A young Nigerian woman who is a blogger, freelance writer, illustrator and women’s rights activist has publicly accused the sons of a famous former governor who died last weekend just after winning a gubernatorial election of rape and torture.
The woman who goes by Sugabelly came out with shocking revelations just as the 68 year old politician was being laid to rest in Kogi. She took to Twitter to expose some of the horrific abuse she suffered back when she was a naive teenager and recent high school graduate, interning at an IT firm in Abuja where she says she met the deceased former governors son, Mustapha.
Mustapha would go on to woo the teenager with the trappings of wealth, his father allegedly embezzled over #11 billion from the State treasury and he was being prosecuted for corruption by the Economic and Financial Crimes Commission (EFCC) before his death.
The All Progressives Congress (APC) member was allegedly so brazen in his theft as state governor that former President Olusegun Obasanjo once wrote him a letter to caution him to slow down his acquisition of foreign properties abroad.
Recounting her ordeal, Sugabelly detailed incidents where Mustapha would gang rape her, inviting his male friends and relatives to engage in deviant sexual behaviours with her ranging from gang rape involving oral sex, choking, gagging and even inducing drowning whilst penetrating herna.
The revelations drew anger from women across social media whilst others accused the blogger of being a gold digger who signed up for all the sexual abuse she suffered so she could be Mustapha’s wife and/or lover, and who was also totally into the sexual acts performed on her. Men and womenin Nigeria subscribed to the former and latter views.
Her blog which has been active for over 9 years sheds more light on what some antiRape activists believe this young woman may have suffered and what potentially thousands of other Nigerian women are going through in form of sexual and physical abuse from their spouses or partners who are supposed to treat them with love and care but don’t.
Others say her blog is only a testament to her lewd and immoral behaviour, calling her a slut and liar.
We have uncovered some posts from her blog that lend to the narrative on both sides of the divide.
In a blog post entitled Elwe Singollo, from April 2007, she writes about being raped by a relative of her boyfriend whilst a friend of Mustapha whom she refers to as Mr. T stops to watch , http://sugabellyrocks.com/
I never knew it would be so hard. And that the fear would be so paralyzing. I kept trying to throw him, off, and I just couldn’t. He was forcing my legs apart, and I was so afraid. So I bit him. Bit hard, anywhere I could get, until I tasted blood. And still he had his arm wrapped around my neck. And with one hand fingered me. Vile creature.
And I screamed, and screamed, and no one came. And finally, in the doorway I saw Mr. T. But he just looked into my eyes, smiled, and shut the door. I think my screams still came through. But he wouldn’t come. And in that moment my heart truly broke. For the final time. And I did not care anymore what happened. And the monster thought he would have his way,but in the end Mr. T came in and pulled him off me. I kicked him in the ribs as he loosened his stranglehold, and gathered my clothes about me.
Still the tears would not come. I dressed hurriedly in case he should come in again, and came out into the parlor where they were all seated. He was there. Elwe. and I hurt because I knew he had heard, and he had not cared. After everything that has happened between us, he still cannot see me as human. Worth saving. So I stood before him in shame, the bite his cousin had given me in retaliation swelling rapidly on my nose. And he said it was not rape.
Who set you as a judge over us?
If he did not try to rape me as he claims, what happened? How could you? How could you believe him and not me? How could you? They all heard me screaming. They all knew. And you, the one who mattered most to me; the one to whom I ran for refuge are judge over, and condemn me.
Fuck you. Who set you as a judge over us? Who set you as a judge over me?
The voices are still there. You did! You did!They whisper as they flit from ear to ear. You did, and you are to blame for this we fear.
My love, my heart, my soul. This body is yours but will be no one else’s. And I DO NOT care what he saw me do with you. I am sworn to you, and no one else. I am bloody as hell not his fucking entitlement. Whatever the fuck he might think. Whatever he saw, whatever he wanted, and whatever bitter blood flows in his veins. I will open those same veins and drain him rather than let him touch what is yours.
Or mine.
So, fuck you, cousin of my Elwe. Fuck you to fucking hell for what you did.
I hate you.
For your lust.
For your pride.
For everything you think that you stand for.
And above all things, for putting your grubby paws on me.
And I swear, if you ever come near me, or any of mine ever again. I will slit your throat until you gape, smiling from ear to ear. And then, you may have the last laugh.
