By Oreva Godwin
We are all surrounded by paedophiles, which makes the world a frightening and unsafe place. Sometimes, I feel guilty for my silence, for all the things I saw and said nothing about.
I remember when I got to one of my girl friend’s house unannounced and I saw a young boy of 15/16 years at her place. I was in my year one and he was busy eating noodles. I looked at the bed and I saw dildo on the bed.
I turned and looked at my friend and she gave me a wink, codedly telling me to excuse them. I stood up, turned and looked at the boy, so innocent, eating the noodles and I left.
It wasn’t me walking back home. I was pondering, how could she do this? How could she be attracted to a child. I couldn’t even imagine dating a guy, few years younger than me or of the same age. So what could possibly make her sleep with a child that she ought to protect?
Did I report her? No. And that’s the sad truth. A lot of us are guilty of this. We stay silent about things we should raise alarm about.
I remember when an adult, old enough to be my dad, told me to come meet him at a hotel. I was just twelve years old. But he insisted that I should leave school during break periods. He was indeed a disgusting man. He would call me on the phone to leave school. Unknown to me, he had told my big sister the same thing. We never spoke up. We kept silent.
When I was nine years old, one of our class teachers had the habit of sending us to take his textbooks and our notebooks to his place, which was not far from the school. One day, he told me to go alone. I took his stuff as usual, got to his apartment, unlocked the door and dropped the book by his bed, since it was a self contained apartment.
As I turned I came face to face with my teacher, who later became my predator. “How did he get here so fast?” I soliloquised. Innocently I smiled, thinking he was my kind teacher. But unknown to me, I was standing before a predator, and yes, I was his prey.
As I made to walk past him, he dragged me back. He started pushing me towards the bed. The fear that gripped me that day is something I will never forget, not even to my grave. My adrenaline was high; my heart raced like it was trying to escape from my chest.
I was just nine years old, and he was in his late twenties. But I fought him. An unknown strength took over me, a power I didn’t even know I had. It felt as though the Creator Himself was intentional about saving me that day. And yes, I escaped.
To think he was a member of my church made it worse. I resented him, and we both silently kept our distance. I started warning my close friends not to deliver anything to his house alone, but I never told them why. I just couldn’t.
Sixteen years later, I came across his name on Linda Ikeji’s blog. He was now a secondary school teacher in Lagos State, and had been arrested and jailed for raping his student. My heart sank.
I felt so bad. If only I had spoken out, maybe he would have been stopped earlier. Maybe more students would have found the courage to speak up. But I kept silent. And for sixteen long years, he was out there destroying lives until justice finally caught up with him.
When I was thirteen years old, a youth corps member was staying with one of our neighbours. He was fond of me, and it became a neighborhood joke. Everyone called him my husband and me his wife. That was the kind of innocent play we used to have back in the days. But I never knew he had an evil agenda.
One day, our Panasonic television stopped responding to the remote control. My mom told me to go to our neighbour’s house and get theirs so she could watch Super Story. When I got to my “husband’s” place, I saw him doing laundry. I told him about the remote, and he said I should go inside and get it from the living room. I innocently went in, took the remote, and was about to leave, when there before me stood my predator.
What happened four years earlier was about to happen again. His eyes, his heavy breathing, just like my teacher’s. Instantly, I became alert. He charged towards me, dragging me toward the bedroom. Oh, I fought him. With every ounce of strength in me. I kicked the air, I used my head to hit his chest. He was taller, but I didn’t stop. I bit his hand so hard that he screamed and let go of me.
I ran home. My mom asked for the remote, and I told her he wasn’t around. Then I went to my room, shaking, crying, whispering to myself, not again.
The next day, he greeted my mom. When I saw him, hatred filled me. The memories were too raw to ignore. My mom, innocently, said, “Won’t you greet your husband?” And I shouted, “He’s not my husband!” then ran inside.
My mom suspected something was wrong, but she chose silence. Maybe if she had asked, I would have told her. I would have shared my experiences. But back then, we were raised to fear our parents, to tremble before them. They weren’t our friends; they were authority figures. And that, I believe, amounts to a failed upbringing.
These experiences, and more that I can’t even pen down, made me grow up with the mindset that men are predators. I kept male friends, but visiting them was always an issue. Whenever I found myself in a private space with a man, I became triggered. I panicked.
Over time, I stopped being sexually attracted to men. I felt nothing, no spark, no chemistry, no excitement. Just emptiness. At some point, I even started questioning my own sexuality because the connection simply wasn’t there.
Men labelled me a “chronic lesbian,” even till today, just because it takes a lot to impress me. To connect with me. Can I trust you? Am I safe with you?
But it wasn’t about my sexuality, I was Guarded. Alert. My past experiences had hardened me, not because I wanted to be cold, but because life happened to me.
But thank God for healing. Healing taught me that fear doesn’t have to define me. Unfortunately, many others have not healed.
These experiences became one of the driving forces that led me to found my initiative, Ima Teens Empowerment Foundation, a platform created to be the voice of the voiceless. We encourage teenagers to speak up. It’s not gender-based; it’s for everyone. Every child deserves to feel safe, heard, and protected from predators who hide among us.
Why am I triggered to share my experience? It’s because of the story of Ochanya Ogbanje, a thirteen year old girl who passed away after months of suffering from VVF.
VVF stands for Vesico Vaginal Fistula, which is an abnormal tunnel connecting the bladder (vesico-) and the vagina (-vaginal). This connection allows urine to leak from the bladder, passing through the vagina, causing continuous wetness, odour, and discomfort.
Ochanya Ogbanje was assaulted by her aunt Felicia Ogbuja’s son from the age of eight. It was discovered by Felicia’s daughters who laid the report. Andrew, Felicia’s husband scolded his son for the gruesome act, only for him, Andrew to later start assaulting Ochanya. Felicia did not inform Ochanya’s parents of what was going on.
From 2012, the toll on Ochanya body started showing. In 2018, she was sent home from Federal Government Girls College, because of her constant illness. She was constantly in and out of the hospital. She had trouble standing for long and started passing out waste uncontrollably. She would spend her last months on earth in diapers.
She died October 17, 2018. Justice was not served. The judiciary failed Ochanya. Her aunty, her son and her husband are walking free. Ochanya deserves justice.
I say this: the dead cannot speak or defend themselves, only the living can. It’s time for parents to build closer relationships with their children. Once you notice any change in them, call them, ask questions, and listen. Do not overlook the signs.
To adults: the only right age to have sexual intercourse with a person is when they are 18 years and above. At that point, he or she is legally an adult, and even then, it must be consensual.
To parents: raise children to be bold. Do not let your kids grow up timid. Educate them about sex, yes, talk about it. Don’t shy away from sex education. Knowledge protects.
Children are an endangered species. Protect them. Say no to paedophilia. Do not protect a paedophile, no matter if they are your lover, relative, or friend.
*Oreva Godwin, The Southerner
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