I am a black African woman—a Nigerian woman, to be exact. I was 23 years old when I obeyed the clarion call to serve Nigeria as a corp member. Like every youth posted to a place of primary assignment almost close to home, I was excited about going for service. At least I could come home during the holidays and when necessary. It was a rural area and a boring environment devoid of power supply and good water. The corp members posted there had to make some fun out of the whole environment. We sometimes went swimming at the best hotel around, organized parties and went out to watch football. Just name it. All for fun because the whole place was so boring.

It was a weekend, and I had just been asked out on a date by a man I met online. I was careful enough to fix the venue in a restaurant located in a community close to where I stayed. Although it was the best around, they didn’t have much. It was about 4:30 pm when the man I had agreed to meet with showed up at the venue. When I caught a glimpse of him from afar, he wasn’t the kind of man I fancied but for some reason, I felt it would be rude to walk out on him. So, I decided to stay and hear what he had to say. He ordered fried indomie and egg sauce which we ate, and a bottle of star raddler to go with the meal. He introduced himself as Chukwuka. I felt relieved that he was Igbo and my unsuspecting Aries nature trusted him even though I had just met him.

I’ve never believed in jazz or experienced it, but on that very day, I experienced the magic of jazz for the first time because, at some point, I was no longer in control of my will. When he requested that I follow him to his family house to meet his family members, I followed without thinking twice. According to him, one of his siblings was getting married the next day, so they had a little get-together. When we got there, they were all sitting outside having their party. So we joined. I didn’t eat anything there. He was busy introducing me to the persons he claimed were his siblings. Then, he asked me to go with him to book a hotel room and spend the night with him. I blatantly refused and told him I’m not the type of girl that sleeps around with men. My senses were gradually coming back by then. When I checked my time, it was already late. So, I gave him a signal that I wanted to start heading home. He pleaded with me to stay a while longer. At some point,  I had to inform the man he introduced to me as his eldest brother that I needed to go home because it was already late. The brother instructed him to let me take my leave and asked him to make sure I got home safely. He was forced to get up and see me off.

There were no bikes available when we got to the junction where I was meant to get a bike home. I blamed him for not letting me leave when I wanted to. I didn’t know my way around, so I didn’t know what to do. He volunteered to call a bike man to come to pick me up and suggested a shorter route we could go through that led to the community where I was serving. As an indigene of that place, I trusted him to know the way better than I did. So, I followed him without thinking twice, not that I had a choice. My only thought was getting home safely. I never suspected anything.

We walked through that path, and I was looking out for the bike man he supposedly called on the phone to come and pick me up. There was no one in sight. The distance he claimed was a shortcut became even longer than I expected. I began to worry, and I was tired of walking. My feet were already smarting. I had already told two male colleagues that I was on the way home, and one kept calling to know my whereabouts. I never suspected that this man I trusted, even though he was a stranger, had ill intentions towards me. I needed to find out the route to move towards a different direction. At some point, I started to complain and ask questions. Why would he take me on a long path without plans to lead me home? He took advantage of the fact that I was unfamiliar with the route and needed to figure out where to go. I was upset.

Finally, we got to a path, and I was in front, not knowing where I was going. The path was lonely. I looked around and couldn’t find a single soul around. I started running in the opposite direction, but he soon caught up with me. My heart skipped at that very moment when he got hold of me and forcefully dragged me to the bush nearby. At that point, it dawned on me that I was in a huge mess. He ordered me to take off my clothes, and I tried to struggle. Several blows landed on my head, and a kick swept me off my feet and landed me on the floor. He hit my head on the ground. He forcefully ripped my clothes off and told me that since I refused to follow him to the hotel, this was where I would end up. He forcefully pinned me to the ground and kissed me. I tried to resist, and he strangled me.

I couldn’t breathe. He said, “You better cooperate coz if you don’t, I’ll kill you here and leave your corpse here and no one can come to your rescue.” Those words still ring a bell when I remember that incident. I didn’t know which one was more painful. The thought of losing my virginity in the most painful way or having to die this way, in a bush. No one would find my corpse until maybe after a long time. I thought of my family, especially my mother. Would she ever survive the news of my demise? I thought of my dreams, about to be cut off prematurely. I rejected all the men because I wanted to keep my virginity for my future husband. Then, having to lose it this way. So many thoughts were running through my mind. He could have me here and still kill me to cover up his deeds.

Amidst the strangling, and the pain, I tried so hard to fight. I held my thighs tightly together and tried to deny him access. “Please… I’m a virgin…” I blurted out in tears. I thought that could stop him, but no. The only thing that came to my mind at that moment was to pray. I had given up on struggling. It was practically my last prayer. I asked God to forgive me of all my sins and told him if he could save me from this mess, I’d serve him for the rest of my life. I didn’t know what had happened because he stopped abruptly and ordered me to put on my clothes. I was just confused. I did as he said. Then, he snatched my phone. It was an answered prayer because I finally saw a bike coming towards our direction, and immediately he ran away. The bike man tried going after him, but he was fast. He got away.

