Wednesday 10 December 2014

Domestic Abuse: A victim’s Last Moment.


Several thoughts ran through my mind, as sweats dripped down my face, I was wondering why no one seems to notice my sudden change of countenance.

Few minutes ago I was chattering with everyone on the bus, also looking forward to the dinner party at Eko hotel and suites in Lagos Nigeria and the after-party at get-arena night club.

Amidst all these anticipated fun, my phone rang and a very familiar voice said "he killed her" that was the voice of my immediate young brother, he just broke the news of the death of our beloved sister, who was married to a beast, her more than 30 years of marriage to her heartthrob was hellish and nightmarish. 

The only memory I have of this man was how he batters her to pulp, the battering was more like a ritual to him, and he was quite diligent at it than paying the school fees of his children, he was an infidel.

When the sad tales kept coming to my father, it became an "earsore" he visited his inglorious son in-law, returned his bride price and he "jejely" took his daughter home. His battered daughter kept begging to return to him, her reason was she will become a laughing stock among extended family members. 

Eminem and Rihanna had her in mind when they sang 'love the way you lie'. 

Few weeks later, he came with his kinsmen, pleading to have his wife back.

He returned the bride price and promised to turn a new leaf, and show restraint, he forgot that life is no Nintendo game. 

Alas! He lied again.

The last straw that broke the camel's back was when he granted her one day permission to visit her bereaved friend and she spent two days. She came home to meet her beast of a husband, he welcomed her with floggings for disobedience as if she were a goat that had eaten the master’s yam, he clutched her hands and cleared her feet from the ground and she somersaulted.

He stampeded her lower abdomen and she had a discharge of thick blood, she was already in her menopause, she screamed like a woman in a labor room. Her neighbours heard and came to her rescue, she was rushed to the hospital, where the doctor confirmed that her womb had ruptured, few days later, she passed on from the complication
.

I detest any form of abusive relationship, be it domestic or gender, in my native Yoruba parlance "what is bad is bad, it has no other name". 

We live in a society where a lot of people remain in abusive relationships because of what people think. How long does anyone have to let people's opinions decide his/her happiness, forgetting that life is personal. 

In the case of my sister, she could not leave her abusive marriage because of what people and culture thinks. 

She died respecting a culture that relegates her to the background of the society, a culture that tells her that she is a sex object and a child making machine, a culture that questions her wit and identity as a woman. 

When she died, the people and culture she feared spat on her tomb, they had several opinions like, why did she remain? She killed herself, is it by force to be married? Was she tied down? 

Those statements were from the same people she cared about their opinions concerning her personal life.

A common trend with physical abuse is that it begins with a verbal abuse, until one day he slaps you and it progresses from slaps, then to fist-fights.

No one should ever remain in any abusive relationship either male or female, a common “misbelief" among ladies is "when we marry he will stop", let me burst your bubbles, he will never stop, until he kills you or the other way round.

If you are in any form of abusive relationship, talk to someone, and start making plans to move out of the house.

Perhaps you just left any, please share your experience.

A true story.




About Onyibe Oliver
Oliver Onyibe is a/an |Clerisy| |Social Engineer| |Lover| |Eclecticist| 
Find him on twitter @osawaruonyibe

Tuesday 25 November 2014

On your face




On your face is sunlight
sprouting beautiful roses and daisies
silvered hair,
revealing the wisdom in your age, Africa
On your face daughter of Sheba

I see the earth that nurtures life
Smile that ripples the still waters of Niger river
On your face, 

I see the wrinkles that tells the frailty of life
On your face,
is  the cheek bone that rises hope of the trodden
Queen of Nimrod,
on your face,
I see the lips that gives the kisses of life
On your face,
I see the the coffee brown eyes that pierces the dark,
the nose that smelt rain and forest.
the ear that hears the sweet melodies of unsung rhythm,
Oh mother of black race
On your face is Africa




































About Onyibe Oliver
Oliver Onyibe is a/an |Clerisy| |Social Engineer| |Lover| |Eclecticist|
Find him on twitter @osawaruonyibe





Lagos Radar: The Conversation at cemetery road

Fortnight to my twenty fourth year on this stage of fools apology to Shakespeare, I visited my mentor a man I’m well pleased with, a towering intellectual, and he decided to entertain me in a nearby alehouse, an ardent believer in the age long saying that ‘in wine lies the truth’.
Egbon: Oliver, please place your order
Me: I don’t drink alcohol
Egbon: I insist, do you know you are intelligent, however I get your best when you drink, please drink something.
Me: waiter, abeg give me one origin or Ice
Egbo: origin is better, it’s medicinal and herbal
Me: egbon, but it contains alcohol
Egbon: it is just 6% Vol. moreover, you are a social drinker
Me: mmmmmh, sounds fine
Waiter: oga, big or small
Me: small, ha, waiter, you wan kill me?
Waiter: haaaa, no oga, na market I wan sell ooooooo, oga take big abeg
Egbon: are you sure small is fine?
Me: I’m a house fellowship leader
Egbon: hahahaaa, Oliver do you know religion is counter-productive

After gulping the content, feeling a bit tipsy
Me: religion clouds your reasoning; DH Lawrence once said who says you shouldn’t ask questions?
Me: religion says
Egbon: waiter bring another bottle
Me: collected it shyly, Egbon I am a house fellowship leader; I mustn’t be caught in the act
Egbon: what act?
Egbon: God is the giver of all things
Me: yes, however moderation is civility
Egbon: Moderation is alien to our culture, in this clime, the selected politicians loot with impunity. We don’t nibble, we devour
Me: you have spoken well, waiter bring big

Rushes to our table
Waiter: oga, I tell you that time, big dey save money, make I bring two?
Me: no, bring your freezer, alakoba, abeg change the CD to Fela and increase the volume, thank you
Egbon: how is your love life?
Me: love sank with titanic in 1912, how’s your wife?
Egbon: she’s wifely, what do you think about the removal of ajami from the #100 note
Me: you mean the new note?
Egbon: Yes
Me: It’s a welcome development, Nigeria is multi-ethnic with more than 59 languages, and the state language is English, we are bedevil by dual idealism, we copy wrongly, our concept of secularism, democracy, federalism is warped. In a true secular state Sharia court is non permissive.
It is high time we understood that a true federating state is suppose to develop itself, every state is suppose to pull itself with its own bootstraps from where it is, to where it ought to be.
Egbon: flow Oliver, please flow
Me: do you know that the present breed of politicians are intellectual vegetables, they consider the position as a means of enriching their pocket, political offices in Nigeria is not a call to serve, it is a call to loot, they are ‘lootocrats’
Egbon: Oliver Onyibe, you are a seraph among mortals, you are the hope of a working Lagos and Nigeria.
Me: ase, please we need to hit the road, it’s getting dark.
Egbon: yes, let’s go and prepare for the mystery of tomorrow.
Me: waiter, make you take care of yourself and madam
Waiter: thank you oga, abeg come tomorrow
Me: if I get chance, I go come
Waiter: thank you oga social drinker


About Onyibe Oliver
Oliver Onyibe is a/an |Clerisy| |Social Engineer| |Lover| |Eclecticist|
Find him on twitter @osawaruonyibe