A survivor of Sexual Abuse – Nina Ndubuisi -Part 1

As we celebrate the International Women’s Day, we want to remember the real heroes, women all over the world who have gone through tough times and yet hold their head high. Women who refused to bow under incredible pressure and instead determined to make something of their lives despite the odds.

On this day, we celebrate Nina Ndubuisi. Nina is a qualified nurse and midwife, who works full time supporting people with learning disabilities and Mental health issues to enable them access and engage socially with their community, ensuring they live a full and active life. She is currently living in Belvedere, Kent United Kingdom, with her husband and three daughters. You can follow her “wacky thoughts” at www.ninas-thoughts.com

This is her story in her own words:

“rape victims NEVER GET OVER IT!!!! No matter how long ago, how much counselling etc etc … That feeling of “dirt”, the feeling of “self blame” the feeling of “guilt” the memories of the experience …. NEVER EVER GO AWAY!!!”

I am not looking for sympathy and neither am I looking for counsellors, I have decided to share my experience in the hope that it might give someone some inspiration, someone who might have gone through the same thing, but has never had a voice to speak up, or was never believed, I want to give hope to someone who thinks that their life since the awful incident is over and they do not deserve the right to live, as they feel; dirty, they wake up every night in a cold sweat as they keep having nightmares reliving the awful event, the feeling of guilt as “we” (victims of rape) always think we are to blame; maybe we should not have dressed so provocatively, maybe we should not have gone down the dark alley alone, maybe we should have fought back, maybe we should have screamed louder, all the maybe’s, if only…. But one thing I have finally come to accept over the last couple of years; it was never my fault and there was nothing I could have done. And there is life after RAPE/SEXUAL ABUSE.

I was 6 years old when my biological mother died, now those of you who know me well, will know I was fostered, but after my mother’s death my step father decided to uproot me from the only stability I seemed to have and bring me to live with him in London before he decided to “ship me” off to Nigeria (washing his hands off me, after all I was not his flesh and blood). It was the 2-3 years I lived in London under his roof, that the sexual abuse started – no, it was not from him, it was from his friends who used to visit in the pretense of coming to see if “we” (my siblings and I) were all okay following the death of our mother, these “uncles” used to visit when my “step dad” was not around, we had a nanny who was brought to look after us from Nigeria at the time, she used to leave me to my faith in the hands of these “uncles”, while she went upstairs with them to do whatever it was adults do behind closed doors.

My step father was the scariest person I have ever come across and I lived in utter fear of him as he never hesitated in pulling off his belt and lashing me with it at the slightest provocation, I remember once I had a nasty cough and my persistent cough seemed to be irritating him, he insisted I stopped coughing and I almost choked while trying to hold the cough in, when I could not hold it any longer I let it out, he asked me if I had coughed and I quickly shook my head saying it was a sneeze, my uttering those words sent me into a coughing frenzy and before I knew it, my feet were dangling in the air as he had grabbed me by my two ears and pulled me into the air, before letting me down and giving me a resounding slap for lying. This is just once incident.

All these “uncles” who used to visit knew how scared “I” was of my step dad and they used this to their advantage; I was always told to come and sit on their knees like a good little girl and given sweets to keep me quiet (I guess that’s where my weight issues stemmed from), I remember them jiggling me about on their knees and holding me tight, whilst I popped sweets into my mouth, after they had finished their business they used to tell me not to say anything to anyone or they would tell my “step dad” that I was a naughty girl and I knew what that meant.

This carried on for a while, until the day “It happened”, the day that I can never ever forget, the day that ruined my life, the day that made me develop a phobia for having anything inserted in my vagina……

To be continued……..