The bike man took me to the nearest police station after I had told him about the incident. At the police station, I found the two male colleagues I had informed earlier that I was on the way home. They had come to report me missing but were told to wait for 24 hours. I was in pain and severe shock. Tears rolled down my eyes. One of my colleagues, a fellow corp member, carried me like a baby. He had been making his advances before the incident occurred, but I was in a serious relationship then, and I did not want to cheat on my boyfriend with someone from a different tribe. I didn’t understand the depth of the love he felt towards me until that very day when he held me in his arms. He made me feel safe. He took me to his apartment, made sure I took a bath and held me in his arms until I managed to sleep off his bed.

The next day he helped me take out my weaves because my hair had become so rough and dirty as a result of the incident of the previous day. He acted maturely, tried to keep the whole thing a secret, and urged me to report the incident at the police station. Then, he took me to the police station to write a statement regarding the case. He even urged me to tell my boyfriend about the incident. How on earth was I supposed to do that? I felt he would never believe my story because he had tried to sleep with me several times, and I rejected him, only to lose the same thing I was protecting to some random guy I barely knew. I didn’t dare to tell him because I was scared I’d finally lose him.

The police had promised me they would catch the culprit when I returned home to seek medical attention. I had to see a gynaecologist and run a series of tests to know the extent of damage the incident had caused. The gynaecologist examined my private part and said there was a slight penetration into my vagina, it wasn’t that deep, and I have a partial hymen, so I didn’t experience any bleeding. However, I still couldn’t feel like a virgin anymore. At the hospital, I met a doctor that got interested in my case when she learnt it had to do with rape. She told me she has a foundation that deals with rape cases and has all it takes to ensure the culprit faces the full weight of the law. She had so many connections to get this man arrested. All she needed was permission from me to take up my case, and she would make sure he paid for his actions. I was still filled with rage, hurting inside. I wanted to see this man suffer for what he did to me. I had enough evidence. The obvious marks on my face and the rest of my body, even the torn clothes I wore on the day of the incident. But yet, I thought of the publicity it would create. Everyone would know what happened, and I wasn’t ready for that. I guess I was not strong enough. People will blame me for getting that close to a stranger. She offered me her complimentary card and asked me to call her when I made up my mind to go ahead and press charges. I took the card and went home.

When I returned to my place of primary assignment, I was still broken. I still tried to keep the secret from people, even my boyfriend. I was confused. I felt useless. At some point, I thought of committing suicide. And I knew I couldn’t let my boyfriend. I knew I couldn’t deal with this and his rejection if he discovered that I had lost my virginity to a random guy. I didn’t know how he would begin to view me and treat me. I just wasn’t thinking straight. The memories of that incident kept playing in my head. I needed something to shock me back to life. My colleague, who had carried me like a baby that night after the incident, had come to see me one day, and we had a moment. I allowed him to take me, but he had to use protection. I just needed to be sure of what was going on in my life. I just needed to shock myself to the reality that I wasn’t a virgin anymore. I had to tell myself the fact that I had lost my man. Because I knew he would find out and that he would break up with me. Things will never be the same again. It hurt, but this was reality, my reality.

One day, the man who had raped me used his brother to ask me for forgiveness. He returned my phone and blamed it on the devil. Can you imagine that? I could only think of him rotting in jail. I felt I needed to do this to save other ladies from becoming his victims. I still had that complimentary card with me. But I heard a voice saying, “How many times do you offend God and yet he forgives”. Trust me, it wasn’t easy, but I decided to let go. I got home, tore the complimentary card, burnt the torn clothes I had kept as my evidence to ashes, and called the police inspector to let him know I was dropping the charges against this man. Ah! Life truly happened to me. It was the most challenging time of my life, deciding to forgive this rapist, even though I knew my life would never remain the same again. I never knew I could be that strong. If I could go through that moment of my life and come out strong, I believe there’s nothing I can’t handle. It’s been years since that incident, and it still breaks my heart. My boyfriend eventually found out, and he broke up with me. I wish I had told him then and just faced the consequences at once. Losing him at that very moment wouldn’t have been as painful as losing him now. Once again, I had made a very bad decision.

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On October 28th, 2019, I got off from bed to prepare to go to the hospital for my recurring cancer, post-surgery results. It was around 3 am, I had not slept a wink, and it was precisely an hour fifteen minutes before the transport would show up outside my uni residence to pick me up. So I had to get ready despite having puffy eyes and a sleep-deprived body.

