Holla, Star! Have you read the first episode in this series? I talked about watching pornography and getting horny.
Swinging my indented hips as I walk
Willing my flat buttocks to shake
Shaking my braless boobs as I laugh
Admiring myself in every mirror
Enjoying the attention of boys
Relishing being noticed and wooed by married men
Staying up all night dreaming about kissing hot male celebrities
Getting promises of gifts from the ones old enough to be called “daddy” or “gramps“
Guys on the street winking and whistling as I sashay past them
My male teacher asking me out and threatening to fail me
Boys betting and fighting over me
Girls getting jealous of me and the attention I got
Women calling me names like seductress and prostitute
This was me as a teenager
I didn’t know why I was doing all that I did
I didn’t know why I was enjoying all the attention I got
I didn’t know why the slightest touches made my nipples erect
I didn’t know who to tell that I liked how pleasurable it felt
I didn’t know who to talk to or ask about everything
Nobody bothered to explain anything to me.
It was one of the ember months in the early 2000s. My father was throwing a big party to celebrate a milestone in his career. We lived in the first house in the police quarters with a spacious unfenced compound. The party was such a big deal that my father had come to pick me from the boarding house.
I don’t recall what time the party started, but I know the live band played until the wee hours of the next day. I doubt if any of our neighbours slept a wink that night. There was so much to eat and drink. I wore a matching Kampala with my father. It was a dark green material with holes and coarse texture. Mine was sown into a long top and trousers while my father had his in agbada.
He was as much the life of the party as I am. I think he’s the best dancer in my house. He could dance nonstop for hours with a huge smile and funny, but cute expressions on his face. Just picture a more handsome, more cheerful, light-skinned King Sunny Ade on the dance floor –that’s my father.
We both danced until everyone left just the two of us on the dance floor. We were dripping in sweat like Christmas goats.
However, I was very uncomfortable that day. There was this funny feeling in my lower abdomen. It was not exactly a painful feeling, just discomforting. I remember sitting on the toilet for a long time trying to poop, nothing came out. I felt bloated.
I was so annoyed that all the food I had been planning to devour was there and I couldn’t even eat. All I had was a bottle of drink and lots of water. I think one of my aunties asked why I wasn’t disturbing them for meat that day; as per my past record of stealing fried meat at family events… LOL.
I was jolted awake the next morning by a sharp pain in my private part. It felt like someone had stabbed me down there. I touched there to check what could have happened. It felt wet and sticky.
“What? At my age? No now!” I said, thinking I had peed on myself.
Since we had many people staying over, I had to sleep on the longest couch in the sitting room. I got up and noticed a dark spot on the couch. I touched it and found out it was wet and sticky too. Out of curiosity, I bent to sniff the spot.
“Huh? What’s going on?” The hairs at the back of my neck stood up.
“Wait…” I touched the front and the back of my wet green Kampala trousers again and brought my hands to my nose.
“Woo-hoo, I’m menstruating!”
Quickly, I got a napkin, soap and water, and cleaned the stained spot on the couch. I hurried into my bathroom to wash my new cloth and have a bath. Only when I was done bathing did I realize I had nothing to use for the blood dripping out of my vagina.
“Shoot! Why didn’t I think about that earlier?”
I folded a couple of kitchen serviette, stuffed it down there, dressed up and went in search of my father.
“Daddy, please, I need money”.
“What for? What about all the money you made last night?” He was referring to the cash I was sprayed at the party. Forget, I always got sprayed the most money on every dance floor because I was an ant, like my father. I would dance until my legs begun to shake. So yeah, he knew I made a lot of money from the previous night. From which I could have easily picked money to buy the sanitary pad I needed, but I didn’t know how else to inform my father that I was now a ‘woman’. Asking him for the money seemed like the best way to go about it.
“Well, I don’t want to use my money for what I want to buy”.
He must have laughed.
“Okay o, what do you want to buy?”
“Pad”, I blurted out.
“Oh!” He sure wasn’t expecting to hear that. He looked like he had many things to say or ask me, but he wasn’t sure how to go about it.
My small bag was packed with many goodies and all the money I made from my father’s party. It was time for me to return to school. My father had been acting a little bit awkward around me since I asked him for money to buy a sanitary pad.
“Do you know what this means? It means if you mess around with any boy or useless yourself, you will get pregnant”. He began. “Well, you know me, you know what I am capable of doing to you if that happens”.
“You are now a woman,” he continued. “Keep yourself and don’t throw your bright future away”.
“I understand, sir”. I responded.
He laid his hands on me and prayed for me before sending me back to school.
That marked the beginning and the end of the only sex education I ever got from my father.
I went back to school with no idea how to properly wear a pad. I used two and a half packs of sanitary pads in the first month I saw my period. I was just staining everywhere like a girl with an issue of blood. The boys in my class laughed and teased me for always getting stained. I had to resort to tying my school cardigan around my waist whenever I was on my period. I can’t even remember who eventually taught me how to place a pad correctly on my pant to avoid leakage.
No one told me how much change that red lady was going to bring into my life. Not an explanation for why my nipples stood at attention whenever I saw a fine man. I wanted to be around my male classmates more than ever, and I didn’t even know why. I just wanted them to hold my hands, hug me or sit close to me.
I would stare at a male teacher while he was teaching, and all I thought about was kissing him. I became more aware of my body and beauty. I started spending more time washing my private part in the bathroom because it felt good rubbing it with cold water. My hormones were just everywhere. Yet, I had to deal with that and the fact that the opposite sex, young and old, suddenly found me attractive. I mean, we taught about puberty in school, but the lessons didn’t suffice. I had a lot of questions to ask. I needed answers.
By the time we got to senior secondary school, some of my mates had many exciting stories to tell. Stories that made me blush and let your imagination run riot about when I would experience the same thing they talked about. I think it’s safe to say I got my first proper sex education from teenagers like me.
Just imagine what that could have led to!
Yet, you hear parents bragging about their children’s innocence and virginity. They think because they are strict and have threatened their children, all grounds have been covered.
What about the many questions we had but were too afraid to speak to them about? What about all the confusion because we didn’t understand what was happening to and in our body?
What about the ways we sought to satisfy our curiosities and sexual urges? Why were they afraid to talk to us about puberty, something that’s inevitable, leaving us to go figure it out on our own?
What right did they have to brag about our virginity as though they taught us how to keep it?
Should we tell them we were no virgins?
Should we tell them we knew much more about the ‘mummy and daddy games’?
Should we tell them the reason we were not pregnant was that we knew all the tricks?
Should we tell them how many of their grandchildren we’ve swallowed?
Should we tell them how many fetuses we’ve flushed down the drain?
Should we tell them we didn’t get caught because we were gurus?
Should we tell them?
Image Credits: Make-up: @glamndglitters Photograghy: @photosbyod Muse: @bolajigelax Styling & Creative direction: @bolajigelax Jewelry: @nikjewellings