Vulnerability and Strength

Toby (1) — By Tobenna from Nigeria


The streets of Lagos are notorious for one too many reasons. 
I got caught in a web of one, and this is my story.

A year ago on a sunny afternoon, I left for a nearby bank on an errand to make some deposits. As I was walking, still a few paces from my destination, a little boy caught my attention. I made mental guesses of what his age could be, then settled for 8. Eight years old. He looked ragged, and in the air around him was a stench. My conscience pricked me upon seeing him head my way, making gestures with his hands, asking for help. I had nothing more than my transportation fares and the exact amount to be deposited at the bank.
He looked weak. By his appearance it was clear he needed immediate attention and bouts of love. Going against the urge in my heart to run from this scenario that could get me into trouble, I made efforts to engage the little man in a discussion, in order to get information with which I could work. I made several attempts, but what became evident was he didn’t seem to understand the English I spoke. Making a few utterances in Yoruba, which is the language of the people of western Nigeria, it was obvious that I needed someone who could help translate what the boy tried to get across to me. I desperately wanted to help this boy. A day could hardly go by without a headline in a leading newspaper reporting cases of missing children who hadn’t returned home…one to two years later. 
“This could be an opportunity to save a mother’s heart from pain” I thought to myself. With this, I forged ahead with renewed diligence to do all I could to get this young man to safety. 
I then looked around for a passerby who ‘looked’ Yoruba, but seeing that this wasn’t working, I made for the kiosk of a food vendor [who I had heard seconds ago, speak over the phone] with the little man, introducing myself and the situation at hand. To this she obliged and even offered the boy a free plate of white rice and stew. 
As he ate, she initiated a conversation with him and it appeared that our man was a long way from home. Then it occurred to me that taking him to the nearest police station would be a good decision to take. 
And as we were walking to the police station, we were stopped by some mean looking street thugs who demanded to know where I was taking the little boy to. Surprised by their confrontation, I narrated the whole story to them, but to my greatest surprise, I was accused of kidnap, right before my very eyes.

“…The streets of Lagos are notorious for one too many reasons.”
The group of four morphed into one who was over twenty, agitated, and fixing mean gazes at me -the type given to people accused of kidnap, guilty, or not. Each man threw questions at me. Questions that I failed to answer, because I had become numb from the situation and the feeling that I had been caught in the web of one of these notorious situations. 
I stood there with tears flowing down my reddened cheeks, not knowing what to say and watching people chant, “Ole! Kidnapper!!” 
This continued until an imam present amongst the crowd quieted them, then asked me to explain myself with regards to the accusations leveled against me, which I did with the last bit of strength left in my mind and body. 
After taking in my account and thinking for a moment, he concluded that I had done nothing wrong to deserve what I was being put through. He then asked that I be allowed away from the location to where I had to go to. 
It was dramatic as I walked through the crowd to board a commercial motorcycle, and as we rode, it dawned on me that I had been a victim of false accusation. 
The little man was planted to attack vulnerable ones such as me.

He wasn’t so little after all, when I saw him amidst familiar faces two weeks later.


The Strength of Womanhood

Picture1 — By Ejiro from Nigeria

It was the second week in December 1953, warming up for the Christmas celebrations. Daniel and Dorris welcomed their baby girl called Caroline. Daniel was a very handsome man, held a chieftaincy title in his community, and had four wives. Dorris was the second of his wives and he loved her dearly. Unlike other female children at that time, Caroline was fortunate to acquire an education. Daniel was educated and believed education was the legacy any parent could give to their child, regardless of being male or female. As such, all Daniel’s children attended school and attained different levels of education. He was well to do, and provided all thirty-seven of his children with all the pleasures of life.

Caroline was one of Daniel’s favourite children. She was very petite in size but very beautiful. She was soft spoken, brilliant, and loved to study, hence capturing the heart of her father. Caroline completed her A-Levels in a teaching profession and had plans of furthering to the University. She met Clement, a young medical surgeon who had just returned from abroad. He too was tall, handsome, eloquent, and most importantly, very intelligent, which was what captivated Caroline. They fell in love and Clement proposed marriage. He promised Caroline that she would complete her education from his house, as his wife. Blinded by love, with so much trust, she accepted and they got married. She was much envied by her family and friends. She had it all, married to a rich, handsome, highly educated man. Also to add, Clement was the only man  who owned a Jaguar car which was the latest at the time. This was every woman’s dream!

