THE GIRL WHO BROKE MY HEART

If you were to meet a girl whose aura made you feel like everything broken in your life has hope to be whole again, tell me you wouldn’t keep her?

I was in SS1 when I met a girl. She was slim, slender, and fair – a pretty girl, in my opinion. Despite being a bit older, she was surprisingly still in JS2. I never questioned it. I just assumed that she might have started school late or repeated a class. And that wasn't a problem.

Then, she’d often come to our shop to buy things like detergent, soap, sweets, and sachet water. After that, she’d stay and we’d chat for hours. I must admit, I enjoyed her company. She was a genuinely nice girl.

Back then, I was a bit of a nerd with my nose constantly buried in my chemistry textbook – I despised the subject but couldn’t afford to fail it – or solving math problems, which I totally enjoyed. I preferred reading to socializing. Yet, she became that one person I looked forward to seeing whenever I was at the shop.

Soon, she started hanging out with me more often. Gradually, her shyness faded, revealing her lively and razz side.

One day, she brought her little sister along, a fair beautiful baby girl with a long face like hers. As we chatted, she was excitedly telling us a story—it was just me and another girl listening.

Then, a boy joined in, making it more fun until he abruptly asked her a question that ruined everything.

"Don't be angry o! I want to ask you something."

"Okay?"

"Why are your boobs saggy?"

That bomb he dropped made us fall silent. Our eyes plastered on him. If he felt the weight of our eyes, he didn't show it.

Her face flushed red before it turned pale. I knew she prayed for the ground to swallow her. And since the ground couldn't do as little as shake, She collected her change, grabbed her little sister's hand, and left with her head bowed.

"Why would you ask her that?" One of us broke the silence that had fallen upon us like a fog.

"I had to ask nau. She's a young girl. Why does she have saggy boobs?"

“Do I know?” The other girl muttered.

"You shouldn't have asked that kind of question!" I almost screamed because I felt embarrassed on her behalf. Frankly, I never noticed the boobs until then.

"Ha! I have to ask o. Small girl like her. Why is her breasts saggy? Abi she don born?"

I noticed the look the boy and the other girl gave themselves. Then, I knew that something was up.

So, I decided to remove myself from the conversation.

While the other girl berated him for his rudeness, I just put on my earpiece and went back to my notes. My eyes were keen on what I was scribbling until they left.

Later that evening, the girl approached me to explain the boy’s behavior. The self-righteous gossip claimed that it was true the girl had given birth. That was why her breasts were saggy. And that her little “sister” was actually her child.

I merely stared at her whining her mouth like a masticating goat. It was obvious they had planned this together to humiliate the poor girl.

We had only recently moved into that neighborhood, while the others had grown up there. So the boy's question, "Abi she don born?” and the girl's response, "Do I know?" gave it all away.

As if I'd not figure out that they were putting on an act to tell me that she was a single mom at an awfully young age. Something they knew she would never reveal herself.

I just stared at her, waiting for some sort of justification for the boy's inexcusable behavior, but none came.

"That girl tireti na this street o." As the parrot she was, she jumped into the girl's story.

"She was just following men upandan. Her mother and brothers were never around. Always at the market, hustling. Her father is dead. She was left home alone and that's why she was just following men everywhere. Very cheap girl. Just give her sweets and chingum, and she'll open her legs for you. Sweets o! Sweeti five naira!"

The summary of the story was that the girl became pregnant while she was in JSS1 and had to take a break from school.

The gossip implied that the girl had a bad reputation and was a negative influence. She was subtly suggesting I should avoid the girl.

"Who were the men?" I asked.

"Which men?" she replied.

"The men who were giving her sweets."

"I'm not sure. There were many of them—men from our street and neighboring ones."

I noticed she kept referring to these men as “men,” not boys. So, that means they were significantly older.

I pointed out that while the girl may have been irresponsible for engaging with them, what kind of morally-bankrupt man would pursue an 11-year-old girl?

"I don't know; everyone just went to her because she was easy and cheap," she countered.

I recall feeling so disgusted by the situation that I became nauseous.

"How would you feel if you found out that your father was one of those men?" I asked.

