY FOR YOUR THOUGHTS?

You can send in your own written letters to obafuntay@gmail.com

You can subscribe to the blog (at the right column to follow the project, if you are viewing with your mobile, just scroll to the end of this page to subscribe)

I just want to be normal. by @Gbemisola_A

My name is Gbemi and I write short stories and not-so-short stories among many other things, I’ve been given a chance to write for Obafuntaydotcom and here’s a little something I finally found time to come up with.
Hope you like it.
alonewindowwomansilhouettegirlmorning-d428f4df58b35afcb10aa0618e157366_h
 
My name is Vanessa Folusaye and I believe I’m normal. To be honest I can’t exactly determine what normal really is neither can I explain it. You see, I didn’t really grow up like the rest; I didn’t have a loving father who was affectionate with his kids, neither did I have a mother who was quick to discipline or offer any sort of reprimand. I lived through complete opposites. My father had ‘tough love’, what he saw as befitting compassion was rewarding us with two single hard sweets and sometimes a pat on the head with a straight face and a look that said, you’re worth nothing to me (I think I was the only one that saw that though). No special ceremony. Nothing. I had 2 brothers, one above and one below, you would think with three kids we would at least be a conventional family. My mother on the other hand was different, she would shower us with gifts, spoil us beyond our wildest thoughts and not once would she condemn anything we did. 
 
Here I am completely disillusioned with the world in general. I don’t know about my brothers, we all got sent away to different boarding schools after my mum was diagnosed with raging Schizophrenia. We should have known, no normal human being would hug and kiss a child for breaking sliding glass doors. My father would rather have his head cut off than look after teenage children, so we had no choice, we had to separate. I wasn’t bothered, I never knew my brothers. We all had the same problem, I was convinced that boys weren’t meant to show emotions of any sort and girls were meant to be overly loving and compassionate to everything, things got worse when they became the overly compassionate ones and I became the introverted disconnected one. I was sent to a school in the UK and that was where I spent my formative years.
 
My first year in university was just as you would expect a first year in university to be. I rarely got talked to because I didn’t seem approachable, I went for classes regularly, went out when I felt like and was starting to acquire a greater sense of normalcy. Then it finally came.
 
His name was Shahid Tauseef. He was the most good-looking man I had ever seen and he was so different from my father, he was sweet and compassionate, but not as extreme as my brothers. He came up to me in the café and just sat there for a while, before I could place my thoughts together we were conversing like old friends who hadn’t seen in years. It was very refreshing and that was the moment I finally felt normal, I felt human, I felt like a girl. 
 
Shad as I called him would take me around school, around the town where our school was located, soon it was to neighboring towns and cities and then we were travelling together, seeing the world together. I had fallen for this Pakistani boy who one day decided to sit next to me. It felt so wonderful. I knew he was feeling the same way, he just had to, from the light kisses on my cheek ‘by accident’ to holding my hands when visiting the chateau de Chambord in France or pulling me close when walking through Castel Sant’Angelo in Rome.
 
I knew, or thought I knew what was coming when he asked me to meet his family. His mum kept saying how I looked the part with my fair skin and long hair with big beautiful eyes and sweet pouty lips. His dad would say I acted just right and he was glad, I never understood what they were saying, I thought they were complements. I was none the wiser.
 
On this beautiful Sunday morning, I woke up with a start as I felt my phone vibrate beside my pillow, it was a text from Shad saying I should meet him downstairs in 30 minutes. I thought this was it, he was going to ask me to date him and have a relationship.
Boy was I in for a shock…
_____________________________________________________________
Second half of this story, continues tomorrow: 4pm

 

My womb is damaged. by @Delia_Maraj

tumblr_mmpdcaTX2b1rczby5o1_500

An empty vessel;

That’s what I’ve been feeling like since I learnt that I could never have children.

My womb was damaged, they said.

Only, it’s not just my womb. It’s me.

I’m a damaged woman.

I will never be able to do the one thing I grew up looking forward to.

