This is not my story. Although, I wish I am bold enough to speak up and tell my story to the world; a story of how I’ve fought the bad and won the good, a story of how I stood despite all odds and forged on despite all obstacles but I am a very timid being contented with telling the tales of others. I know you may say it is a brave thing to speak for others and make their gory situations look so beautiful and almost inviting, I know within that I am a coward; hiding myself in the stories of others. I know you want me to share my fears, speak of my faith and hope, maybe you long to read them too but I dared not because I am a coward; only courageous enough to speak up of others. So, I will disappoint again because this is not my story, I am just a voice through which others can tell their tales.

This is not my story but the story of a little girl from a very far place, another continent maybe, whose yearning to speak to the world of her woes had me restless all day long. Even as I picked my pen to write down the words she won’t stop whispering to me, I felt my heart doing a little tap dance in my chest; in fact, I still feel it now. The dancing of my heart is not of joy but of sadness, of pain and deep sorrow this little girl’s story caused me. If I could feel that way, I wonder how overwhelming her sadness and pain will be. This is a story not just for her but for little girls like her who are too timid, too broken to reach out to the world; little girls whose voices have been snatched away from them and replaced with thick cold fear for almost everything.

This is not my story but of a little girls whose childhood has been snatched from her or maybe she had no sense what childhood means. A little who looks up at the beautiful shining sun and she could feel is the heat and not the natural golden beauty. A little who stares at the sea and the sounds of the waves crashing against each other sounds like the thick horse whip her father used on her constantly tearing her delicate skin open. This is the story of a little who stares at the moon each night and wishes to lost in the sea of stars that shined so brightly, away from the pain that was her life. A little girl, who at 7, has experienced all the nine stages of hell.

This is the story of a child who should still be pampered and nurtured with so much love and care getting nothing but hate. Love, like a foreigner treading on unfamiliar coasts, was strange to her. This is the story of a little girl who has no one but herself to fight her battles for her, whose day is filled with agony and her night with so much terror. As she whispered to me, I can hear the brokeness in her voice; her tiny voice begging for mercy, seeking to be freed. And all through my session with her, I heard nothing but raw fear; fear of a man who should have been her protector, of a woman who was meant to be her angel but had nothing but cruel words for her.

This is the story of a girl who lay every night on a thin bed that had seen better days in fear of what to come to her. A girl whose sanity is gradually dissipating and loosing herself to the horror that was her life. This is the story of a girl who has done everything to please the people around her and got nothing in return but reproach and pain. This is the story of a little whose heart bleeds constantly for mercy and longs for freedom. Whose opinion about happiness is the tiny biscuit and cake crumbs thrown her way once in a blue moon.

This is not my story, that you know by now, but of a girl whose life is gradually being snuffed and has almost no chance of survival. A little girl whose voice is almost cut off yet found the strength to reach out to me to speak up off her. This is the story of a little who wants me to tell of her horror to the world at large. Although it may not be long before she is called home to live with her Creator, this little wants change. This little girl’s story is exceptional because despite her own pains, she wants me to speak so that others like her may be saved.

This is not my story; I wish to God I was that selfless, looking beyond my pain to rescue others. This is the story of a little girl who has not received love but is ready to die that others may live in true happiness. Maybe I can’t do perfect justice to do this little girl’s story but she chose me for a reason; what she saw in me God knows. As she finished her story, she made me promise her that I would do my best to scream it and I must keep screaming at all costs. She said to me and I can never forget “we are the light of the world. Please, help stoke the light that it may never die”

This is the story of a girl who has chosen me to be her voice, a voice to speak against inhumanity towards children like her. I may not be as strong as the little girl but I swear to God, I will try and even in my grave, my voice will still ring out loud. This is the promise I made and as God is my witness, I won’t break it; not ever!

Rape is not the only form of child abuse… Say NO to all forms of abuse, it kills faster than an airborne disease!!!


10 thoughts on “THIS IS NOT MY STORY”

  1. This is not, it is the comment of someone, from Mars maybe wondering who this hell-suffering seven year old lass is… wondering.

    You are right. Rape isn’t the only form of child abuse. It is worst anyway

    1. yeah, maybe but negligence, deprivation etc have just as much effect as rape… so many people walking like zombies all because they feel no need to live because at one point, they’ve been cursed, pushed aside, kicked about… no abuse is the worst when put on the scale of emotional damage, all na the same

  2. Wow! Vividly painted and intoxicating.
    This is more than a horror movie, what
    innocent girls go through in the hands
    of animals call human beings. All form
    of abuse towards the innocent is inhuman!
    Maltreating the innocent is now the order
    of the day. I pray to God that your voice
    andt the voice of all crying against such
    be heard world wide…

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