From classrooms to bedrooms with stares of shame.
I wasn’t truly aware of how attractive I was till Khalifa would not stop drooling over me the first day he saw me. I wasn’t truly aware of how fragile I was until I met you. I wasn’t aware of my innocence until you hugged me. I wasn’t aware of how much protection I needed until you failed me.
I had walked into my first class in 100 level, head high, excited about my journey into the world of buildings yet scared of the unknown. You were my first point of contact, and I was so impressed by your intelligence that I probably had puppy eyes. Slowly me eyes met the crocs on your feet and how unimpressed I was. Crocs? Such a smart man. You should be stylish at least.
I remember how excited I was when I passed by your house, and you invited me to sit beside you under the tree outside. I remember how I fought with my roommates in other to get to your classes early. I remember everything about my innocence before my skin started to crawl. I did not realize I had set myself up by being sapiosexual. I wish I could shed skin in every part your hands ever touched me. The first time I was truly confused by you was when you put your hands around me and hugged me for more than a minute in your house. I stared at our reflection in the mirror, and this did not feel right. I had walked to my hostel, head down feeling like I had drenched myself in sin. I had told my friends and we all agreed it was weird.
I should have known, not just felt. I began to walk a bit faster when I passed by your house and ensured my earpiece was plugged in. I began to sit behind in classes so you would not notice me. Then the day you called me under that tree again, you couldn’t stop talking about how you married your wife a virgin and how you never enjoyed sex with her. You mentioned how she had a caesarean section to have your kids which left her with a big tummy, and you hated it. It felt wrong to hear all that. The feminist in me boiled. What was her fault? Innocence and childbirth? I told my friends; we agreed it was wrong.
I remember how my skin crawled when Joshua said everyone thought I was dating you. I was appalled. How? Because I sat under the tree with you? My blood ran hot the day you called me to the front of the class and put your hands over my shoulder, calling me your darling. It was not a joke; we were not laughing. It felt wrong. I felt violated. I told my friends, and we agreed it was wrong.
Unfortunately, I will run into you again on that fateful day under that cursed tree as I walked to the library. You would eventually tell me you liked me, and it was not just sex with you. You would say you loved me and wanted a relationship with me. You would tell me that you almost had sex with me at fifteen when you hugged me for more than a minute in your house. You would make me cry and not be able to read. You would make me go to the hostel and cry in my friend’s laps and we did not feel it was wrong, we knew it was wrong. You would make me question if there was something about me that attracted married men. I was 15, you had two daughters. I wondered if they were safe.
You made me feel fear because of my gender for the first time in my life. My feminism was not as strong, and I shivered with fear. You made me fail your courses severally because I started to avoid you. You will yell at me in class for no reason and say you did not want others to think we had something going on. The twisted thing is, we really did not. My skin crawls when I remember just as blessing’s did when you kissed her. However, this is not about what you did or did not.
This is my official apology to all the girls who would never have met a monster like you if I had spoken up. This is to tell them I was a coward who did not want trouble and just wanted to graduate. This is to tell the world that for four years, my feminism was not as loud because I lived in the shadow of fear for a man. This is a hug to all the young girls who would have had a smoother ride if I had spoken up earlier. This is an apology to myself for taking the blame when I really could not have done nothing. Where was my proof Afterall? This isn’t about you. It is about all the girls who fell for your evil and the girl whose breast was in your mouth when you were eventually caught. Dear mofie, you tried your best.
To all of the girls Raphael failed, I hope we heal.
