MY SAPIOSEXUAL LECTURER (Part 2)

“Isah.” Baba called me.

“Sir?” I looked at him standing in the corner.

“What do you mean by ‘you didn’t do it’ and ‘she did it to me’?”

They heard everything. They heard my screams from the nightmares.

I stared at Mama who was still crying and refusing to look at me.

I wanted to say something. But how could I? How could I tell my father, the number one responsibility of me being a man, that I was raped a woman.

“Nothing, sir.” I mumbled.

If Baba could cuss, he would do it right now. His facial expression could say it all that he didn’t believe me. There was nothing my father hated more than lies.

He marched closer to my side, “Isah, Wallahi tallahi if you dare lie to me-”

“She slept with me, Baba! She is the one who forced herself on me, not me on her!” I shouted before he could slap me. If he was going to slap me.

“She raped you.” Imam Bello said plainly, emphasizing the second one loud and clear. “abi?”

I refused to answer him. I was so ashamed that I buried my face. I couldn’t look into Baba’s eyes.

Next thing I knew, I heard the door slam shut. My father stomped out of the room. I had failed. I had failed him as a son, as a man.

I was on the brink of tears, but I held it back. There was no way I was going to let Mama and Amina see me cry. I was their next protector and showing them this ugly side of me was too much of a burden to bear.

Later that evening, Baba called us downstairs to return home. Mama and Amina left me alone with the imam to have any last words with him. But I didn’t have anything left to say. All I wanted to do was lock myself in my room again.

As I stepped out of his room, imam Bello placed his hands on my shoulder and said warmly, “Allah sees all and hears all. You are not alone, Isah.”

I took his hand in appreciation of his words and left him there.

Baba drove us back home in his car. As we were on our way, he took an unfamiliar route and before we knew it, we were in front of a police station.

“Mai gida, what are you doing?” Mama finally spoke as she looked at my father in confusion.

He ignored her and told only me to get down from the car to follow him inside. Walking into the police station gave me PTSD. I could not help but think about the torture I received from the policemen the last time I was in a police station.

But Baba didn’t bring me here to be tortured again. Instead, I was brought in for questioning, not as a suspect but as a victim.

All through the time I narrated the car incident and the false accusation to the police, I was in disbelief that this was really happening. I kept glancing back at Baba every 10 seconds to see his reaction, but he sat still and listened attentively. I wish I could hug my father at that moment, but that would be… very awkward.

After my report in the police station, with Baba on my side, I felt a weight lift off my shoulders. I didn’t feel as trapped as I was. But I knew the story wasn’t going to end there. Facing Dr Anita was the bigger issue.

The following months were the court trials against Dr Anita. I didn’t appear in court all the time, so I didn’t get to face the dreading face of that witch every time. Except, the one time I was in court for questioning as a witness. And the other time Nnamdi appeared to give hearsay evidence of what Emmanuel had told us about me not being the only victim of Dr Anita.

After months of delay upon delay in the court, the ruling came.

Dr Anita was not guilty of rape, because there was not enough evidence and there was no law in Nigeria that convicts women of rape. According to our law, it was impossible for a woman to rape.

I was furious at the verdict. The worst part was that the issue of the false rape accusation against me was struck out during the first trial.

And so, Dr Anita was a free woman.

I broke down in tears for weeks. All my hope had turned to despair once again. I could not eat nor sleep. It was like nothing changed after everything Baba did for me at the police station.

Though there were some good days, there were many bad days. I still got insults from the streets and was called names for being abused by a woman. Baba made sure I did not let these people bring me down. And because of this very support from my father, nothing else seemed to matter. I turned down the volume of the outside noise in my head and increased the volume of my father’s words.

Like they say, it takes one moment for your life to fall apart but it also takes few little moments to rebuild it.

And one of those moments was here.

“Ya Isah, some people are here to see you.” Amina said to me one day after I had finished praying.

Confused, I walked into the parlour to see Nnamdi and a short boy with glasses. Nnamdi gave me a long embrace when he saw me, I tried to push him off but he made it loud and clear that receiving long hugs from your fellow man doesn’t make you gay.

The short guy introduced himself as Wole. He was a 300 level Mass Communication student at Ivory University.

“Isah, come with us.” Wole said, “We would like to show you something.”

And that was how I found myself back at Ivory University. This time, I didn’t jump inside the pearl gates with my hands in the air.

Nnamdi and Wole took me to the Computer Science department on campus. They took me to a basement that no one else knew about but them. Under the basement was a door that looked like a wall. The door opened and we walked into a room full of computers and boys in matching white masks sitting behind computer desks.

“Welcome to the Pirates.” Wole introduced, “The first and only secret fraternity in Ivory University.”

I stared at the guys in matching masks sitting in front of computer screens, “So, you’re like a secret cult with no weapons?”

“Actually, we’re a secret cult with the greatest weapon, our keyboards.” He teased while sitting on a computer desk, “There is nothing more dangerous than the truth on screen.”

I nodded my head in amusement and stopped to look at him, “So, you’re like the 21st Century Wole Soyinka, abi?”

He chuckled and shook his head, “I’ve heard that joke a million times.”

I chuckled and just walked around the room to watch this fascinating fraternity in action. I stopped to stand behind one of the masked guy’s computer desk and stared at what he was working on.

A blog. It was called The Invisible Man.

“The Invisible Man.” Wole read out the words from the screen as he stood next to me, “Our blog lets boys and men from different universities share their story anonymously, just like yours. We share what nobody sees or believes about us. And do you know the best part? We find out that we’re not any different from each other.”

“But nobody has gone through what I went through.”

“Emmanuel Ololade.” He called my late roommate’s name, causing me to freeze. “David Amaechi. Kabir Ibrahim. Prince Okpara. Tunde Balogun. Uduak Akpan. Jonathan James. Moses Nwadike. Hassan Mohammed. Farouk Babagana. Bolaji Bankole. Bassey Edwards. Chidi Igwe. Godswill Ubong. And...” He looked at me, “Isah Mohammed.”

I stared back at him as he called my name last.

He added, “These are the boys that have been abused by Dr Anita Ubong. These are the brightest boys in all of Dr Anita’s classes. Your stories might not be the exact same, but its connected.”

I sat down on one of the nearest seats close to me. I was speechless. I did not understand how Dr Anita was able to take advantage of these many boys and still not end up in jail, or fired as a professor.

“Isah, you’re the first to ever take Dr Anita to court. Nobody has been bold enough to do it.” Wole said, “That is why the Pirates need you. And, the Pirates will protect you. If the law does not protect us, let us protect ourselves.”

“So, what do you want me to do?” I folded my arms. If we were going to protect each other, I needed to start from somewhere.

Wole brought the nearest keyboard closer to me.

“Tell your story.” He said, “And set many men free. But most importantly, set yourself free, Isah Mohammed.”

-------------------- THE END -----------------

“I come as one, but I stand as 10,000”

– Maya Angelou

DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction. All characters, locations, organizations and incidents appearing in this article are fictitious.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading this two-part series of My Sapiosexual Lecturer. How did you find it? Would love to hear your comments below. And don’t forget to share the story with your friends and families.