The Penvoice Blog | Telling the African Story

untold secrets


Untold Secrets Blog Series chronicles the different hidden lives of different people of African descent. It tells about the untold pains, struggles, fantasies, escapades and lots more of the everyday lives of people who could not share these stories with people as a result of one personal reason or the other.


I wish I was ignorant, I wish I wasn’t exposed and I lacked the knowledge to discern the truth because then the flashes of my childhood memories would just be fiction to me. Fiction is good, you can explore a scenario of possibilities and they are no consequences because it isn’t real but what happened to me despite my wish for ignorance was no act of fiction. I was used as a means for sexual release by my teenage brother when I was 5 or 6 and this is real.

This memory has been buried deep for years and it didn’t come to the surface until a few months back and since then it flashes through my mind haunting me. Sometimes it’s clear and provoking and I get so angry I want to kill him while other times it just ligers reminding me that I am tainted and filthy.

Since these memories started resurfacing I have tried my very best not to relive it because I don’t know the depths of horror I will unleash on myself and what I would do after but I have to replay it otherwise it will continue to haunt me, so to whomever is reading this I hope you brace up as well.


I am the last of two kids and for as long as I can remember I have always looked up to my big brother. He thought me a lot of what I know today and influenced my personality straits to a certain degree. He is in many ways my hero so you can imagine how it would feel to remember that one day when I was in our room playing as a child does when your parents don’t let you out of the house my brother came in like usual from school dressed in his uniform. I was excited because he sometimes told me stories of movies he had watched with friends but that day something was different. He told me he would tell me stories after and that I should lay down on the bed. I listened of course and he proceeded to lay on me and after a while I saw him get up and I noticed white like goo leaking from him.

My brother and my hero! Someone meant to protect and guy me. A role model I have looked up to most of my life, I guess in a dark way he did show me the ropes because not long after I remember I started playing with my pillow and I used to imagine I was the one under while the pillow was on top. This explains so much about why I used to play that way and why till this day I never rebelled against anything he told me; because in a twisted way I was submissive towards him. I am saddened and distraught because I don’t know who I am anymore, if I as a person am a collection of my memories and experiences then this particular experience has shaped me more than anything else. So much about me makes sense and I feel less.

untold secrets

Read previous episode here: UNTOLD SECRETS – EP 1

I keep getting more flashes of different memories this time, it’s like by remembering the first one it created a domino effect to unlock the others and I am depressed and suicidal. He used me on more than one occasion; he used me as an iron board to just lay there and hump and every time I would turn around to see white goo leaking. My big brother and my hero!

When I look at him these days I just want to kill him or confront him or something but I push it down and I smile. I feel like a shell of myself and joyful moments become less and less impactful. My entire childhood is tainted with dirt and it has caused me to pull away from adult relationships. I can’t hold a relationship or love someone since I can’t even love myself; and my current reality makes me feel like one of those sculptures made from waste because no matter how much it looks beautiful on the outside the truth is it is still made from garbage.

I feel alone but who do I confide in? I can’t tell our parents because it would break the family so I just push down the memories and try to bury them in food and alcohol but as soon as I come off the buzz the flashes begin.

I have gained so much weight in the past month and I feel even less than before because when I look in the mirror I don’t recognise who I see anymore. I started smoking to help with the flashes and it helps, to think I am a smoker now after years of abstaining.


The flashes come less and less these days and although I still feel like trash my self-loathing is not as severe as it used to be. I go out more often now and I socialize like I used to. I take comfort in small victories and happy memories with friends. I haven’t been home in a while and I haven’t spoken to my fallen hero in a long time, I ignore his calls and messages because I’m not yet in a place to pretend all is ok. I will eventually get to a place where I can move on completely and forgive and it sometimes feels like a betrayal to myself for even thinking it.

I have successfully pushed it all down after months of happy memories. I feel good about myself and I even replied his messages, the whole time the urge to kill him didn’t surface. I am not one hundred percent over the whole revelation but I am definitely stronger after facing the painful memories. I have learnt to love myself and I am back to cultivating adult relationships and just maybe I can love someone again. I still struggle sometimes but I now see the beauty in sculptured trash.

Read related blog series here: The African Woman Blog Series: Life of a Woman – EP 13

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