By Olumide Kuti
It has been three years since the Nyanya bomb explosion. Brother Femi has forged his way into the military with the obsession of bringing to justice those who were responsible for the death of our parents in the blast.
It has been an excruciating twenty four months staying with Uncle Okoro, our old neighbor. Alienated and abuse beyond words, who am I to tell that one my brothers, who thinks he is our benefactor, took my virginity by inserting a cucumber into me. He drove it through me on that very day, saying he does not want to feel the guilt of taking something of pride from me.
I prayed every day for Brother Femi’s return. It’s been 18 months and I still haven’t heard a word from him. Words fall short at times like these when the world drives you to your knees. Today I finally got a letter and Brother Femi is coming home. Uncle okoro is scared, begs me to say nothing. Can I afford to keep silent?
The door opens and Brother Femi steps in. I should be happy to see him, at least, it’s what I have always wanted, but I was not. Even God knows, if I had pretended to be happy, the thunder that will fire me will come in the form of a Doctor’s prescription. I missed him every day, but it never seems like he did; because of that, I just stopped missing him.
“I need you to forgive me,” brother Femi pleaded. The moment I heard it was a need, I took advantage and said, “No”. That same night, the house was raided by those whose name I choose not to mention. They made Brother Femi watch them rape me, before putting two bullets in his brain, and with a sledge hammer, rendered Uncle Okoro’s manhood useless.
This horror, I shall now strap behind me like a backpack, as it molests me through life. Yet, I just have one match, one life. I just have to make something out of it, even If I cry through it, let me live.
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