In another post entitled The King of Pain, she writes about being the Queen of Bruises in reference to the sexual assault and describes what seems to be an abortion had for a partner who did not welcome the news of pregnancy.
Elwe, what happened? Did I make love to you and you not notice? Or was it not painful enough? Maybe I didn’t let you hit me hard enough, and so, you sulk. Maybe I didn’t cry, and so you felt I wasn’t a good girl. Maybe I didn’t give you enough. I gave you body and soul.
Elwe Singollo what will you have from me?
Not love. Surely not love. I’ll have none of that from thee.
Did you not force him on me? Oh you push too hard darling, but I accept. And every time you hit me, I cried when you looked away. But never to your face. No, never ever to your face. The game would be up you see.
I know he’s not in love with me.
Elwe Singollo what will you have from me?
Sex perhaps. But nothing else. I’ll have no more from thee.
So, you see. He wants none of that from me.
Elwe Singollo, King of Pain.
His Queen of Bruises, me.
Within, without, no difference make, so long you’re hurting me.
Elwe, a thousand times I have been asked, and I swear sorely tried. Why do I love you so they pry. Why never I leave your side?
Enough.
In plain English, I loved you Elwe. I fight it but I still do. You are hurting me. Every day. With everything. I feel so isolated from you, and it’s tearing me apart. I know we have done terrible things, but you make that all go away. I’m not afraid when you hold me. I’m not afraid when you are near. And I feel like I can do anything if only you will give your blessing.
And I wish that you had said yes. I wish that you had said it was alright. I wish you had kissed my slowly swelling stomach and said that you wanted us. I wish you had said ‘I am here.’ Because it would have made all the difference in the world, and I would have been unafraid to try. I wish with all my heart that you felt something. But the truth of your feelings is as obvious as the truth of mine.
But I put on a brave face as I have been told that I must, and cry only in the dead of night. And when morning comes, I forget you and yours, and carry on.
I miss you terribly Elwe. You never smile at me anymore. You don’t laugh like you used to either. What happened dearest? What changed? I still love you, and I wish I could have told you as I wanted to. Not the way you found out. I don’t know if it would have changed anything. Stay if you list. I just know my heart. I think I already know yours.
No use mucking about you see. Knew he wasn’t meant for me.
And in yet another blog post from MAY 2007, she documents more abuse and refers to Mustapha Audu by name.
http://sugabellyrocks.com/
…He tried to rape me…You tried to fuck a girl.
…Same difference.
Really?
Baby, my love. I was so ashamed. Ashamed for me, and ashamed for you. Ashamed for me that I was powerless. Ashamed for you that he tried to take away your pride. But you were never proud of me, were you? And I was so proud of you. I wanted everything for you. But the pain was so much. It was very hard you see. I’m so sorry I failed. I didn’t meet your expectations did I? But what did you expect? For me not to feel anything? For me not to care? For me to watch you touch her, and kiss her, and do everything we did once, and not feel something? Because you said the same things to me once. You kissed me once, and called me pet names. And one very special night, you watched in awe, and I felt more beautiful than I ever have before. And not for my sake, but for you. For once, it was enough. As long as you were happy, I was content, and unafraid.
I still love you. Even though my friend says I should let go.
It’s so difficult. Every day I say I don’t, I see you or hear your voice or someone talks about you, I remember that I love you. I remember the sound of your breathing in a car on a dark night. I remember the smell of your skin lingering on mine. I remember the way you taste. I remember that your hands are a bit rough, but are so gentle when you want them to be. I remember your weight on top of me, and how much I miss it. I remember listening to your heart beat on a cold morning when I was scared. You put your arm around me then, and said it would be okay. I believed you, and it was. I remember that you were always half-shocked then when I kissed you. It’s only because I kiss you like I want you to kiss me. And I touch you like I want to be touched. I wish I could make love to you the way you make love to me, but I don’t know how yet.
And I make mistakes. I know. I wish to goodness I didn’t.
And you are so strong, and so…..male. It scares and overwhelms, and thrills me at the same time. Bakura. Your name rolls around my tongue like cotton candy, disappearing as fast as I say it. But it’s like rum, or hot spirits. Fire in my belly. Baby, you’re like that. And I would be so happy to just follow you around in wonder. Like a puppy, I know. But you do that to me, and funny thing is, because you make me feel that way I don’t feel it’s bad.
