#Breakthesilence

     You love to go out in short shorts or short skirts the ones high above your knees. As the sun rises you look in the mirror and wear your shiny or maybe the darker shade  lipstick.  Every morning, you take coffee while you watch the skies the white - and - blue clouds painted the color of your house nestled in Ikeja. Then,  hang your hang bag over your shoulder and hustle in your high heels to whistle a yellow taxi.

      You work for a Magazine in Mainland. You love the job meant you could write about anything and everything. It wasn't about the fashion that you wrote about on your column was about being you. Sharing your fashion experiences.

     But your fashion sense the society hates. Because  you are expected to dress a certain way. To hide with shame how you appear. Your Mama says it is a no  to wear shorts you are girl, you are not dress that way, when you are in skirts she says close your legs up don't drive a man's hormones.

     Because you love your job , you work late. Having dinner in take - away plates you buy from the canteen close to where you work.   Ekene always has to wait behind for you. He is a nice guy you think to yourself every night as he sees you off to your place.
 
    This night,  you invite him over to the house for tea when the taxi stops in front of house. He gladly nods and says,  "Okay".

  You serve tea in grey oversized mugs with cream and sugar. Then he says while you serve the tea, "You look beautiful in that skirt".

"Beautiful? " You smile looking down at your short Ankara skirt that your tailor in Aba sewn for you, it was high above your knees.
 
  You talked with him about work mostly then politics and women. His eyes glares from your face to your laps.

    Before you know, he is holding your hands above your head and biting your lips with his. You wriggle under him but he is stronger as he spreads your legs apart and tears your skirt. He is inside you and you yell you don't know if it's from pleasure or pain as your fingers scratches his back. You kick and kick and kick and kick but he is stronger. He takes you with ferocity at his every thrust.

    He says he was sorry in every email he sent you that it was his raging hormones.  'My  stupid hormones, I am human the devil was at work. " he writes to you. You have told your elder sister and she had said,"It is those skirts and shorts you wear, you anger a man with such rebilious dressing. He is a man, you know. He acted the way other men would".
 
      You wanted to write to newspapers about what happened and Sue him but your elder sister blames you and tells it would bring shame to you and the family.  That no man would marry you again if you told the world.

  Today , a different kind of warmth surges you as you write about it on your laptop and finally send it. You hope it gives hope to victims like you. Why should you be blamed for the way you choose to dress? You don't want to be in that  hard shell that makes you silent you break it and now you feel the new air settle over you. He should learn to control his hormones it has nothing to do with the short shorts or short skirts.

     When a woman is raped. He is not blamed  she is. Why are you dressed in shorts or those short skirts you are driving his hormones? And because society blames her for what happens she is silent and ashamed. They asked her what are you doing in a  boy's house. 

  # stoprape #Breakthesilence.

Don't forget to comment I want us to share what we think.  Is  rape laws in Africa really serving justice for  this victims? Do they have a voice in Africa? Are they still ashamed to voice out their experiences? What platforms help this women break the silence?