Then reality struck and this bed was not one of roses as Caroline imagined. Her seemingly perfect life gradually began to turn ugly. Her dream of furthering her education was aborted with childbearing and other wifely responsibilities. In addition, she also had to deal with Clement’s frequent anger tantrums, verbal and emotional abuses, and hatred for her family. He never let them visit. She lost everything: her dreams of education, her friends, her loving family, and herself in its entirety. All efforts to maintain peace in this home proved abortive. The last straw that broke the camel’s back was having to share her husband with two other women. Clement married two other wives and life became even worse. She was eventually thrown out of the house heavily pregnant. Clement refused to take her back and that was the end of this unpleasant journey which started radiantly. Caroline who used to be full of smiles, calm, and very charming had evolved into a very sad, gloomy, and unhappy woman with no hope for the future. She was only thirty-one years old at the time.

She swore to never give Clement the last laugh. She gave birth to a set of twin girls and had three girls in total for Clement.

Leaving the children with her mother, when they turned one-year old, Caroline moved to the Northern part of the country with her elder sister. She was determined to rebuild her life and create a better future for her girls. She took back her children and began raising them herself. Enduring so many hardships, from losing her only son to the lack of basic needs like befitting clothes and so on. She opened a small grocery store where she sold fruits, food stuff, and other items. This phase of Caroline’s life she hated so much, because she had to struggle at the farmers’ market to buy her products for the grocery store. This was not the life she envisaged for herself.

Nevertheless, she kept looking forward with so much optimism and support from her family, who never abandoned her at this trying time. Eventually, some ray of light!!! Caroline secured a job with the State’s Civil Service using her A-levels degree, which meant better income and a befitting quality of life for her and her children. She worked there for several years. In pursuit of her dream, at age fifty Caroline enrolled in a university to pursue a degree in Accountancy along with her girls, who were now grown. She graduated the same year as her second daughter, and proceeded to attain a professional certification as a chartered accountant. At fifty-seven, not only was Caroline a chartered accountant, but all her girls were graduates too.

Today, all three of her girls are Masters degree holders and established women in different walks of life. Her oldest daughter is married with two girls also. Caroline like so many women in Africa, weathered the storm with determination, hard work, and indeed God’s grace. She changed the gloomy story of her life to one of motivation for her girls, other women in Africa, and the world at large.

I am indeed very proud to be one of the daughters of this great and courageous woman, my role model and inspiration. She continues to inspire me in the work I do today.

I respect the labour of womanhood and the strength that lies therein. Promoting and protecting the rights of women is my life-long vision and commitment. I believe every woman deserves to live their dreams!

This blog post is also featured on, a website “for the Nigerian woman, by Nigerian women.”

The Last Day of an Abusive Relationship

–By Tsafack Olive from Cameroon

It was a Friday evening, the day had been very quiet. I was visiting my friend Nina earlier during the day. I told her about my worries regarding academics, and also the fact that I had to travel in one week’s time, but how I was afraid my state of health would not enable me to. After about three hours, I left and went for a walk before coming back. Never could I imagine the turning point my life would take later that evening. I had been in that relationship for three years, and the feeling of despair was taking over. 

I had really tried to keep things going, but for more than 4 weeks now, I was thinking there was no need to continue. My boyfriend Steve was a medical doctor, about seven years older than me. After his shift that day, he met me over at Nina’s place. We spent a nice time chatting and laughing with my other friends for more than an hour. Later on, I had to see him off and Nina came along. On our way, I reminded him of the fact that I would be travelling in a week, and he replied aggressively, “I have told you, I don’t want you to travel for that seminar.” When I asked why, he replied, “Because I’ve said so, you don’t need to know why and if you insist on travelling, be aware, that will be the end of our relationship.” I was surprised and asked myself why?

Meanwhile we continued talking and I explained how important it was for me to attend the seminar for my projects. He kept on insisting, vividly, without any good reason, when finally I replied, “In that case, I’m ready to see this relationship end because I am determined to go.” And all of a sudden, it happened, that evening in front of Nina and others passing by, I was slapped and brutalised by the individual I called my boyfriend. It happened so rapidly, in a matter of seconds, that I couldn’t dodge the attack. When I finally got his hands off me, I rushed home immediately. After walking for about 3 minutes, on the ground appeared a shadow, it was Steve chasing me. “Oh my God,” I thought. I started running so fast, and as I was running this thought came to my mind: “Run for your life, because if he catches you, you are dead.” My speed increased incredibly, and after a little while I jumped on a bike, and without giving my destination to the driver, I told him, “Please go with me, or I’m dead,” and the biker did as I said.

Upon reaching home where I was safe, I realized what had just happened to me, what has happened to 1 in 3 women in their lifetime, violence against women. What was really bothering me was that this was the second time. I had the possibility to leaving the first time but I didn’t. I had hundreds of signs; Steve was constantly belittling and looking down on me. This was the result. My dress was torn and my face swollen. Not only was there physical damage and public disgrace, but I was mad at myself because this could have been avoided. But when all my anger was cooled, I said thank God because the most important thing was that I was still alive. I have heard, read, and seen thousands of stories like this, but most of those women were either severely wounded, hospitalized, or even killed.