I will never feel the joy of holding my own baby to my chest.

I will never look at anybody and think “I birthed that one”

That joy in calling someone mine and knowing;

That indeed, they are mine.

Growing up as an only child, I always wanted a daughter

I yearned for the days when I’d relieve my youth days to her

And make sure she learnt from my mistakes

Those days will never come now

I don’t need your pity

I’ve had enough of that.

I saw it in the doctor’s eyes as he broke the bad news to me

That rainy afternoon, five years ago.

The day I last felt any form of happiness

I see it in my mother’s eyes, she’s heartbroken too

She’ll never have a grandchild; poor woman.

But I see it most in the eyes of my husband

Though he tries to hide it from me

I see that look in his eyes each time he sees a child

Many nights he held me while I cried and begged him to leave me

I’d say to him ‘go and have children with someone else, mike,

I’m the barren one’ and he’d just hold me silently until I fell asleep.

He is my strength; I’d never have gone through this without him.

Maybe in the near future when we are emotionally balanced,

We’d consider adoption.

Until then…

Let’s give a moment to those women that can never bear children…

And to the husbands that stick by their wives regardless of their inabilities to have children.

@Delia_Maraj

……………………………………………………………………………………………………….

Although this is fictionally written, we cannot deny the fact that there are married women going through this same perplexity and feeling of void, who have not been able to birth children over time, after a perceived ‘okay’ number of years, who are stigmatized as the family outcast. There have been cases of the husband going ahead to take in a second wife usually with the backing of his family all in the bid to keep the family name going, at least that’s the excuse they seem to all use.

So, #QuickQuestion 1: Why are we always so quick to think it’s the woman at fault and usually never think it’s the man who can’t groom perfect swimmers? Or the one who just keep shooting blanks?

#QuickQuestion 2: What next for a couple who can’t have children on their own doing?

Please use the comment box.

@duchesskk’s letter

Welcome to the second project on obafuntaydotcom, The Letter to my unborn child project. If you missed the preview, you can view it here, just so you have an idea what we are up to, as much as the project title, speaks for itself.

Ever thought of writing a letter? Better still, a letter to your unborn child?

What would you name him/her? Why not give your unborn child a name now and write him/her a letter? Yes! Right now! Doesn’t sound like a bad idea to me.

What do you think?

Today, we’d be reading Karo’s letter.

Hang in there.

Karo's Letter

Karo’s Letter

A LETTER TO THE UNBORN BABY DUCHESS….

My darling daughter,

I can already tell you will light up my world. Every day I look forward to the day you will finally be in arms. You may be nameless for a few weeks after your birth because I won’t be able to find a sentence to qualify you.

First off my prayer for you is good health, seeing as you are my first child; I need you to be strong for the rest of your siblings.

I cannot wait for you to wrap your little fingers around my thumb, or bite on my nipple while I breast feed.

I’m enlivened with thoughts of your laugh or your cries, your first bicycle wound, your first fight at school, your first best friend and our first fight.

Every day I work so hard knowing that one day you and your siblings will be here, you need to have all that you need to have the kind of functional childhood your grandparents gave me. I assume that you will be a ‘mini me ‘, hopefully ten times more God fearing and five times more good looking.

As you may have noticed, your daddy is an amazing man, or we won’t be married now. I know you will be a daddy’s girl like I was and eventually when I have your brother we will have our own clique. When you finally come here you will hopefully meet me as hyperactive as I am now. So I can teach you how to play basketball and maybe squash. I won’t force you but I am sure you will be a tomboy like I was earlier, this is a good thing, you have the rest of your life to be a proper lady (it’s boring).

I can’t wait to dress you up. I look forward to watching you evolve too. I know you will be a stunner; I’m already beaming with pride. My girl, school work is a big deal, You need to do well in school, but this I say to you, If you have any positive non academic talents I will support you 100%. You are a star, don’t be self absorbed but do not ever be worried about being perfect, in our eyes you are perfect.

