Her name is Nigeriana, in her prime she was a goddess of beauty – Miss Malaika of Africa.

A perfect cast of womanhood, curvy, endowed and breathe-taking gorgeous. Everyone admired and desired her: the youths adored her glowing fair skin, the long dark hair; lashes; blushed cheeks, and full lips painted glossy red. The elders frown, she is now artificial; had bleached her skin, and cut low her kinky hair and now adorn an imported Indian hair.

She was ashamed of her roots, ashamed of her blackness, and had to modify herself to be acceptable to the world. Regardless, all lust after her! The young desire to ride on her for adventure, and the elders wish to die on her.

Giant of Africa.

She was an Amazon who stood up for the abused in African, the saviour who offered her generous glands to the famished worldwide to suckle; and led her warriors to ensure peace in troubled lands.

She was a giant, and was an angel to behold. Clad in white and green lining, stirring unease in the loins of men, lusted after by all: blacks, whites, brown, yellow – and the unclassified.

But beauty doesn’t last forever; it fades with age or abuse; hers faded in abuse.

Abuse and Insults.

And it came to past that the lust for the endowment of Nigeriana cannot be contained; relatives pounced on her in erotic zest: Uncles, cousins, nephews, family friends, and distant friends, all taking turns. They rounded her naked and bloody body - already mounted, coveting. While rubbing at their erected organs. Even women stood by licking their lips in wanton homosexual craving, hoping for their turn to pry their twitching fingers in the honey pot.

On most occasions, even after climax the maniac would not want to give way until he was ripped off and cast away or shot dead! She was pinned down, and forced to cooperate, she cried out helplessly and was compelled to silence with slaps, blows and kicks. On afterthought, they decided to let her cry as loud as she wanted, their conspiracy would muffle her voice to the outside wall – and beside, wasn’t crying gratifying to a rapist?

It sounds as an ecstatic moan. And when her protest and cry deteriorated in exhaustion, she was slapped, booted and kick, and the pounding intensified, to force her to make sound. Her silence is an insult to masculinity. All this happen while the young watch!

Even as generation changes, the culture of abuse and tradition was maintained. Rules and regulations were enacted to regulate taking of turns, but lust is a bully, it would beat up any kid to have his way. The succeeding generation had earlier watch and fantasized, and now could put fantasy to execution: they invaded any opening in her body! Some masturbated and smeared their abominations on her – this is the modern style!

Battered and Raped.

She had been battered, raped and shamed. No one reserved pity for her, the few who cared for her later prevailed over the abusers. They afforded her the best treatment: better food and the best plastic surgeon that re-carved her into an image almost as desirable as her former self. But then the game changed: Their true intention was revealed, they were investors – pimps; and she was theirs to trade. She was made a courtesan to satiate the lust of western pricks, a geisha to entertain the Asians maniacs, and a whore to whoever can make an offer in hard currency.

Today, she is back at the mercy of the maniacs. The abuse continues, and the illicit tradition resuscitated. Everybody wants to derive pleasure from her, and at liberty to fantasize its tactic of abuse. There is a trending agitation now, and as heartless as it may sound it is noteworthy. That she be put to dead! As a favour to the relatives and to her; her existence is a shame to the collective identity of the relative. But there exist those who meant well for her but choose to heed the truism that, if you cannot beat them, join them!

Written by Mbuyazi Emmanuel.

Mbuyazi Emmanuel, Historian, creative writer. Loves reading, watching movies and research. Contact: zikazigadaba@gmail.com, FACEBOOK: Mbuyazi Emmanuel; Follow FB Page: Grandad’s Lenses, and grandadlenses.wordpress.com