Throughout the trip to the hospital, everything went completely off-track. It was like I was moving in slow motion and watching my life pass me by—quite an uncomfortable feeling. Until 3 hours later, when I arrived at the hospital, the oncology department.

I had already convinced myself- what’s the point? Whether the results come back positive or negative, it will all come down to one thing. Hope. If the results came back positive for cancer, I would have to continue to hope that it’ll all go away one day. Or that at least I would live long enough to have a good-paying career and do great things for my mother. And if it came back negative, I would still hope that it doesn’t come back in a few months or years to come like it did the last two times.

The results came back NEGATIVE. Yay. Congratulations, you are finally in remission, my doctor enthusiastically told me. Should I cry? Jump? Celebrate? Ring a bell?… What now? I had so many questions, and confusion railed my mind like a busied peak-hour traffic.

In the end, I chose to do nothing. But to continue living my life as nothing had happened. I bottled it all up. I didn’t climb the mountain tops and shout with joy, “I beat cancer AGAIN.” I didn’t want to be the inspirational, brave and resilient young black woman I was a few years back. And I didn’t want to write another blog about how God saved me from the pits. Because what if it comes back AGAIN.

As I reflect on the past few years, I realise I have robbed myself of the vast and earnest beauty of the joy of the unknown. I have been focusing more on what if it comes back—and ignoring the possibility of what if it doesn’t. So as a gift for myself. Or rather let’s call it a new year’s resolution; I have decided to be a little bit easy on myself. To focus more on the positive and to give joy, happiness and the beauty that comes with uncertainty a room in my life. I have decided to accept change and allow myself to transition through every phase (good or bad) with grace. And finally, I have decided to carry hope around with me everywhere I go. Like a badge of honour willing me forward.

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Going to university as a young black woman from a disadvantaged rural area in Africa is sort of a miracle. For me, it was not just about going to university. It was the fact that I was going to the university of my dreams. And to study for a bachelor’s degree of my choice.

Walking through the gates of Rhodes University and into the pharmaceutical lecture theatre’s was exhilarating more than it was frightening for me. I was ready to take up space and claim my power from the hands of poverty. An experience that almost felt surreal, not only to me but to my family too.

From Chem 101 to Pharmacology 4, I still can’t figure out how I made it through. Looking back on it now feels like it went by in a blink of an eye. However, during the journey, the obstacles and pitfalls, what I had to put up with seemed insurmountable. The biggest of them being diagnosed with cancer and having to battle with it for the duration of my undergraduate studies.

For over a year, I suffered from excruciating pains, heart and breathing problems in complete oblivion. Not only did I not know what was wrong with me. But physicians couldn’t see past my pains and occasional fainting spells. It was in that state of uncertainty and confusion that I experienced my first depression and series of panic attacks. However, having just started university (which I believed was my only path to escape poverty). I vowed to myself that as long as I could breathe, I was going to stay in school and see how everything unravelled. So I did, but in time, things went south. My health deteriorated with each heartbeat. At the same time, my grades dropped below average. And ultimately below the pass rate.

With every vital check, blood test and x-ray in each hospital visited, I was told that I was okay. And that I should stop faking sickness to get a leave-of-absence note. So I stopped going to the hospital for a while. Instead I stayed in my room, endured the pains in silence, and in one of those days, I just felt the urge to google my signs and symptoms (even though I was warned many times by many people that it was a bad idea). I did the research, starting from the excruciating pains that had overtaken my entire left leg. I also noted the pelvic pains, the difficulty breathing and the chest pains.

After about six months of persistent symptoms, I started to notice the changes in my mobility, and the area below. As well as around my pelvis which started to harden like a rock. The last symptom slowly led to difficulties in sitting and even sleeping. 

As I continued my research, I  learned of the term “tumor”, but even so my mind was far from thinking that it could be malignant. As the tumor started to grow rapidly and extensively, I started losing consciousness and ended up admitted to the local hospital several times. And with the little information I had, I happened to meet a lady doctor in one of my admissions and she was friendly enough for me to find it easy to explain to her everything about my signs and symptoms.

I remember vividly saying to her, “do you think it could be a tumor?” and it was at that moment where I knew from the look on her face that it was a high possibility that I could have cancer in my body. The doctor immediately filled in a referral to a tertiary hospital in a different city where I began doing more tests such as MRI, CT scans, and biopsys.

It was then that exactly after 12 months of agonizing pain and depression. I was diagnosed with Soft Tissue Sarcoma. Which is a type of cancer that begins in the muscles, fat, fibrous tissue, blood vessels or other supporting tissue in the body. And thus in the middle of what was meant to be a joyful time for me. I began my journey of cancer treatment and care. 

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