COURT AND CURSES.

Domestic and Sexual Violence Response Team, Lagos State.

Olaoluwa’s Story.

I resumed again at DSVRT, Alausa Ikeja on a Monday, (the day after Ngozi left her home), to accompany her to officially lodge her case with the team. I waited outside while she narrated everything that happened to the officials, they listened attentively, interrupting once in a while to ask her questions. About two hours later she came out to meet me on the corridor with a form. There was no avoiding this issue anymore: advised to separate. Does she agree with the terms and conditions ? she ticked yes, then she paused on the section that says anyone that tries to alter evidence or frustrate the case will be liable to a court of law.

She turned to me, ‘I don’t want to fight sis, I don’t want to take him to court’.

‘Of course, of course, they will only do what you want, just sign and return it, don’t worry’. I urged her on. I sensed a reluctance on her part, maybe the finality of the decision was dawning on her and she wanted to rethink the scenario. The hesitancy was quite understandable, but considering where she’s coming from, forward was the only option.

I made sure my voice was as firm as possible, ‘Ngozi, there is no reason why you should risk your life for Maybes. Sign the papers please’.

She did. I let out a breathe I didn’t know I was holding, and fanned myself a little. Damn it girl!

I listened to conversations around me as she went back in to drop the form. A woman who looked to be in her fifties, judging by the wrinkles on her neck, kept clapping her hands at a man sitting opposite her as she talked.

She was wearing a blue blouse and wrapper, a traditional Yoruba attire called Iro and Buba, which she kept slipping down on her left shoulder. Her next words made me assert my guess as her husband. ‘Look at these clothes, when I had it sown, it was fitted on my body, but obviously I’ve not been eating well, all my clothes are hanging on my neck now’’ she dragged it up again for emphasis.

She continued ‘Money o, you don’t give me. Food oh, you don’t buy, school fees oh, you don’t pay, so why cant you let me go?’

‘Oh boy’. I quickly slapped a hand over my mouth. ‘Lolade this is not why you are Here okay’.

Ngozi came out. ‘They have called him to come next week. They have assured me that the law supports my physical custody of our child until she’s 18 and can choose. He’s to agree on an amount for child support but that won’t be done till I get a place of my own where he then can come to see Angel’.

Ah, Alas! Music to my ears. I held my grin from bursting out because I knew how ambivalent she was feeling then. I gave her a hug and patted her back instead, telling her she was going to be just fine by herself and the baby. She replied that she was scared initially but how the DSVRT staff made it seem so easy has boosted her confidence too.

Haha! Another score for Lagos Domestic Violence task force, at this rate I just might befriend the government. A relationship that would be full of equal measures of Love and dislike. I would ‘Gosh about the governor today, berate him about his part in the #EndSARS protest tomorrow’. I shook my head and smiled, nah! It’s not going to work. I held Ngozi’s hand as we walked towards the parking lot. She was hurrying to pick her daughter up from a new daycare.

‘I’m sorry dear, I forgot to ask, Where did you keep your baby today?’. I didn’t get the answer though, a lady brushed past us in narrow office walkway, shouting into her phone.

‘If you people like him and don’t want to lose him early in life, better warn him’.

‘Ah’, everyone turned round to see where the curses had come from, including myself and Ngozi.

‘He should not bother calling me, let’s just meet in court, shebi he said his head is not correct? Idiot motherfucking R*pist bastard mmschew’.

I couldn’t resist anymore. I asked Ngozi to wait for me and approached the lady cautiously, she had gone to sit at the other end of the corridor now, where some trees were planted for shade and breeze, but the anger that was radiating off her could melt iron.

‘Hello, I’m Lolade, a volunteer for NGO’s that help women to deal with domestic violence or abuse of any kind. I’m glad you are already seeking for help here, but Do you mind if I sit to discuss your situation?’

‘Aunty thank you oh, they want to collect my daughter, my sweat, my treasure, the only thing I have in this life, hahaha, they will die, they will never know happiness, they….’

‘Oh my God, That’s too much please, you are already in good hands here, all that cursing is not necessary’. I held both her hands as I spoke. she calmed down a bit and thanked me again.

‘Aunty look at this girl, look at how much I have taken care of her, her father wants to come and collect her after abandoning us for more than eight years’. she scrolled through her phone showing me several pictures of a beautiful girl in different poses.

‘No one is going to take her away from you, it’s probably just threats’.

