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    True Life Story: How Dad Bought Political Power With My Virgin Blood (A Must Read)

    Pls, someone should tell me…how do I
    relate with a dad who rapes me just to win election?
     I went with Dad to the airport the
    night Mum and my siblings were travelling. We were all inside one of our cars,
    a Toyota Sienna van. Dad was driving, which made it more like a family outing
    because with about three drivers in his employ, he rarely had time to drive us.
    But that night, to my surprise, he offered to drive all of us to the airport.
    We got there two hours ahead of their boarding time, and left shortly after
    they started boarding. I rode home with my dad and that was when he gave me an
    inkling of what was worrying him.
    “Vivian,” he said as he drove slowly,
    which seemed odd, considering what time of the day it was, “you are sixteen already.
    I still recollect the morning you were born sixteen years ago. It seems like
    yesterday. I know you would have loved to follow them to Canada. But I want to
    give you one promise this night, once you get into the university, I will fund
    a trip for you to any part of the world you want to go to.”
    I smiled. “Is that a promise Dad?”….continue

    “Sure it is,” he replied. “And you
    know whatever I promise, I do.”
    “Okay, I am going to make it Dad. You
    know I have been studying very hard. I have the hope that I would make it,” I
    assured him.
    “I decided that you would attend a university
    in Nigeria for one reason. But I will let you know someday, may be when you are
    through with your first degree. But I assure you, that your subsequent degrees
    would be abroad,” he said. It was not Dad’s first time of making the same
    comment,
    After a while, our discussion drifted
    to his career in politics. “Vivian, will you like to be a politician?” He asked.
    “No. I would rather opt for Mum’s
    business than politics. I want to be at home with my children, have time for
    them and do homework with them,” I replied.
    Of course the answer I was giving him was
    born out of experience. Dad rarely spent time 
    at home with us. In fact, it was much better when he was practicing law.
    Then, he would always come home every evening clutching a bag of goodies from
    any of the fast food joints. He would settle down to ask us to explain what we
    learnt in school. But once he became a politician, things changed. He was
    always in one meeting or the other. Even when he would be at home, we would rarely
    have his attention. His phones would be ringing, and people, would be engaging
    him in endless discussions.
     “But politics is good. You see there is no
    profession in the world that can make you influential like politics. Agreed, it
    may take you away from home,” he defended. “But come to think of it, without
    politics, perhaps I would not be affording your school fees now, let alone
    funding holidays abroad for all of you.”
     “May be,” I said indifferently.
    “But that is not the problem. The
    problem is that some people want to sack me,” he said, running his left hand
    through his hair. “Some people want me out of my job.”
    “Which people, Dad?” I asked.
    “You will not know these people my
    daughter. They have been scheming from left and right to make sure your daddy
    loses his position. We must all resist them,” he said.
    “Daddy, do not worry. I am going to
    help you pray. Nobody will take your job away in Jesus’ name…Amen. I will
    continue to pray for you.” I said.
    “Thank you, my daughter. I know I can
    always rely on you,” he said, and we continued with other issues until we got
    home that night.
           