"My dad would never do something like that!" she replied defensively.

"Okay.” I answered and turned away. At least, she understood that it's a shameful and disgusting thing for the men too.

I noticed that the fair-skinned girl had become more withdrawn, and I didn't like seeing her that way. So, I made an effort to talk to her and tried to rekindle our friendship.

Eventually, my persistence paid off, and I won back our friendship. She returned to her usual happy self.

We developed a silly routine: she would visit me, and I would escort her home, only for her to escort me back home in return. This back-and-forth continued because we were engrossed in conversations we shared.

Then, we were inseparable, like two peas in a pod.

I can't remember what we were discussing that captivated us so much, but I remember the strong bond we formed.

On one of our aimless voyages together, she confided in me her dream of owning her own business. At the time, she was still preparing for her junior WAEC exams.

She expressed her desire to study business at the university and shared her aspiration to become the first university graduate in her family. She was determined to make her mother proud.

That night, our dreams knew no bounds. We envisioned ourselves conquering the world and achieving great things together.

We fantasized about living the high life and being courted by incredibly wealthy and sophisticated men.

These men would arrive at our homes, armed with pocket dictionaries. They'd try to rehearse sweet nothings at our doorsteps to impress us because they'd be lost in words in our presence.

Eventually, we'd marry the most outstanding and handsome suitors from the long line of eligible bachelors. We'd have beautiful homes and thriving careers, and our husbands would be wonderful men because, by then, we'd have grown into incredible women worthy of their love.

Chai!!! Nollywood!

After completing her junior WAEC exams, we were ecstatic. However, I barely saw her during the holidays as she became increasingly busy.

She started waking up early in the morning to help her mother at the market, and they'd often return late at night. Despite this, our friendship remained strong—at least from my perspective. I still managed to see her occasionally, which was enough for me.

Everything seemed fine until…

"Did you know that your friend is getting married?" my mom asked me one evening.

"Married?" I pondered. None of my friends had told me anything about getting married. And I couldn't think of one with such an outrageous plan.

"Yes! Your friend nau! The fair one!" my mom added.

"Mom, many of my friends have fair skin, so you'll have to be more specific," I replied.

"I'm trying to remember her name. She lives here in this street, just up there," my mom gestured.

My eyes bulked out in realization. It could only be one person, but I shook it off. It can't be her. Not after she had been through. Not with how heavy her dreams were.

For the sake of this story, let's call her Amaka.

"Amaka?" I asked hesitantly.

"Yes, Amaka! Her mother told me last night that they were traveling to their village today for her traditional marriage," my mom explained.

My jaw dropped to the floor.

I felt betrayed, especially considering that I had seen her just the night before. She didn't mention a word about her plans. No wonder she had been acting strangely.

Maybe she knew I'd disapprove of it. While I was getting tangled in my yarn of thoughts, my mom dropped the real bombshell.

"Ah ah! Marriage? Why? Mommy, isn't she too young for that? She just finished her junior WAEC exams. Why the rush?" I'm sure I sounded like a lost cat.

My mom scoffed at my questions, seemingly mocking me. "Haven't you heard?"

"Heard what?"

"She's pregnant."

"Pregnant?"

"Yes, pregnant."

"Oh my God!" My ears burned to that.

Suddenly, the air grew dense, making it harder to breathe. My mind reeled, my heart pounded like my school band’s drums, and sweat trickled down my back.

The only thing left was for the tears blurring my vision to stream down my face.

No, I didn't shed tears, but I cried inside.

I felt so foolish, so incredibly stupid for having shared my dreams with her—as trivial as they might have been.

This pain pushed me to confront her. Even though I was a non-confrontational person.

"Is it true? You're getting married?" I asked, my voice trembling.

Though we stood in a dark, secluded spot to talk privately where I could barely make out her face, I saw her smile shyly.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I love him and I want to marry him."

"Couldn't you have waited till after secondary school?"

"No."

"Why?" I asked, wanting her to tell me to my face that she got pregnant again.

"He'll take care of me. He promised me."

"And you believed him?"

"Yes."

"How long have you known him?"

"Since I started going to the market to help my mom."

