Miracle Okoro
The story recounts the tales of a woman who chose the path of silence in the face of sexual assault as she reflects on the genesis of this decision that stripped her of personal power. In facing the beginning of this silence, she reflects on the experience of her five-year-old self and how she betrayed that child. Can she rely on the law as an ally?
Somebody almost ran off with all of my stuff
And I was standing there looking at myself the whole time
It wasn't spirit that ran off with my stuff
It was a man whose ego won't drown like road ants' shadow
It was a man faster than my innocence
And the one running with it, don't know he got it
I'm shouting this is mine, and he don't, and he don't even know he got it
My stuff is the anonymous ripped off treasure of the year
Did you know somebody almost got away with me!
Me! In a plastic bag under his arm, Me!
Somebody almost walked off with all of my stuff!
Ntozake Shange
As a young child living in a poor community, the thrill of seeing bright light bulbs when the electricity came on always made me rejoice. 'Up NEPA! Up NEPA!' This shout would echo throughout the neighbourhood by the young and old to celebrate the wonder of electricity.[i] When NEPA failed to restore power, we were left in eager anticipation. Much like people awaiting the Lord's second coming, we yearn for a neighbour who would eventually turn on a generator. Despite NEPA's repeated failures in this regard, we would continue to shout 'UP NEPA!' ignoring the fact that the power cuts were NEPA's fault.
After celebrating victory in the war with darkness and gloom, our next mission was always to strategically stand by the windows of neighbours playing movies. Sometimes, we would be lucky enough to be invited to join in on the viewing. Other times, we maintained our post by those windows and watched through the curtains. Even though we secretly wished our parents could afford cable television or generators so we could watch our favourite movies and shows in our own homes, we never complained about either scenario. We were happy, and all was well in the world until it was not.
One day, our neighbour, 'Brother the Rock,' as we fondly called him because of his scary size, invited us into his room to see a movie featuring Jet Li and Jackie Chan. It would not be the first time he had done so. Inviting us over was his way of ending the commotion caused by our presence outside his window anytime his generator and television came on. This night felt special because I got to sit on the left, alone next to him, while all the other kids sat together on the right. The seating arrangement made me feel like John the Beloved sitting beside Jesus, but I was mistaken. This movie was getting intense, and I had my heart in my mouth because of the fighting scenes when suddenly, I felt something warm and damp in my hands. I was startled and wondered about the origin of what I felt in my hands. The room was dark except for the light from the television screen, so I could not see anything. I shifted positions and noticed that the warm, damp 'thing' in my hand had slipped away. My confusion lingered, but I had momentary relief. This relief was short-lived because I soon felt the thing in my hand again. This time, Brother took my hand from where I had kept it away from surprises in the dark and led it to something I had no language for. It felt like a stick, but it was not firm like one. I tried to take my hand away from this thing I was holding against my will, but Brother's strong arms held my wrist down to secure my grasp of this thing, his manhood. I was five.
While he fastened my hand around himself, he conversed with us as if nothing was happening. After my failed attempts at freeing my hands from his grip, I realised there would be consequences if I disobeyed this unspoken order to hold on to something I had no business with. NEPA seized power while I was in lost thoughts and terrified, yet I had never been more grateful for load shedding. I quickly took away my hands and made to leave, but he stopped me before I could fully get up. I was not prepared for a scene like this. Not today, not ever. Some other children had given up hope on waiting for electricity and had started leaving. I prayed and prayed. But what I did not do was shout. Electricity returned, and I ran to my house like a prodigal child. I said nothing about my experience to anyone at home.
I, Onukwube, wore silence like a cloak at that moment. It was my name, and I bore it for a long time, even after that day. I had taken an oath with silence, and I did not know it. My voice was betrayed that day because it could not fulfil its purpose of existence: to draw its sword and bring me freedom; to cut through peril and advance against all odds; to rain fire on my enemies and watch them retreat in fear; to laugh my enemies to scorn as I call their bluff and challenge them to a battle to the death; to defy evil covenants that transport shame to me through the trojan horse of fear and self-blame; to serenade me with sweet melodies of affirmation and blessing; to baptise me in the river of discomfort as I question myself and find my way; to honour me, who I could be that I had not yet become.
As an adult, I found myself in situations that constituted sexual harassment and assault, but I discovered that covenant I had with silence. I had lost my voice. Is there a treaty on the progressive restoration of individual voice and power due to the tyranny of trauma? I wish my voice had signed and ratified that treaty. Then, I can consult my ancestors as state parties to this treaty to domesticate it, align my voice and regain its power.
Brother The Rock almost walked out with all my stuff—no thanks to load shedding, poverty and the absence of the treaty for voices.
My friend, Enyi, is a lawyer. I told her this story, and she wept with me. She says she can help me get justice. What is that? Justice? Would the court invent a time machine that creates a different outcome for my five-year-old self that day when I was in that room? Would justice restore my innocence and liberate my voice? Would it fuel my defiance and courage as a child? How can the law help me if my oath of silence prevails? How can the law come to me if I do not know how to reach for its hands, if I am overwhelmed and cowering under shame that is not mine in the first place?
I am turning thirty today. I am sitting in the dark with a knot in my belly, interrogating the layers of shame I have carried. I am negotiating new terms of engagement with my voice for myself and others. Warn my enemies about my awakening, even when that enemy looks like the person in the mirror. Somebody almost walked off with all my stuff. But they didn't.
Enyi – Friend (Igbo)
Hapum Aka – leave my hand (Igbo)
NEPA – the former electricity authority in Nigeria
Onukwube – may the mouth talk (Igbo)
The Rock – a famous wrestler (Dwayne Johnson)
[i] NEPA was the famous acronym for the National Electric Power Authority of Nigeria. The entity has undergone several changes, including a name change, but NEPA remains the preferred choice.