I can’t wait to read you stories and tell you of the great people that lived before your time. And when you see all the fruits of my labor, I will tell you stories of the great Madiba and how his life inspired me when I was less than 10 years old.

Music is huge; I cannot wait to hear the kind of music that your generation will hype. I look forward to telling you “no” when you want to go for your first party. Lol. My mum did it to me, I’m sorry girl, and I shall do the same rant all you want.

DATING: The thought of this worries me; I hope you can wait till you are 30 to have your first kiss or first boyfriend. I’m sorry I’m exaggerating but I know that like your father, I wouldn’t want to see you hurt. I must admit there are wonderful men out there, like your daddy. You may see us showing affection and being mushy all around the house, we are in love and hopefully would always be.

You would eventually be a teen, maybe a stubborn one as I was and we would fight but amidst all of this I want you to know, you are incredible. Having a child is special, I’m sure you would have yours AT THE RIGHT TIME.

I have learned so many things about life, the most important being: I am no one without God, if you understand this early enough your life will be a thousand times better than mine. Life is short, live it to the fullest, if you want something and you believe it in your heart, go for it. Baby, I know I have said all these, but do not give me a heart attack.

My pearl, you will come to notice that your mummy is a worrier; please do not pick up this habit. Live your life to the fullest, make your mistakes, grow up but please let’s never stop being best friends.

I plan to have many kids, biological and adopted but I want you to know that no matter how many kids come into our lives my love for you remains the same, undiluted. I’m sure charity will be a huge part of your life, as it is mine; I shall not force you though.

I am a non- conformist and I plan to change the world, if I mistakenly leave any stone unturned, I trust that you will turn it for me, for in you I see a better me.

I could go on and on, but I will stop here. Thanks for being a gift to me and the world. I really hope the world is ready for your awesomeness.

Love you baby.

 

• • •

A PENNY FOR YOUR THOUGHTS?

You can send in your own written letters to obafuntay@gmail.com

You can subscribe to the blog (at the right column to follow the project, if you are viewing with your mobile, just scroll to the end of this page to subscribe)

The other side of thoughts

I have a long flight ahead of me. Pleased at the chances I will get to cut corners, I gleefully anticipate my trip to oblivion.

stock-footage-man-walking-on-a-country-road-red-tint

They say its game over; I beg to differ, the game only just begun. Numerous opportunities still lie in our paths to concede goals and lose even more glory. Oh the joy of pessimism! Freeing you from the throes of disappointment! You can’t dampen my spirits! Too late my spirits are already in a puddle! How can you make me depressed when you already met me in that state? The intoxicating sense of power over myself grips me, ha! Nobody can ruffle my feathers, he who is down need fear no fall.

CrazyOldMan

Have you noticed that there is something quite happy about depression? In the smug satisfaction that comes with pitying yourself? In the blameless piety involved in blaming others for your problems? Oh the joy of being guilt free.
Why do you laugh at the madman? Don’t you realize he has been emancipated from the mind boggling frustrations of sanity? No wonder he is so happy! You must be mad to hold on so desperately to your sanity. Ha ha ha ha!

article-2204305-150CAB56000005DC-942_634x453

Why weep at death? Staring at the empty shell that once contained your loved one. What happened to the belief that he is in a better place and can be hurt no more? Is it doubt that makes us hang on so tightly to our existence? Attempting to delay our trip to the other side of breath! I wonder. I gaze into their eyes and I see their frustration, struggling for relevance in a sea of irrelevance! Striving to attain greatness by embracing mediocrity! Scurrying around in a rat race, gathering shiny jewels and trinkets only to lose them all on their final trip.
I stand alone, watching! The lone wolf amused at the futility of their struggles. Though as lost as they are, I choose to stand still till I find the road map with directions to redemption.

But how do I find if I do not seek? All certainly is vanity!