"That hasn't been so long, has it?" I blinked blankly at her, tears forming.

She shook her head in response. Then, an awkward silence joined us and stayed for a while before I heard.

"He's rich and can take care of me and my family."

I didn't know why she thought that would make everything seem alright. I was disappointed but relieved she couldn't see the look on my face. If she had, she wouldn't still have that smile on her face.

"Are you happy with your decision?" I asked.

"Yes," she nodded.

"Okay." And it was all I could say, despite feeling the urge to kneel and beg her not to get married.

"Good luck," I said, leaving her.

I turned to take one last look and saw that her face was still lit with excitement.

My mom later told me that Amaka had boasted about her husband's wealth and his ability to provide for her.

I couldn't understand why my mom took it upon herself to talk to Amaka. I mean, Amaka’s own family was eager to marry her off. Why did my mom even bother?

"What does this man you're marrying do for a living?" my mom asked Amaka one day at the shop.

"He's an electrician. He fixes TVs and decoders. Auntie eh, he doesn't repair those small small TVs and decoders; he only works for very wealthy men and women. He once fixed Dora Akunyili’s TV.”

"Eh????"

"Yes aunty."

"Okay."

When I heard this, I almost died from cringing because I expected better from this girl.

Well, It is what it is... 🥲

Over time, I stopped seeing Amaka and her daughter entirely. Whenever I crossed paths with her mom, I'd ask about her. Her mom, beaming with pride, would always tell me that Amaka was living with her husband.

"Is she doing well?"

"Yes," her mom would reply.

I missed Amaka, but I didn’t know where her husband’s house was and didn’t bother to find out. So I moved on with my life, until…

Time passed both slowly and quickly. The next thing I heard was that Amaka had given birth. Her mom was overjoyed and went to her home for Omugo.

For those of you who don't know, Omugo is a Igbo cultural practice where a mother travels to her daughter's home to help care for her and her newborn baby.

I was happy for Amaka, but still nursed the plan to visit. I can't remember why, though. Maybe, I was still angry with her.

The Omugo period went well, at least that's what Amaka's mother told us. She came back looking happiest I have ever seen her as she shared with us her first Omugo experience.

I began to feel genuinely happy for Amaka, as she seemed content. If she's happy then why feel upset?

Just as that feeling was settling in, something happened that reminded me that all that glitters is not gold.

Amaka had returned, looking thinner, more raggedly, and darker than before.

To make matters worse, she had become antisocial, rude, and loud. The drastic change didn't look good on her. 😪

I didn't even see her at the time; I only heard about her return and the state she was in.

In fact, I didn't see Amaka again until they moved out of their flat. They couldn't afford the rent anymore so they packed out.

Since then, up until now, I have only seen her three times. And in all three encounto, she blatantly ignored me as if we were quarreling.

The first one happened on the road, face-to-face. I called her by her name and greeted her, but she turned her face away and walked right past me as if I were a ghost.

The second time, I spotted her from a distance and waved, only to be ignored once again. At the third encounter, we both ignored each other. No be me wey do you wetin dey do you!

I remembered this story because of a recent incident.

I was getting my hair done at the salon a few months ago. A woman came to our salon. She's a very loud person. She always called me, "my obodo oyibo!" She's lively and all but I don't like her because I don't like loud people.

Anyways, she came with her Ghana-must-go of gists. She was just there making us laugh when a young girl walked past.

She called this girl back. She was even younger up front. A true black beauty.

"Congratulations! Why didn't you tell me you were getting married?"

"Married kwa?" The slim tall girl tried to laugh it off.

"Shut up! You think I haven't heard? You're getting married!"

I had to turn, even though my stylist's hands were still in my hair. I wanted to see the girl who was getting married. And Gosh! She looked 15!

"Eh! You think I wouldn't hear. I have warned you severally but you no dey hear! You're lucky he's marrying you! If not..." and the girl walked off on the loud woman.

The loud woman then turned to us and told us that the girl was in JSS3 and she's pregnant for their next door neighbor and that's why she's getting married.

She said a lot of things. The man was apparently far older than this fifteen year old girl. He lived in a single room next to them. And it's because of the girls' flirtatious manner and harlot mother (according to her) that she fell for the apparent thirty years old.

