Life and General Fiction StoriesNaija Stories

Knifed

I heard Mama Dogana’s daughter was raped yesterday. I was used to hearing this sort of news but this one took me down memory lane and it seemed just like yesterday.

I was in my final year in the university, was to clock 21 next March. One those nights where I had stayed late at school organizing materials for my project.

I was walking home along Besema road when two guys jumped out of the bush from nowhere like they had been sent. Before I could say anything, I felt a strong grip on my mouth while another set of hands carried me to a building site.

I was stupefied, my brain was running fast and thinking a thousand thoughts. They started harassing me and trying to tear off my clothes, I had always heard of rape cases but I couldn’t believe it was happening. Then I told them not to bother that I would comply.

Reaching for my back pocket, and while pretending to make an effort to pull off my trousers, I brought out a pocket knife. I had taken it to class that morning to do some lab tests. I needed something to dissect the rats.

Without thinking, I dug it into the first guy standing in front of me. Blood gushed forth. As his colleague tried to attack me, I stabbed at anything madly, it was either me or them; and finally, I got his arm. He knelt and screamed for help.

I swiftly cleaned the knife on my dark coloured clothes and reached for the door. At the entrance, I rearranged my clothes and walked out like nothing happened. When I got home, I bathed, washed my clothes and threw the knife into a refuse bin after I had cleaned it properly.

I hoped that they would find help but unfortunately they had taken me a bit far away and by the next morning, I saw the police asking questions and harassing young boys on Besema road. I hadn’t taken that route on my way to school but I forgot something and had to use that road as it was a shortcut.

The police saw me, one of them exchanged eye contact with me and I was afraid. But, he simply looked at me and looked away. Then, I realized. It was one of those moments I was happy I was female. They must have thought it was a clash between cultist groups.

Words spread fast. One of the guys died while the other had a serious injury on his arm. I remember stabbing him and running away.

I waited—waited for the dead guy’s ghost to haunt me while avoiding Besema road. While waiting, I discovered another monster had come to torment me. Depression. But I never voiced it out. Few months later, I graduated. It was a 2.1. I quickly left school and forgave myself.

Few years later, I met my husband and we had three kids. I’m now 44, my last child, Cindy is 19. Her older brothers are married and living in their homes.

Cindy always finds a knife in her bag and no matter how many times she removed it, she always finds it there. One day, she complained to me. I tactfully told her that whoever dropped it must want her to use it for some self-defence and then I cited the case of Mama Dogana’s daughter. She saw wisdom in it and left the knife in her bag permanently. I hope instincts would teach her when to use it just like it taught me many years ago.

I watch her now, dancing to some hip hop music and I can’t imagine someone hurting her. If it ever happens, I won’t hesitate; I would kill; again—and again.

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