Its Amazing how we look at people sometimes and just judge and just imagine that all is well and that the grass is greener on their side.Its Amazing what pain and hurt people deal with in their hearts and we see a tough exterior and just judge when we haven't even walked in their lane much more the hurtful shoes they adorn.
Eva is prolific Rapper whom we see as very fierce,she granted a recent interview where she spoke about Child Molestation and I think some sites misquoted her so she went ahead to tell the whole story of what she went through as a kid..
Excerpts Below..
Its Child Abuse, Not Child's Play (My Words, My Story)
"It is some months before August, the dates running all the way back into the calendars of the early 90s. In a few months from this day, she will turn 7 years old, maybe even have a big school party like her friend Aisha had weeks back. But today, while she's still 6 years old and counting.
He will satisfy the incessant needs of his groins. He will have her to himself and make her feel like he was right and she was wrong to refuse him. So he towers his tall lean frame above her, looking down on her as he intimidates her with his size.
She's scared, confused and lost all at the same time.
'This is Uncle Emeka,' she reminds her poor little head. 'Uncle'. Not by blood or family ties, no. But Uncle, cause he is friends with Dad and Mom.
He picks her up from the floor and props her on his chest, all the time saying,
"You know I'd buy you some more biscuits when I come tomorrow eh? Did you like the ones I brought today?"
She nods. Barely knowing what else to do but nod in fear.Not too far off from the house just outside, she can hear her brothers playing in the yard. The maid is out on an errand and she is here by herself... With Uncle Emeka, who said he had come to see Mommy.
She feels his finger as they begin to find room big enough to fit,in the wells beyond the cotton lining of her baby panties.She yelps in pain.
He closes her mouth with his, swallowing her screams down his throat as he kisses her without shame, his finger still gliding in and out of her.
It is painful. It burns like hot coals of fire. She lets the tears roll. He tells her it is right.
"Am I not your best Uncle?" he asks with a smile that curves his bushy moustache into an awkward arch.
She nods.
She was only 6 years old. But this was to happen again three more times before her 7th birthday, each occurrence bringing with it several wraps of biscuits and candies. "Don't ever tell your Mommy," he'd say. "She'd beat you very hard. Do you want her to do that?"
It's many years ago. But I write this now and I tell you, that little girl was me.
Was. Because with time I overcame that. I found the strength to walk away from it and not feel like such a dirty, good-for-nothing girl as I felt everytime it happened.
For a couple of years after that, I asked myself several questions I was not to find answers to if I didn't seek help. So I did! And I let it all go.
But not until I made sure I didn't feel like such a whimp of a girl who couldn't defend herself.
+OMOTOLA_AGN_Honour.jpg "Omotola Jalade Ekehinde")