She was having a field day dissecting the girl’s case and she was being as condescending as ever.

And I didn't like that.

These are the problems we have in our society. The shaming of young girls.

Adolescent pregnancy is a prevalent public health issue and socio-economic problem around the world. According to WHO, approximately 21 million girls between the ages 15 and 19 years, in developing countries, get pregnant each year. And an estimated 12 million of these girls give birth.

In Nigeria, the statistics showed between 7.5 and 49.5 percent of teenage pregnancy across the states. These figures, although not fully accurate, are still alarming. And the consequences live among us.

The effects of adolescent pregnancy are numerous and they include but not limited to;

• Infant and maternal morbidity,
• Infant and maternal mortality,
• Increased rate of sexually transmitted diseases,
• Induced unsafe abortions and its implications including death,
• Early marriages,
• Increased rate of domestic abuse, etc.

I believe this is why parents are more strict when raising the girl child but let's take a deeper dive.

Studies suggest that a significant number of teenage pregnancies have older partners. Hence, That pregnant adolescent you see on your street is most likely to have a baby, fathered by an older man. Which is where most of the problems lie.

These men know better than these girls. So, why are they not being attacked by society as much as these girls are being shamed?

Until recent years, teenage girls after their menarche were taught that being touched by a man gets them pregnant. This, they'd soon come to realize, is one big lie.

On the other hand, these older men know better. They know that a girl of reproductive age can only get pregnant when he ejaculates inside her on her fertile days. How many teenage girls know about fertile days and how to count them?

Yet, these men would coerce, trick and force these girls into engaging with them sexually. They would not use protection. They would cum inside her. And they would not provide emergency contraceptives.

Mind you that, teenage girls cannot be bold enough to walk into a pharmacy store to buy condoms or post pills.

A few weeks later, they would act surprised or angry at the “child” for getting pregnant. Like how could she have allowed herself to get pregnant?

Then, they would deny or disappear, leaving the girls to bear the consequences and responsibilities alone. Some might suggest or fund abortion but where would a teenage girl get safe abortion care in a state where abortion is illegal, at an affordable cost? This leaves them with a higher likelihood to get injured, lose their womb or die on the dirty table of a quack doctor. Septic abortion kills.

Another scenario is the girls being forced to drink a herbal concoction to wash out the baby but it stays only to be borned disfigured. Or the concoction would hurt the pregnancy and the mother.

Finally, some girls would be forced into early marriages. And due to the power disparity, she stands a higher chance of being a victim of domestic violence.

Which begs the question, why do these older men go for little girls?

We all know the answer. Adolescent girls are easy to control, deceive and threaten?

So, while society is doing well to tell girls to zip up. What about the men? Grown men in 20s, 30s up to 60s. I'm talking about Old men. Men with families. Men with jobs and businesses. Clergymen. Pot-bellied men.

What do you say to them when you find out they are going after a small girl? So because she's a teenager, you think she's old enough to have a healthy relationship with a far older man?

You know that responsibility lies more on these older men since they know better. Why is the attack always on these small girls? Why?

PERSONAL NOTE

When I was 13, a man approached me and asked for my phone number. I didn't even have a phone then. But a younger man noticed his flirtatious demeanor and walked up to him. He overheard our conversation and shouted down at him. The man felt so ashamed of himself, he never spoke to me again.

It doesn't clear this problem completely but if we, as the society, keep holding these awful men to that standard, the rate of teenage pregnancy will plummet. Bold assumption but let's try.

A man in his 50s in my neighborhood bought a phone for a 13 year old girl and asked her to keep it a secret from her parents. Her mother found out and disgraced him on the road. She smashed the phone on the ground and spat on him. By doing that, she had not only saved her child from him, she created awareness around him. At least, everyone would know to keep their kids away from him.

I believe in teaching girls to be responsible. And teaching them against treacherous men whose intentions are pure evil. And teaching them to expose these men when they come with their sweet mouths and sweets. And teaching them that it’s not alright for men that age to be approaching them. And giving them accurate sex education.

But when it comes to these men, hold them by the balls to stay away from young girls.