There are so many fractions of life that need support and a voice. Of
late a lot of violent stories have been released and it gives others a
glimpse into the rampant lives of abuse in our society especially
between couples who supposedly love each other.
LWTZE (Lady with the zoom effect) is an initiative of SoundcityTV’s
lead ambassador and VJ, Olayinka ‘Yeancah’ Adamu. LWTZE Concept is
spearheading several projecting include ‘The War Against Domestic
Violence’. A TV show to spread the word of this concept is already in
the making.
Below is the story of a battered victim:
The honeymoon period ended the day after we were married, six months
from when we first met. Dehinde is about six foot and about 225 pounds
in weight. I’m five foot four and 100 pounds. He grabbed me by the waist
and lifted me up against the wall. He grabbed my hands and bent them
backward, breaking one of my fingers. I was in shock. I was stunned. But
I didn’t leave. A few hours after the incident, He broke into tears and
told me how sorry he was. I loved him so much, so I believed him when
he said it wouldn’t happen again. But life became hell after that.
For the next two months the abuse was nonstop. He kept me in a
constant state of terror. I’m not a drinker, but he’d toss a bottle of
beer in my face and say “drink”. He’d punch me in the stomach or kick me
in the thigh if I didn’t. I started walking on tiptoes around him,
fearful of everything I’d say and do. But it didn’t matter; the abuse
continued.
He dislocated my shoulder several times. He’d lift me up by the
ankles and bang my head against the floor in the living room. A part of
me wanted to leave, but another part of me hesitated. Somehow I felt I
was partially responsible for the abuse. If I hadn’t made a particular
comment or if I had just sipped the alcohol everything would have been
OK. And for the first few months he was apologetic after the beatings.
He’d say he felt very bad and that he didn’t mean to hit me so hard.
He’d actually cry sometimes and show such remorse that I’d forget my own
pain.
He’d become romantic and sweet, and I’d fall in love with him all
over again. I started to isolate myself from friends and family. I
didn’t want them to know about the violence. I put on a happy face with
my two kids and tried to act like things were fine. They knew about the
violence but didn’t know the severity. When my mom wanted to see me, I’d
lie, saying I was busy. I didn’t want her to see my bruises. I was
embarrassed.
Sadly, the abuse worsened. The rapes began about two months after we
were married. I was dressing for work when he came out of the shower and
asked me where I was going. He didn’t wait for my answer. He threw me
on the bed, sat on my stomach, pinned my arms up beside my head and
ripped off my clothes. “If you want sex, wait until I get home tonight,”
I said. “You’ll do it when I want, and how I want,” was his response.
It got worse after that. He would tie me up and put foreign objects such
as necks of beer bottles into my vagina.
Five months into the marriage I endured beating after beating. While
most of the assaults were done when my children weren’t home, I was
worried that they might step in and try to protect me. If they did, they
might get beaten, too. I began plotting our escape, but it was
difficult. He had begun making threatening comments: “You can never get
far enough away from me. I will always find you. If I can’t have you, no
one will.” I felt trapped. How I left? He had disappeared for three
days. I didn’t know where he was. I thought he had been in an accident. I
called his phone; he would answer but not say anything. He arrived home
on the third night at about 1 a.m. and immediately started screaming at
me that he didn’t appreciate me trying to track him down. We were in
the sitting room and he grabbed the land-phone receiver and began to
beat me in the face with it. His eyes were red and flashing like I’d
never seen before. I ran to the bedroom, and he was right behind me.
He
picked me up over his head and threw me across the room twice. I broke
my tailbone in the second fall. My 6-year-old daughter woke up. She must
have heard something and came to see what was happening. She just stood
there, stunned. He looked at her and got scared for some reason. He
went into the bathroom to pack his things. I found my phone, fighting
the pain from the broken bone, limped to the living room, I then called
my father since then I have not set my eyes on Dehinde.
No one deserves to live like this. Please SAY NO TO VIOLENCE!
