ENOUGH.
Somewhere in an ancient town tucked within the ambit of Edo State is an inconsolable wail of sorrow too raw for words from a mother who has lost her will to live, a father who has lost the pride of his heart, a sister who has lost her best friend and confidante, a course mate who has lost her partner in aspiration, a lecturer who has lost a bright and talented student, a choir that has lost an angel.
Uwa Omozuwa.
Lost to a senseless, barbaric, heart-wrenching kill. And for what? Sexual pleasure, with other layers of cruel undertones, although open to theories and guesses, are yet to be ascertained.
Somewhere not excessively far off is a fed up and distraught, 20 something year old woman, struggling to make sense of it all. Unable to close her eyes without being fed the image of this young and beautiful woman, only just a few years younger, who barely a week ago had her whole life ahead of her.
Even as I type these very words, it’s inconceivable to think that we now speak of Uwa in the past. While I had never in my life met her, I feel a certain measure of responsibility. A duty to speak up against disgusting ills in addition to a recognition that Uwa is every young woman seeking to exist without the anxiety of being attacked and killed, trailing her like a muddy print.
It really is how the story goes. A never ending chain of sheer hopelessness and helplessness. Stuck in a filthy web we neither select nor accept nor are built to bear. Conversations about sex with daughters, sisters and nieces unavoidably charged with caution about the very possibility of sexual assault. “Don’t dress this way or that, otherwise you’ll garner unwanted attention to yourself.” An endless list of responsibilities. Unfair burdens, unequally balanced.
Does it make sense now? Our anecdotes about tucking bottles of pepper spray and tasers very conveniently into our handbags almost as routinely and casually as we would a pack of tampons. Our cries for the demolition of the “boys will be boys” mantra.
Our demands for safer work environments and policies? Are you listening now?
In times like this, it’s really difficult to find, let alone, hold on to any flicker of hope. Stricter laws? Stiffer penalties? Women to be chaperoned? What in the world will create a safer space for US?
Well, what would happen if we just keep roaring so loudly, literally and metaphorically, they have no choice but to listen; to become accountable and hold each other accountable; Develop a keen sense of responsibility to be their brother’s keeper, picking out dirty traits and calling each other out as necessary.
Of course, it would be foolish to leave the efforts to them alone so I equally feel a sense of responsibility to continuously inculcate relevant values to my nephews, uncles, male friends and somewhere in the near future, my sons. WOMEN SHOULD NOT FEEL A NEED TO BE PROTECTED WHILE IN YOUR PRESENCE. WOMEN WILL BE LOVED. WOMEN AND OUR BODIES WILL BE RESPECTED.
Ladies (& ally gents), given the fleeting nature of human interaction and the propensity for same to switch rapidly- you know, talked about extensively today, forgotten tomorrow- I hope that the light to the fire in our bellies never goes dim; the anger never subsides and the passion never waivers.
I hope that Uwa continues to enjoy eternal peace- the peace which evaded her while she relentlessly fought to hold on to her last breath, hold on for her family, hold on for her dreams.
But I also really hope that the dust surrounding her rape and murder (call it what it is) never settles. We will talk about it, shred it to pieces, until there is nothing to talk about.
For Uwa. For girls. For women.
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