    *                        *           *
    That night, while I was locked in the
    comfort of my room, my mind was wandering, thinking of what I would do to save my
    daddy’s job. I knew he rarely had time for us, but unemployment was worse.
    I knew what my classmate and friend,
    Nike had to suffer since her father lost his job in the bank. Nike who used to
    come to school in a Mercedes S class, wear expensive shoes and carry D&G
    schoolbags, suddenly found it difficult to enter a bus. Then she used to be the
    hottest item, but suddenly things changed for her, and she became an outcast in
    school. I knew that I would not like to go through that kind of thing. I needed
    to do something in my capacity as my father’s daughter.
    That was when an idea hit me. Another
    friend of mine, Nkechi had previously narrated a story to me in this regards,
    so I took my phone from under my pillow and called her.
    “Vivian, it’s midnight,” she
    complained.
    “You said I can call you anytime I
    want. Is that not why we are friends?” I asked her, laughing.
    “What is the problem?” She asked at
    the onset of a yawn.
    “Can you come to my house tomorrow?
    Say 9.30am?” I said.
    “The problem is that our driver is
    sick. Nobody will bring me,” she said.
    “Call a taxi. I will pay. It’s
    important we see please.” I urged her.
    “Okay, no problem. Good night,” she
    said hurriedly and hung up.
    Nkechi and I had breakfast in our house
    that morning but I did not tell her what the matter was until we got into my
    room. I started by reminding her of something that transpired between us two
    months earlier.
     “You told me how your mum almost lost her job
    sometime ago, right?” I said.
    “Yes, that was two months ago,” she
    said. “One woman in her office wanted her out of their office. The woman went
    and cooked some documents which she hoped to use to implicate Mum. But it did
    not work for her.” She said.
    “Yes, but you told me your mum went to
    see someone who helped her, right?” I said.
    “Yes. He is a prophet. He prayed for
    my mum, and told my mum that the woman would be the one to lose her job. Two
    weeks later, the woman got sacked. Why are you asking me all these questions,
    Vivian?”
    “Somebody wants to sack my dad,” I
    said flatly.
    “You father is a politician,” she remarked.
    “Some people are scheming to remove
    him from his position so I need the help of that prophet. Can you give me the
    man’s number?”
    “My mum is the person who has it.” She
    said.
    “Can I call your mum to ask for the
    number?” I requested.
    “No, she may not like the idea that I
    gisted about that issue with you or anyone else for that matter,” she said.
    “Okay, try scrolling through your
    mum’s phone. You could see the number in her phone book.” I suggested.
    “That’s it. I will text it to you, if
    I get it,” she said.
    Five hours or so later, Nkechi’s
    message came into my phone with the number. It was a great relief. I did not
    waste any time. I dialed the number and engaged the man in a discussion.
    “I am wondering if you can help me,” I
    said when he answered.
    “Well, it is God that helps. We are
    only tools in His hands”, he said. “What is the problem?”
    I explained to him how my father’s
    position as a politician was being threatened.
    “Where is your dad?” He asked me.
    “He is hardly around,” I replied.
    He waited for a while, perhaps
    thinking of how best to handle my situation. At the end he asked if I had a pen
    with me.
    “Yes, I do”, I replied.
    “I will give you some scriptures you
    would read for three days. I am leaving for the mountain tomorrow morning. So
    you would have to call me in three days so we can meet face to face. Is that
    okay with you?”
    “It’s okay, “ I said. He later
    dictated the scriptures and how I would be reciting them. Of course, he also
    told me that the best time for such prayers was 12 midnight. I thanked him, and
    promised to start that night.
    ·        
          *       
    *
    I was in the middle of the prayer
    session that night when Dad opened the door to my room and walked in. It was
    unusual for him to come into my room, but perhaps, it was the prayer I was
    saying. He just sat on the bed and waited for me to finish.
    “Good that you are praying for me not
    to lose my job. That is why I will eternally be grateful to you,” he said. “But
    Vivian, I have made enquiries and I have realized that you have the key to my
    job.”
    “Me? How?” I asked him.
    “Let me ask you something, Vivian. Is there
    anything that you cannot give up for me? No, let me put it better, is it bad
    for a girl to lose her virginity to someone that loves her dearly instead of
    one fool outside?” He asked.
    “I do not understand,” I said, and I
    honestly I did not. The question seemed too heavy for me.
    “Vivian, let me tell you the truth.
    You have the key to my job. And you can give me the job by losing your
    virginity to me right now,” he said.
    Before I could utter any words, my dad
    had me in his grip. I tried to push him away, but he tightened his grip,
    confirming that it was not a joke. I tried to scream, but he was quick to block
    my mouth with his hand. The scream would not have had any effect though,
    because there were just two of us in the twelve-room mansion. The domestic
