Uncle Musa

I was 10

He was older…a lot older

I didn’t know his age, but I know he was older

How old? Well, I called him uncle.

He used to playfully rub my head and say “my frisky niece”

But he would also squeeze the small knots on my chest and say “dey growin oh”

He would buy me orange Fanta and tell me to keep our secret

He told me if I didn’t tell, he would keep buying me soft drinks

When my Ma refused to buy me a new book bag, he told he would get it

He also told me it won’t hurt if we start with his fingers

He said one of our secrets was teaching me “life”

We were not alone so I didn’t think anything of it

I sat on his lap in our family living room

The green lantern was hanging in the corner of the room

He rocked me back and forth until he slowly put his right hand under my dress

Our small black and white TV played a Nigerian Movie with Patience Ozokwor

He had his other hand on my left shoulder as we sat there in the open space

I remembered the look on his face as he forced his dry fingers between my legs

It hurt, but I kept my eyes on the TV as my body stiffened

My older cousins were laying on the floor and my Aunt sat in the wooden chair- maybe they saw it

Someone had to see and say something

It didn’t feel right. Someone had to say something

Who was I kidding? Uncle Musa was everyone’s favorite

By the time Patience Ozokwor was done yelling, he had entered his finger into me several times

I wasn’t sure what to do as I felt ashamed, scared and shocked all at once

As the evening continued, he continued, occasionally stopping to send me for water

The next day he got me the book bag and some grease (Vaseline)

“Wutin’ the grease for, Uncle Musa?” I asked.

“You will know the next time we watch a movie my frisky niece”

Author: Zuleka