This incident shaped my whole life unexpectedly. Today, I have used this story to inspire other women to free themselves from violence before it is too late. I am stronger than ever and since then, I dedicate my time to empowering other girls and women who suffer from gender-based violence of all sorts. It’s possible to get out of there, to recover from the physical and the psychological abuses, regain self-confidence, move on with your life, and become a happy and peaceful individual. But to have peace and happiness, you have to forgive, forgive because grudges will never let you go on. 

Two months later, he called me and said he was sorry, that he wanted me back. He added, “I thought you were cheating on me,” and I answered, “I have forgiven you for my own wellbeing, and for the sake of peace, it’s better we stay away from each other.” Honestly, I had never been as happy with him as I am today without him. In such cases, we always have signs, but we refuse to see them, out of interests or feelings most of the time. Relationships are essential in life, but happiness and inner peace are priceless.

A Stand Against Oppression

Abdulmumin (1)

— By Abdulmu’min from Nigeria

It was back in high school some years ago, on the Lagos Island of Lagos State, Nigeria. We had finished prep class, and it was around 9:50 pm on Tuesday night, in the boys-only high school in which four different houses: red, yellow, blue, and green, served as the major difference in the lifestyles of the boys.

We were in our finals, and as the most senior students in the school, we had every other thing going easy. We usually had our whites sparkling, well ironed out such that it could tear one’s skin. Every student had to respect our seniority, those were the benefits of being a senior class student, except of course for the tight schedule of having to prepare for the senior school exams. Everyone barely had time to do other chores, so we had to do those chores after prep class, which usually ended at 9:30 pm leaving us with just 30 minutes before lights-out.

Lately we had been complaining about our stuff going missing from the large building which the final year students of the four houses occupied as dormitories. Every dormitory contained bunk beds, arranged in rows and columns, and locker rooms to keep some of our belongings. We had started to blame each other for the theft.

The Sunday before I was up at night, like every other day, studying, when I suddenly noticed one of the security guards, employed to secure the school, trying to find his way to the hostel, which was already locked, around 2:30 am. I alerted some of my housemates who were awake then to also see what I had seen, we decided to pretend to be asleep. Just as the security guard jumped in, I switched on the lights; the guard noticed this and absconded. There were about ten security guards in the school.

The next morning was a Monday morning, at the beginning of the week there was much to do so we didn’t discuss the incident. It was Tuesday and we had just 10 minutes left until lights out, and I was determined to end the treacherous acts of the guards.

I was standing with the utility prefect, Stanley, when we saw one of the guards by the name Innocent, heading towards the hostel. Now aware of what had been happening, once prep was over, Innocent alongside two other guards nicknamed Boko and Haram, Boko was friendly while Haram was the strong faced guy, would all come into the hostel claiming to send everyone to bed even before lights out, with the aim of getting everyone to sleep at the same time to give them enough time to do whatever evil act they had to do. Innocent was the team leader.

One funny thing about the Name Boko Haram is that, it’s actually the name of the dreaded terrorist group which had been causing insurgency in the Northeastern part of Nigeria, where over 280 schoolgirls were kidnapped.

Innocent wasn’t just heading towards the hostel, he had a bamboo stick in his hand. I told Stanley, “What the hell does this guy think he is going to do with that stick in his hand, hit anyone of us! Hell no, just see what I’m going to do tonight, this will have to stop.” As he got nearer to the hostel Stanley cowardly went into his dormitory, while I went to the front of mine.

There were five of us from blue house, Steve, Owuri, Tobi, Toba, and myself. I informed them of the incident and asked them not to move when Innocent arrived, we had to stop the act. Innocent was in the hostel and as usual chasing everyone to go to bed, he got to where we were standing and suddenly Tobi and Toba made away to their beds, while Steve, Owuri, and I were left. Innocent said “Go inside,” but we didn’t respond so he told us to get on our knees.

By then the whole building was quiet, Steve and Owuri were about to kneel down, when I moved forward going head to head and chest to chest with Innocent, even though he was the leader of the security guards. My words to him were, “Why should we go to bed? Is it because you and your gang want to come and steal our valuables, No! This would have to stop today.” 

Owuri had left, Steve was about to do the same when Innocent suddenly dragged him back and hit him hard on the head with the bamboo stick. Haram was with his boss by then and both were fighting against me. We were exchanging blows and words, more students now trooped out and aided the struggle against oppression after hearing the noise, and finally the fight against the oppression of innocent students had been won.

