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This is Torera*’s story as told to Betty.
My father is the “star child” of all his sixteen siblings and half-siblings. He rose from poverty in a small village in Ondo, moved to Ibadan, and grew his wealth as a building contractor. As Yoruba people with money usually do, he started bringing in his younger cousins and half-siblings to live with us. He either sent them to school or helped them learn skills so they could stand on their own.
As a child, I remember our house always being full of people. It was normal to have permanent guests living in our boys’ quarters or crashing on the living room floor when we were out of extra rooms. As a child, I was also made to respect these guests implicitly because they were “family”.
One of such people was my dad’s youngest half-brother, Uncle Idowu*.
Uncle Idowu came to live with us in 2007 and didn’t leave till 2012. Throughout the time he lived with us, he relentlessly abused me physically and sexually. At first, it started with him carrying me around all the time. My mum said that he was my favourite uncle, and I would always stop crying whenever he carried me. So they left me in his care a lot of the time.
Then it graduated to tickles and inappropriate kisses that he played off as jokes. The details are a bit blurry because I was so young, but I remember him taking me to the boys’ quarters where he lived. He would make me do things I didn’t understand, things that left me feeling terrible afterwards.
At first, I tried to explain what was happening to my mum, but she didn’t understand me. When she brought it up with him, he dismissed her and told her a lie she ate up. Privately, he beat me and threatened me into silence. He told me that if my mum ever found out, she would send me to my father’s village to become a farmer. It was a threat my mum made from time to time when anyone misbehaved, so I was legitimately afraid of that happening. I kept quiet and, for many years, I was abused by my uncle. There was no penetrative sex, but he would make me watch him masturbate or force me to watch pornography with him.
By 2010, I had become very withdrawn and introverted. One day, my older brother called me aside to ask me what was wrong, and before I knew it, I was telling him everything. He wanted us to tell our mother, but I was afraid of being sent away or punished, so it became our secret. My brother started insisting on not leaving me alone with my uncle, and I got a break from the abuse for two years — till my brother was sent to boarding school.
In 2013, I was now in secondary school, and my uncle ramped up the abuse. He would make me take off my clothes and do my assignments, so he could watch me while he touched himself. He would beat me if I tried to resist. It battered my self-esteem, and I constantly felt dirty and disgusting.
On crossover night, the last day of 2013, I was determined to stop my uncle’s abuse. In church that night, I told myself that if I was going to be a farm girl in Ondo, it was going to be a much better life than what I had in Ibadan. So when I got home, I told my mum. I had the correct language to better describe what was happening this time, thanks to being older and some rudimentary sex education I had gotten in school. My mum first said I was lying, but I insisted, and the more I described what happened, the more she believed. She eventually broke down in tears and held me.
To my shock, they didn’t send me packing like my uncle lied that they would; he got sent out instead. My dad was under a lot of pressure from his family, especially his step-mum, not to involve the police. She tried to imply that I seduced my uncle or some other equally stupid assumption. My parents agreed to exclude the police, but they cut off that arm of the family completely and put me in therapy in 2014.
Later that year, I heard Uncle Idowu got a job as a headmaster at a public school in a village close to my dad’s in Ondo. However, on the way to the school to resume work, he got into a ghastly car accident and suffered brain damage. The injuries decimated his cognitive abilities, and now he needs constant care and supervision. His accident has brought me an untold amount of joy. At least I know he can’t hurt anyone else.
I hate that I can’t really talk about how happy his current situation makes me. My mum hates remembering the incident, and my father doesn’t speak about it at all. When I say I’m happy that my uncle’s accident destroyed his life, people want context, but it’s such a difficult topic to discuss.
I’m still trying to heal from all the damage my uncle caused me.
We no longer have extended family staying with us. My dad now rents a separate flat for guests, and when I have my own family, I plan to keep that boundary firm. After everything, I find it hard to fully trust most of my relatives. Aside from my siblings, I don’t feel safe with anyone else. I want to trust my parents, but it’s hard to forget that they didn’t notice what was happening for so long.
Religion also lost its meaning for me. My uncle was one of the most devout people I knew; always in church, always quoting Bible verses. But it didn’t stop him from being a monster. My family’s rigid beliefs taught me to obey, even when it hurt. I still go to church when I’m home, just to avoid arguments with my mum. But in truth, I’ve walked away from faith.
Sex, too, is complicated. I became hypersexual when I got into university in 2018, using my “hoe phase” to cope, before therapy helped me understand what was happening. These days, my libido is still high, but I find it hard to connect with people. If I’m not emotionally present, I dissociate during sex — and then feel disgusted with myself. I’ve been celibate for over a year now, since my last relationship ended. I’m not sure how long this dry spell will last, but for now, it feels like peace.
And honestly? His accident still brings me joy. He can’t hurt anyone else. That’s enough.
If you or someone you know is suffering from domestic or sexual abuse at any age, please reach out to the Domestic and Sexual Violence Agency or take advantage of the survivor support services here.
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