Many of us must have come across the news about a young lady who killed her 21 months old baby by drowning. It’s really a terrible thing she did. I’ve seen so many comments against her: people judging and condemning her. But before I judge her, I’ll like to imagine how the whole story leading to her ordeal all started, and then try to put myself in her shoe. Follow me as I take you on a little journey to how her story may have stared. I’m afraid I’ll be a little vulgar. Please pardon me. If you’re below 18, please this article is not for you. And if you’re the spiritually sanctimonious type, ‘holier than Jesus’, please stop reading from here and go and pick up your Bible and read instead. If you’re not in the aforementioned categories, come with me.

Let’s go!                          

Funmilola was innocent. The virtue of innocence comes with naivety. She could hardly see beyond the masculine veil. No, she couldn’t. Everything would be beautiful. Life would be a bed of roses. She had it all covered. Nothing could go wrong. She was in control. And so she fell for Fola. He got her. She loved him. With him, life would be a smooth ride. He was such a great and charming guy to her. He was faultless: an angel in human form.

Time came; Fola started longing to taste the sweetness of the honey-pot between her legs. For him, the goal in this relationship was sex, but for her, it was a future together. How would she know his true intention toward her? She was blinded by her feelings toward him.

On this fateful day, Funmilola visited Fola in his house. They were all alone in his room. Fola made sexual advancement toward Funmilola. She resisted it. He persisted. In no time, he’d taken off his pants, leaving his tough hungry penis bare whilst he tried to fondle her, aiming for her teenage breasts. His advances were forceful, becoming irresistible, weakening, yet appealing.

Funmilola could fight back the emotion no more. She’d given up. She was human. Every human has a breaking point. Hers was made to come a little quicker by Fola’s emotional-trapping moves. She allowed him: undid her button and unzipped her Jean whilst she waited for an ecstasy she could only imagine. Fola saw the covered pot he’d been heating and hitting to uncover as she lay flat on his two-pillow mattress on the floor. He focused on it whilst his left hand groped on her chest, cupped in his hand the things on her chest he thought had the size of big oranges and firm in his hand.

Fola was in. Funmilola felt him deep in her.

Six weeks later, Funmilola discovered that she was pregnant. Oh not now! She was broken. How could she be pregnant? No! She needed to wake up from this horrifying nightmare. She’d just gotten admission to study Law at the Obafemi Awolowo University, Ife, Osun State.

What would happen to that? What would her parents say? What would friends and church members think of her? She thought the ground could just open its mouth and swallow her up. But if the earth had a mouth, it was certainly at this time sealed, with giant rocks to keep it sealed. There had to be a way out, Funmilola thought. There had to be. She’d heard and seen people taken care of same condition. Her sister Dami, was already aware of her pregnancy. She called Fola over the phone. 

“I’m pregnant,” she told him.

“What? What did you say?”

“You heard me. I said I’m pregnant.”

“Who got you pregnant?”

“What do you mean by that? Who’s my boyfriend?”

“I’m not your only boyfriend. So take your pregnancy to whoever is responsible. I’m not the one.”

Funmilola held her chest: her left palm on her bosom. Fola’s words were heart-shattering. “Fola, did you just say that to me?”

“Is it not true?”

“Fola, you got me pregnant.”

“Don’t you dare say that again. Take your pregnancy to the owner oh, you fucking whore.”

Something sounded like a disconnect tone on the phone. She could hear him no more. He’d hung up the line. Tears had begun to flood her face. She’d had no sex with no other man but Fola. It was his baby on the way. She was certain. The door opened and Dami came in.

“Why are you crying?” Dami asked.

“Fola is denying getting me pregnant,” Funmilola replied, sobbing.

“What? What nonsense? He’s mad!” Dami was angry. She brought out her phone and requested for Fola’s phone line. She got it, called Fola immediately and warned him over the phone.

Few minutes later, Fola called and asked Funmilola to meet him for a discussion regarding her pregnancy. She agreed. They met, a day later, under the mango tree by the street.

“Funmi, I’ll give you one drug,” Fola said.

“For what?” Funmilola asked.

“It’ll flush out the baby.”

“No, I can’t. My people are already aware. And they have warned me against abortion.”

“So what do you want me to do? You know I can’t be a father now. I just got admission. And you know that.”

“You think it doesn’t bother me as well? I have an admission too.”

“Then let’s abort it so both of us can be free to go to school.”

“I can’t. I just told you that my parents won’t allow it.”

Fola tried as much as he could to convince Funmilola to opt for an abortion. She wouldn’t budge. Frustrated by her stubborn will, he looked at her, angry, and took a step back. “See, I have to go to school. I will not have you and your stupid pregnancy stop me,” he said as he walked away. He paused and turned toward her. He added, “If you won’t abort the baby, don’t you dare come around me anymore. I don’t want to ever see you again.”

Funmilola watched him walk away. She couldn’t take it. She broke down and cried bitterly.

Funmilola was doomed alone, she thought. It’s been three months she last saw Fola. He’d failed to take her calls, neither did he return her calls. It was clear to her now that she would bear the shame all alone. She’d been called several unprintable names by her parents, neighbours, relatives, and friends, in the past few months. She’d been treated like a nonentity, a never-do-well burden, and a slut who could not close her legs but spread them open for every Tom Dick and Harry. That was the general opinion about her as Fola had told whoever cared to listen that she had many sex partners. Deep within her, she knew they were wrong about her. She’d never had sex with any other guy but Fola only. She lost her virginity to him. But who would care to hear her own side of the story nor believe her? She was deeply hurting. She wished death could just come and take her away. Somehow she found little strength to endure. Funmilola soon learned to develop a thick skin against the severe judgements and insults against her. Somehow, many still penetrated through her skin and caused her to weep.

