I grew up in the arms of my father to meet this name- NWANYIBUIFE( A WOMAN IS SOMETHING). I did not know the inner meaning; neither did I know why my mother gave me that name before her death as I was the last seed that sucked life out of her, leaving her skeletons to the mother earth.
My life has been a mixture of sweet juices and bitter herbs. I am like that love song you fight to download but never listen to. I have been living a life surrounded by criticisms, abuse, dejection, distrust and hate.
My father, Emmanuel, was not the typical model father everyone wished for, he cared less about my older brother and I.
When I was 12, my father, sexually abused me, he hit me each time I tried to tell my older brother. Father is inhuman.
I have lived half of my life trying to please father. I satisfied him on bed everyday, cooked, washed and treated him like my husband. I never saw the four walls of a school.
Through this incessant abusive sex, father planted his seed in me. I was scared. I knew I couldn’t bear the shame and the pain of childbearing for my own father.
I gave birth, but I lost the seed and now I’m left all alone, battling with the pains of vesico vagina fistula ( V.V.F). Now I’m left all alone after my father deserted me and my older brother ran away.
But I’m still living with the help of Mr Dollin Holt and Caprecon initiative for their humanitarian assistance and inspiration of hope and dignity.
I’m a living testimony.
Truly, a woman is something, even if it’s not so in our society today where our mothers are misused , our daughters abused, the female gender confused . This generation of women are crying that NWANYIBUIFE.
By Vanessa Onyinye Vee
you will find
as I found out
that there exist
two worlds living alongside
each other in which one side
is blind to the existence of the other.
Pray, may we live in a time of equality.
Eaten bit by bit in mockery
And pecuniary in periphery.
Our belle’s (daughters),
Have red ink
Dripping down their skin
To quizzically murmur on the floor.
Are clone with weary hearts,
Judged by certain male species
And termed as weak.
Tell me about that frail heart that bears all pain?
Tell me about that being that is titillated to titillated touches?
Tell me about that incarcerated being?
Tell me about that bone that is tender but does not break?
I am a man,
And I shall tell you of the groan of circumcision
But I cannot narrate to you the pain of a woman’s titillated organ,
The pain that remains a scar on them for eternity
Why have thou deflowered the infant female?
You chewed her apple and broke through her hips,
Telling telltale tints upon her lips.
Stop degrading, for
A woman is great and deserves respect
Because she has great prospect.
This is my own
Written writhing whips to weep.
By Vanessa Onyinye Vee
A tear has escaped
From our bleeding eyes
And for this frivolous society,
Our hands we surrender to you
And when you drive through it,
Do you not see our bleeding eyes,
Are you not moved by our brutalised hands,
And when you notice not this,
We are weary,
And your mercy
And when you notice not this, we smile.
We smile and weep not
We smile, and we wait for your worst,
We smile and we keep hope alive
We smile and we keep living.
By Vanessa Onyinye Vee
Mother did not come home that night, she spent almost all her time
in “a place”, like she used to tell me.
I am the only child of mother. Father died some years back and
mother still didn’t have time for me.
Last week I was the only one at home when six hefty men broke into our house and raped me. That was not the first time such thing happened, it is a normal routine. I told mother about it but she shunned me and did not believe my story.
Mother’s house soon turned to my hotel room where I entertain men of all ages as far as they had enough money to give me. Just yesterday, I fell terribly ill, I went to the nearest hospital and the old looking doctor confirmed the news that I’m three months pregnant.
Nine months later, I give birth to a dead child and now I’m wallowing in the pains of vesico-vaginal fistula.
I had nothing to eat. Mother has been away since two years in Canada, she cared less about me neither did she call or check up on me. Mother forgot me.
I had to miserably hawk fruits for survival. Thanks to some friends that helped.
I write this to let mother know that she did not teach me in the right way. She woefully failed in my upbringing.
I still hawk my fruits with an orange dream for my future. I am homeless but not hopeless. I am sick but not dead. I am Young but wasted.
Thank you mother, for giving me a brighter hope through hawking.
Your skeletal daughter,