And if you suggest something, it sounds great. Bakura. I want to type it over and over again. It helps this pain you see. Because I have these images of you touching her. You were both naked, and I hated her and loved you at the same time. And the only way I could tell myself it was not a nightmare was to touch her too. And when I felt that she was real, I had to hurt her. I’m sorry if it upset you. I don’t know what you wanted. Me to make love to her too perhaps? With you? Us, together? Maybe I would have if it was just her, somewhere else. Maybe I would have if I found her appealing.
Mustapha Audu, King of Pain
His Queen of Bruises, me.
Sugabelly may have been a victim of sexual abuse and exploitation, however her narrative serves to help women empower themselves by teaching them how to avoid the pitfalls that lead to toxic and abusive relationships and how to severe ties before its too late, unless ofcourse as the critics say, “they are into that sort of thing”.
Another post on Sugabelly’s blog reinforces the beliefs of those who feel she was not a victim but a willing participant is entitled “7 Reasons I Had Sex”and goes thus:
I was caught in one of those rare moments when one has too little to do and much too much time on one’s hands, and it caught my fancy to write a list of every man I’ve ever had sex with.
So many people get all bent out of shape about the number of people we have sex with, but does anyone care about the why?
As the list emerged, I began to think about each name on the list, and the specifics surrounding our sexual encounter(s). Most of this involved examining my relationship with each man, what had led me to have sex with him, and whether I had felt anything for him at the time.
On a whim, I decided to write down the most dominant reasons why I had had sex in each situation, and working my way down the list, some things about the pattern that emerged took me a little by surprise.
It turns out, that I have only ever had sex for seven reasons in my life.
…
In no particular order, they are…
Depression
The first time I ever had sex, I was severely depressed. I was incredibly unhappy, and I just wanted to forget everything, and make all my troubles go away.
It didn’t work, and it was incredibly disappointing.
Pressure
I didn’t like him or love him, and my attraction to him was at best tepid to lukewarm, but everyone seemed to think he was the perfect guy for me, and that we made such a cute couple.
He thought so too, and eventually I caved to pressure and dated him for a few months.
Lust
It just sort of happened all at once. Once the stone got rolling, it was all downhill from there. An accidental picture on Facebook, then a quick detour to get shawarma turned into an afternoon spent splayed out naked on the fully reclined passenger seat of a red Mercedes, breathlessly steaming up the windows as my toes struggled not to accidentally turn off the AC or change the radio station.
Coercion
Threats, bites, huge hands wrapped around my throat and squeezing until I couldn’t breathe. High fives, hotels, terror, and military sex games. It took me six months and three thousand miles to get away from him, and I’m still not okay.
Curiosity
My first (and his) interracial experience. It ended in a disastrous tsunami of self consciousness and embarrassment.
Boredom
He was just there, and he had a thick dick. I was just counting down the weeks until I could leave that hellhole of a place, where I had nothing and no one to care about, and expectations fallen so low I could squash them beneath my feet.
He was pretty, he had always been pretty, and the thought had occasionally crossed my mind. So on a first orientation night in an international house where I had come to make friends but knew no one, the opportunity presented itself.
Love
Shy, nervous, but very very happy.
It was a summer of quiet nights spent in, playing video games on PS3, howling in frustration at getting taken out during a 7 point kill streak by camping assholes in Call of Duty. Then soft kisses in the darkness, polite requests to touch, and wrapping our arms and legs around each other to lie in the afterglow, his face buried in my breasts, me kissing his hair and watching him sleep.
“Your heart is beating so fast…. is it… because of me?”
This is what he asked
What’s on your list?
So because she wrote a blog about the “7 reasons i had sex” means that she was not raped?, een though she had blogged about those experiences. Because she is a woman confident in her sexuality and not ashamed of it (as society has thaught women to be), because she enjoyed having sex at some point means that she was not raped?
there is this phenomena in our culture that stiffles the sexuality of women and consequently punishes women that dares to *not* define her worthiness by her hymen. So this young lady liked to have sex, we can tell that much from her blog, and somehow that makes it okay for men to feel entitiled to her body and violate it, because she does not walk within the confines of your patriachal culture