‘I know! I know! He thinks I’m still that naive young girl that was powerless and scared of him back then, this time around, I am ready to use both physical and spiritual powers to stop him: COURT AND CURSES’.

‘See this thing happened when I was 16, shebi that is Rape?’ I nodded my head but I wasn’t sure she noticed.’ Legally I couldn’t have given consent right? Of course I didn’t know this back then,because when my step-mother discovered I was pregnant he claimed that he was seduced by my closeness on his bed. Anyways I didn’t blame him them, I reasoned if my step mother hadn’t chased me out of the house for a trivial offense, I wouldn’t have been wandering around the neighborhood till he picked me up, naively believing I was safe with him since he was our electrician.

‘The plan was to go beg my step mom together the next day but he was deliberately busy for days, meanwhile he kept sleeping with me after apologizing about not knowing what came over him the first day. By the time we eventually got back to my house to beg, I had missed my period and my stepmom and her friend advised me to better stay with him since he wasn’t’ denying ownership.’

My mouth was hung open this whole time. What craziness is this? I felt dizzy from the staccato of words coming out of her mouth. It was drizzling where we were, but none of us seemed to notice, she just wanted to get her story and I was very happy to listen.

I composed myself and dragged her inside the hallway. Ngozi came nearer and that’s when I remembered I had been keeping her waiting. We hugged and promised to talk on the phone. I hoped she didn’t think I was abandoning her but I was gripped by the new lady’s story.

‘Please remind me about your name?’ I asked as I walked back to her.

‘Sorry, I forgot to tell you, I’m Olaoluwa’. I sighed in relief. I love it when something stands out about a name. Olaolu is a masculine name, but also unisex in nature as it’s meaning connotes the wealth of God, her name was definitely going to stick to memory because of this.

The differences and similarities between her case and Ngozi’s case struck me. Both had endured abuse for the sake of a daughter, both had experienced the worst of the sexual assault/domestic violence. The similarities ended there however because one had come out a gun blazing fighter, while my girl was concerned about parting as friends. Of course I love a girl who is willing to fight for her rights. I could see the fire in her eyes as she talked about her daughter and felt sad that there was no one there to do the same for her when she was a child.

‘What about your mother? Why wasn’t she the one taking care of you’? I asked, masking the anger in my voice.

‘Look sis, that’s a story for another day oh! I didn’t even know my step mother was not my biological mother for about 10 years. My dad fought with my step mother one day and I overheard her telling him not to try the shit he did to Laolu’s mother with her. Olaolu replied.

She had then gone to ask one of her dad’s sister and was told that her mother had been banished from the house after she hit her father in return for the incessant beating he had been dealing her for a long while.

‘Oh Lord’. I moaned! How can fate deal one such cruel fate from birth, escaping an abusive father only to fall into the hands of a cradle robber. If only I had the benefit of foresight, I would have kept calm a bit more before she dropped the next bomb on me.

‘Sis he beats me with a conducting wire back then’

‘Oh shit!’

‘Yes shit! One day the wire mistakenly touched my child while I backed her and that was when my brain reset itself. I took my baby to the hospital to treat the wounds and I never returned to him after then. But on God, I had endured so much belting and verbal abuse to last anyone a lifetime’. Laolu said, while I just held her hands and nodded my head. I let the teardrop that escaped my left eyelid fall free. It was either the tears or me punching the walls, I chose the safe option.

She continued. ‘One day, he asked me to make a dish of Semo for him, knowing fully well that I didn’t know how to prepare it, I think I was still pregnant at that point, guess what he did after finding out the paste wasn’t smooth’?.

I couldn’t move my lips to form any word.

‘He stoned me with the Semo paste and kicked me down’.

‘The Animal!’. I cried. I was so angry, at all the people that didn’t rescue her when she was a child, at her stepmother who asked her to go back to her rapist because ‘a child is already between them’, at her father, who dictated her journey by exposing her to abuse at an early age, first, through her mother and then through the stepmother and then to her partner.

I realized that I was justifying the curses she had let out earlier and I was about to suggest we curse him together a little bit more when I heard her name called out in a loud voice. I quickly took her contact while I looked at my wrist watch: 3;54. I knew it was going to be a long day before her complete documentation takes place. We agreed to continue her story when DSVRT has taken a decision on what can be done to him. I dashed into the now heavy rain and ran across to the car park. It’s not called Lagos Rush hour for nothing.

…to be continued…

#DomesticViolence #DomesticViolenceSurvivors #DocumentOurHistory