Months later, Funmilola was rushed to the hospital. She was in labour. While in the labour room going through the excessively excruciating labour pains, she couldn’t help but think of a future so bleak and unsure. She wished to God this labour pains could end her life: here and now. Friends and family would call her baby a bustard child.

Lo, Funmilola’s prayer was again unanswered. She gave birth to a baby girl. She felt this joy trapped in thorns: happiness in hell.

Months later, the pains had increased. Her mates they got admission at same time were now in their 200 Levels. Her people never failed to remind her of her friends doing well in their studies while she had become a double burden to them. Emotionally distraught. Angry. Ashamed. Hatred set in. Nothing in life mattered. She was done. The sight of her baby reminded her of her prevailing woes, and worse still, Fola, whom she now hated more than anything in the world. He put her in this condition and abandoned her. He’s a beast, less of a human. She thought. How could she have fallen for such a wicked soul? He was in school, with a bright future ahead of him, and here she was almost giving up on life.

Funmilola’s baby turned a year and a half. The burden of caring for this child who took away the life she had and the one she dreamed, had become too heavy. Though she had some help from her sister and parents, but this was her child, a lot more was required of her. She resorted to doing some online business to meet up with her needs and that of her baby. She shouldn’t be doing this alone. The baby’s father needed to be here. He had a role to play. Funmilola fumed. She was playing the role of a father and mother. And as time inched on, her travails went on climax.

Funmilola’s pains soon become a tormenting spirit. She’s been gravely broken. She could hardly think clearly. Everyone became an enemy. Nobody loved her. No one wanted her. The pains and her excessive thinking soon affected her mental wellness. Her reasoning became awkwardly irrational. Her life no longer counted; neither did she value others’. The idea of God became a myth in her head, and she thought if truly God exist, He hated her. He couldn’t claim to be God and allow all these pains come upon her. He’s an unjust God, she thought. How could He have men free from the consequence of sex? The man and the woman should both get pregnant and be in pains. Why did God restrict pregnancy to the woman? Fola was out there, free, and here she was, in utter torment. They both had the sex that resulted to this. Random thoughts kept flying in and out of her head. Nothing made any meaning anymore. Now she hated everything: those that have breath and those that don’t. Accelerated depression crept in. Fatal paranoia took its turn. She’d lost her humanity to the pains from brokenness: neither feelings nor emotion. She could kill and be killed for all she cared. Schizophrenic condition had taken a bold grip on her.




Now, dear reader, let me put myself in Funmilola’s shoe and think the way she must of thought in her condition.

 I’m out of school, but he’s in his 300L at UNILAG, almost graduating.

 He has a future but I don’t.

 He’ll some day come and take my daughter he abandoned, and my baby will accept him because he’s her father.

 Nobody will ever need me. Maybe if I kill her I’ll be free.

 Why don’t I kill this baby so we both lose her? I’ll kill her. I don’t care what happens to me.

None of the above thoughts justifies her action, but hardly do you find anyone in her condition thinking clearly.

I’ve seen so many comments from several people, all condemns her and call her the devil. Yes, what she did is wrong and highly unthinkable, but she wasn’t in her right frame of mind. How do you crucify Funmilola on Social Media when you’ve not walked in her shoe? And if you have walked in her shoe, remember she’s not you. We as humans are wired differently, and so our strength varies. Not everyone has the capacity to endure a long time of miseries. If you’re able to withstand pressure, daunting challenges, and shame, it’s grace that you enjoy, do not judge another by it.

A lot of people say, why did she open her legs for sex when she wasn’t ready to bear the consequences. Well, true, but then again, if we believe in justice, that question shouldn’t be directed to her alone. When we question a lady and say, ‘Why did she accept to do it?’, we should also ask, ‘Why did he (the man) ask her to do it?’

Where is Folarin Yusuf who got Oluwafunmilola Adisa pregnant and abandoned her? Why is no one talking about him? The sex was an act they both committed, so why is one now seen as the devil? She killed her own child, yeah? Funmilola was not born a devil. Situation led her into that picture. She was made a devil. The real devil who made her a devil is Folarin. Why did he sweet-mouth her to date him, convince her to have sex with him when he wasn’t ready to take responsibility? That little baby wasn’t killed by Funmilola only, Fola also killed her; in fact, he was the first to kill the innocent child.

In life, whatever you’re not ready for, avoid it. And I make this a special appeal to the men, that, if you’re not willing to chew a meat (bitter or not), and swallow it, do not bite it. You can’t take a bite and then be spitting all over the place as if you were forced to take the bite. Bite only the meat you can chew and swallow. Your penis is not a universal key to open every door, but for one sacred door. Train it to be faithful and loyal to one sacred door. Be ready to stay indoor once you enter that ‘home’ with your ‘key’.

And to you ladies, if there’s nothing you’ve taken from this article so far, at least take this; a guy has not so much to lose with his penis as much as he can loose your peace with it. There are over a billion people moving to and fro outside but very few (between 1 and 15 persons) to one home, and one of those outside is only allowed into another’s home if he or she has proven him/herself trustworthy and loyal. Your vagina is a home, therefore, do not allow any man in until you’re sure of his intention and loyalty. Be careful. Guard your future and surround yourself with the best minds. Remember, your vagina is a home and it’s not for all but the one who truly loves you and whom you can trust with your life. Cheers!

©Skyfoxx Krys


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