Entry 73 by Adeyemi Oluwatosin

I am very worried because I know what it is, this problem. Just like those films I used to watch in my uncle’s house. They would do the thing without rubber and next thing, the stupid girl is running outside and vomiting, and then the mumu man says it is not he who caused it. Fools! As if I was the one who did. And it is the same story in every film oh, yet, they never learn. After, they would say I’m mad.

I left the woman of the rounded breasts with a dozen eyes glued to them and went home – I thought I’d have plenty of time with her when she became my new housemate. But you know all these mad people and their waka waka, I’m still waiting for her. Like I was saying, I left because I had to sit down and think. Think very well because I cannot something like what happened to the first thing happen to this one. God forbid.

The first thing is why they are calling me a mad woman. My uncle gave it to me. By force. He used to rape me any chance he got -maybe that is why I like Rosco doing it to me, I don’t know.  Then my aunty took it away. By force too. She made me drink two tablets like that, I slept off. When I woke up I didn’t have a tummy again, I cried and cried ehn. This thing that didn’t allow my uncle touch me again. This thing that allowed me breathe for two minutes without my aunty asking me to do something. This thing that I used to talk with every time, telling it all my plans and secrets. They took it away.

I still talk with it to this moment. People point and say I’m talking to myself. Fools, they don’t know I’m holding an intelligent and proper conversation. In fact, it was it who assured me nothing would happen if I put otapiapia in their meal that night – Uncle had started again and Aunty beat me thoroughly when I told her – and just walk away. I did.

After thinking, and talking to it, I have decided to give my daughter, yes it’s a girl because this one dances and sings unlike it that used to jump and kick, to the “Reveren Sistaa” that I see preaching at the junction. Next Sunday, I would go and wait for their white bus. She would be a “Sistaa” too and pray very well for me, maybe God will manage to forgive me. She will also never do the thing Rosco and I do, very sweet but too much wahala – see me. I cannot even take care of her, talk less of feeding her. I would breastfeed her all the food she needs for life if I had the rounded breasts of that mad woman, where is she sef?

So, I am not mad oh, I am not! Fools.

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