I feel like a scapegoat being led to the slaughterhouse. I look unkempt but then again, my appearance is the last thing on my mind. I am numb throughout the proceedings but the slam of the gavel resounds in my head. Today, the battle finally ends, but oh so different from how I dreamed it. Mr. Abba had won this case, just like he said he would.
How do you fight someone with so much power?
I want to rip his head off to wipe that smug smirk off his face. It chills me to my bones, just as it did on that fateful night five months ago. I take a trip down memory lane.
Eight months ago, I concluded my compulsory one-year service to my fatherland. I could not wait to enter the “favor” market as my friends called it. I felt quite confident as I finished as the Best Graduating Student at the University of Lagos. Turns out it wasn’t misplaced confidence as I landed a job with one of the biggest Information Technology firms in the country. I knew the sky was my starting point as a budding computer science graduate. The pay was robust enough to make my decision to relocate to Abuja from Lagos worth it. I left family, friends, and a familiar city to a new one.
Gripping my appointment letter in my hands with excitement, I resumed work. My workplace was friendly enough and I looked forward to the experience I was sure to gain. However, what started as the best job turned out to be the absolute worst decision I ever made in my life.
I remember that fateful night. It was a week before Christmas and all staff was invited for the end-of-year staff retreat. This was a ritual at the firm for departments to put plans in motion for the coming year. However, the retreat was a camouflage to hide the intentions of my boss and mentor. A drink spiked, a sound-proof room, and a monster ready to take advantage, all panned to a T!
Despite my restraints, two masked men held me down for the most brutal penetration possible. I was a virgin and this was not the way I planned losing it. Over and over again, he ravished me. I begged, cried, and screamed but that only seemed to fuel his sadistic excitement. He kept going while I prayed for a quick death. When I was flipped over on my stomach and raped anally, I couldn’t bear it anymore and passed out. I woke up to see a letter of termination of appointment and an envelope filled with pictures of my family marked with a red X. The silent threat was loud enough. I was not to say a word.
That “experience” crushed me and I did not leave my apartment for more than a week. My family believed I was still working and I didn’t intend to tell them otherwise.
Three weeks later, I saw him. He came inside the restaurant I was having lunch at. I didn’t move and bowed my head, praying he wouldn’t notice me. Thankfully, he didn’t. But something else caught my attention as I peeped strategically. I saw the frightened actions of another employee he was with – the blue colored employee tag gave her away- and the memories came rushing back. I knew I had to do something to save the lady from his grip and other innocent ones before they turned into victims.
Somehow, I found the strength and sued him. Justice was finally going to prevail.
xxx
I walk out of the courtroom, lost in thought. The feeling of hopelessness consumes me. Somehow, I know exactly what to do. That night changed everything for me. Not only did he make me HIV positive, but his brutal actions also deprived me of ever getting pregnant. When blood spills, it stains all in its path. And mine had spilled in a way there were no tears left to shed.
I am broken physically and psychologically. Is there such a thing as recovery? I just put my entire family in danger with the lawsuit, spent all my money, and it was all for nothing. The justice system in my country failed me. Policies in place that didn’t protect rape victims led to this very moment. The trauma specialist I have been seeing for months hasn’t helped a bit and the decision of the court weakens me. I am finally tired and I lean into the darkness creeping in.
I walk on and don’t stop until I reach the highway. I see the truck as it comes rumbling down. Timing its speed perfectly, I run as fast as I can to its arms, desperately seeking to end this pain. I smile as I briefly see the driver struggle to hit the brakes. He isn’t successful and then…silence.
Let us spare a moment for all victims of rape. For Uwa. For Jennifer. For Razeezat. For the victims yet unheard but who bear the scars.
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Love,
Diane