    staff in the compound live in the building at the back.
    We struggled and at a point, I just
    knew that I would not be able to win that war, because I became tired. He was
    desperate, and his determination was written all over his face, leaving me
    wondering if this man was actually my dad, the man who meant the world to me;
    the man I used to brag to my friends in school about and had etched his image
    on my soul as the warmest man in the world?
    In calculated desperation, he pinned
    me to the far end of the bed, holding my mouth with his hand so I could not
    shout.  Then he lowered his body down on
    mine, triggering this benumbing and sharp feelings on my abdomen. It was a
    quick exercise and as soon as he was done, he rose to his feet and walked out
    of the room after taking a critical look at me. I could not read the look on
    his face, was it regret, satisfaction or triumph?
    I just lay on the bed sobbing, filled
    with hate for the circumstances I found myself in. On impulse, I reached for my
    phone, so I could call my mum in Canada to tell her what had happened. But the
    phone was gone. It was not where I left it. It only dawned on me that Dad had
    removed it when he returned to the room some minutes later with the phone. I
    let out a huge scream, out of fear that he wanted to rape me again.
    “No, stop screaming, I am not coming
    for you”, he said quietly. “In fact, I came to apologize to you. I would appreciate
    if you can look at me.”
    I did, but what I saw was a monster, a
    devil I wished I could crush with my hands the way we crush ants.
    “Please, find a space in your heart to
    forgive me. I need to win the election. You know if I do not win, we will all
    go hungry and things will not be as rosy as it has been. Look at all the things
    you will lose if I fail to win. That means, I will not be able to buy you
    clothes and good shoes,” he stretched his hands towards me to appease me but I
    cringed and moved to the furthest part of the bed. As far as I was concerned
    those were leprous hands.
    He continued. “I know you must have
    tried calling your mum in Canada. Please do not tell anyone about this. Do not
    think that you have done something that is very bad…you see all the rich men
    you see everywhere do the same thing to their daughters and nobody knows about
    it.”
    “Please leave me alone,” was what I
    could say in very hoarse voice that sounded unlike me. But the next minute, I
    let out a shrieking sound like someone who was going mad, and he quickly jumped
    out of the room.
    For the first two days, I did not
    speak to anyone. I just confined myself to the room, sobbing most of the times,
    and ignoring the pleas by my dad who would come in from time to time. One of
    our house maids, Maria had become worried when she noticed that the meals they
    had been serving me were always returned intact. She managed to come to my
    room, something she did rarely, because of the way the house was partitioned.
    “You have not eaten for days now…are
    you fasting? Why is your face like this?” she looked shocked that a radiant
    girl like me was looking gloomy, disheveled.
    “Please, leave me alone,” was all I
    could tell her, but when she began to insist on knowing what was wrong with me,
    I shouted at her and she left the room as fast as her legs could carry her.
    Later, that evening, what appeared
    like succour gave way to a new wave of shock and great depression for me. My
    dad walked in with my phone which had been with him all the while to inform me
    that I had a call. I was not in the mood to speak with anyone so I brushed it
    aside.
    “It’s your mum, calling from Canada,”
    he said encouragingly.
    I started sobbing as I grabbed the
    phone from him with fury, because Mum was someone I could confide in always.
    Her voice would soothe the pain that was enveloping me, I reasoned.
    “Hello Mummy,” I said through sobs.
    “Don’t Mummy me, Vivian. You are a big
    fool. Why do you want to ruin your father? What do you think you will gain? I
    wish I am there so that I can twist your neck for you. How dare you accuse your
    father of rape? You want his political detractors to have a field day? How dare
    you accuse your father of something he did not and can never do?”
    “Mummy,
    it’s not what happened,” I tried to say but she would not hear a word from me.
    She kept shouting at me, accusing me of being bewitched by my father’s
    political opponents who are bent on having me accuse my father of rape.
    The
    development has brought depression surging through my system, especially now
    that Mum has also been indoctrinated to believe I am possessed owing to what
    she said a prophet told them earlier. Who would hear my version of the story?
    What kind of human is my dad, who can go to any length to have his way?
    Elections have come and gone. Dad won.
    He has retained his position and my family will continue to live in the
    lifestyle they have been used to except that this time, it was bought with my
    virgin blood. Dad has offered to send me abroad for my university education
    this fall October; no one wants to be confronted with my gloomy presence.

    I will take his offer but I know that
    I am never going to be his daughter again. I will never come back home, never!

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