Minolta DSC

The idiocy of war! I disagree with you, so I’ll send some of my sons over for you to kill; in exchange we kill some of your sons. It then boils down to the smarter party losing when he realizes he cannot afford to lose anymore sons! While the stupid victor gloats over his willingness to throw more life away! Three cheers for the outstanding victor! Hurray! It can be summarized thus, war is young men dying and old men talking.

moonlight_desktop_1680x1050_hd-wallpaper-1097473 (1)

Lovers necking in the moonlight! Neither aware of the niggling doubts in the other’s heart, neither aware that in the next minute all the warm fuzzy feelings would be replaced with harsh animosity. It is funny that in a relationship the person who cares less wields more power, but isn’t it the vulnerability in caring that is the very essence of the relationship?

I gaze at the meadows the beauty of d flowers, the fluttering butterflies and a wry smile touches my lips as a small child grabs a butterfly and stuffs it in a jar. What is captivating shall be made captive, what is ravishing shall be ravished. It is the very nature of man that makes him destroy all that is beautiful in his path.

Written by @Yholar

@nzurixnzuri’s letter

Welcome to the second project on obafuntaydotcom, The Letter to my unborn child project. If you missed the preview, you can view it here, just so you have an idea what we are up to, as much as the project title, speaks for itself.

Ever thought of writing a letter? Better still, a letter to your unborn child?

What would you name him/her? Why not give your unborn child a name now and write him/her a letter? Yes! Right now! Doesn’t sound like a bad idea to me.

What do you think?

Today, we’d be reading Bunmi’s letter.

Hang in there.

Victoria's Letter

Bunmi’s Letter

Dear daughter,

For a little girl with eyes wide shut and arms wide open as these words inundate her very being.

Like arrows in the hand of a mighty man, this little girl is mine
This little girl is a part of me

Smiling in your sleep,I wonder what makes you smile so
Is my little angel dreaming?
Is she dreaming of happy places and thinking happy thoughts?

Your eyes flutter open
And you smile at me
Your smile warms my heart like thermal socks on an English winter night
And I tell you this feeling right here is a genesis older than the big bang

Looking into your eyes, I smile back
Lighting up like a thousand fireflies,
Your beautiful brown eyes are as pure as the driven snow
Eyes filled with all the innocence and curiosity that comes with being a new-born
I see that curiosity in your eyes,
Like Dora my little angel is eager to take on the world
This meretricious world you’re so eager to explore is evil and cold

Darling daughter you are not grey, yellow or beige
Your skin is the color of your father’s joy and your mother’s love
Despite what society and television tell you, hard work, sincerity and honesty are more important than the price of your handbag or red-soled shoes.

When you are up to your knees in disappointment
When, planning your crucifixion,
Life pins you from side
When you’re overwhelmed
Baby,you don’t have to bear it all on own
I have no red cape but baby girl I’d be your Supermom
I’d always have comfort food for those days when the glitter fades,
And you feel torn and dejected.
We’d eat popcorn and chocolates
Watch reruns of Friends
And most importantly take it to the Lord in prayer

Do not fret darling child
Like the sand welcomes the ocean,
He’s always there to receive you in his arms.
When you feel you’re not good enough Remember God made you good enough.
Don’t you dare forget, you are the strongest creature to exist, you’re His masterpiece
You have the light to fight the darkness
Don’t you dare forget!
He made you beautiful!
He made you unique!

Dear daughter,
Have big dreams
Invest in your mind
Read far and wide,
For indeed,
The secrets to this world
Are found,
Where pen and paper confluence
Be grateful for everything you have
And everyone you meet.
Like Barak on that cold January morning As he made history,
Dear daughter stand tall and proud. Fashion your arms like airplanes
And say to yourself…

“I AM PRICELESS”!

• • •

A PENNY FOR YOUR THOUGHTS?

N.B. The project continues on monday, with @ObaFuntAy’s letter.

You can send in your own written letters to obafuntay@gmail.com

You can subscribe to the blog (at the right column to follow the project, if you are viewing with your mobile, just scroll to the end of this page to subscribe)