I thought to myself the school management wouldn’t have believed us if we had gone ahead to report the incident, since we had no evidence, but now we had fought, I had fought for us. They stopped coming to the hostel, which wasn’t their responsibility in the first place, and our properties were safe again. What if I had not taken my stand against oppression?

The Incredible Destiny of a Handicap


— By Mamadou from Guinea

Once upon a time, in a small village in the midst of the thick green mountains of Foutah Djalon, lived some farmers whose source of livelihood was always determined by the season. During one of those seasons that it rained, there was a huge downpour and a son was born to the family of the Diallos. The rain barely subsided before his dad went from hut to hut in the entire village to share the good news with fellow villagers. The joy in the family knew no bounds. A week after his birth his parents gave him the name Mamadou. At this moment, no one could have imagined what the life of this little boy would be.

Three years later, Mamadou was growing up very fast for his age. He could play around the house of his parents under the admiring and watchful sight of his mother. One of the nights, Mamadou’s mother was awakened by his cry. Mamadou had become sick and this sickness would eventually change his life forever. His parents took him to the traditional doctors and healers in their village and other neighbouring villages to find a cure to this illness. These doctors could not help the child and convinced his parents that the young Mamadou has contracted an incurable disease from the evil spirits. This was the beginning of suffering for the little Mamadou and his mother. Some believed his mother is being punished for the sins she might have committed in the past and some claimed the boy is a wizard. A few months later into his illness, Mamadou lost his father and those who believed he was a wizard concluded he had claimed his first victim.
Mamadou lived under this condition until he was six years of age. At this age, he was supposed to be in school just like his mates. His mother had an important choice to make between leaving him at home to protect him from others and sending him to school so that he will have equal opportunity to excel in life like his mates. Fortunately, she settled for the second option. On the first day he was to leave for school, his mother was sad and in anguish, because she had doubts about if the other students would welcome him at school.

======Mamadou’s First Day in School:=========

The long awaited day arrived and he had to go to school. Very early in the morning, his mother woke him up and he prepared himself, wore his uniform and headed for school. On arrival, what his mother feared happened. When he arrived, all the children looked at him because he was the only one who walked with a stick. This was only the beginning of his troubles. At school, he had to sit with other children. The children had to sit two by two on a bench, a girl and a boy per bench. No girl wanted to sit next to him and yet he was not the ugliest in the class. He did not understand why all these girls rejected sitting with him. The teacher finally had him sit with another boy. At some point, he noticed several children who imitated his way of walking, which was quite different. He had resisted everything that has happened earlier in class but this time, he cried. He returned home in tears and with many other questions that also made his mother cry.

=====The Encounter that Changed His Life:========

Days and years passed quickly. In his nine years of study so far, he was never sent to write on the board like other students. Whenever his teachers wanted to send him there, his friends and his teacher made it clear that Mamadou could not go to write on the board. This happened until the day that his chemistry teacher Momo Camara forced him to go there (to the blackboard). “Mamadou on the board!” The teacher said and Mamadou, after nine years of studies, had to go to the board in front of his friends, he wrote, sweating, and finally everything went well. At the end of the course, Mr. Camara summoned Mamadou to his office. He said to him “Mamadou, it was not out of wickedness that I sent you to the board, it is because if I treat you in a special way you become a special person, which is not good for you. You know there are two types of disabilities: Physical disability and moral disability. You already are physically handicapped, with it alone, you can live your life but if you add the second (moral disability), your life will have no meaning. If you do not accept yourself as you are, know that others will never accept you. You have the choice.”

These remarks got him thinking. Since that day, Mamadou began to change the way he saw himself. He began to consider himself not as a person with a disability but as a person. From that day, he accepted no special treatment. Sadness was written all over his face whenever he was forced to sit on the edge of the field watching his friends playing football, sitting on a chair while his friends danced, or sitting alone while his friends are having a nice time with their girlfriends. Now when his friends play football, he is the goalkeeper. When they (his friends) dance, he dances too (hmmm, you need to see him dance) and as far as love goes (hmmm, that one is complicated). As each step passed, at each success, he shakes hands and quietly thanks Mr. Camara for the tips that he would share with each person who would be discriminated against. Grace to you Mr. Camara, my life now has a meaning, giving great happiness to my dear mother.

=========The School, His Saviour============

After eighteen years of study, the little Mamadou who was expected by all to be in a corner begging is now an engineer. He is gainfully employed and now lives with his family. That is not all. He works with organisations to educate parents to vaccinate their children against polio because he eventually learnt that his illness was because of poliomyelitis. He is also involved in encouraging parents to send disabled children to school because for him, education is the only way to facilitate the integration of people with disabilities.