"HE WAS OLD ENOUGH TO KNOW BETTER"

I was just a child 10, maybe 11 in JSS 1, still playing with friends after school, and still innocent enough to believe that adults were supposed to protect, not violate. But one moment changed everything. A grown man, old enough to be my father, looked at me in a way that still haunts me. The way he touched, stared, lingered it wasn’t just wrong, it left a permanent dent in my sense of safety. No one warned me this could happen. And when it did, I didn’t know what to call it. I just knew I felt shame. I felt dirty. I felt unsafe. That’s the thing about sexual harassment. It doesn’t start with a warning and it doesn’t end with an apology especially not in a society that tells you, “You’re overreacting.” In Nigeria, we don’t talk enough about sex not in the way that educates, or protects. Our silence is loud. Especially when it comes to boys. When they do wrong, it's brushed off with “He’s just a boy,” or “That’s how men are.” No accountability. No correction. No emotional education. I’m not writing this as an attack on men because I know boys suffer, too. But I’m writing from a place of pain. A pain that’s familiar to many girls, women, even mothers. A married woman, four kids, recently shared how an older man harassed her in broad daylight. Another girl shared her experience on a public bus, touched inappropriately. And the response? Laughter. Excuses. “He's just tapping energy." “Why you dey stingy with your body?” Do they even hear themselves? Do they realize a lot of us are walking around with unspoken trauma? That we flinch when a man walks too close behind us? That we hesitate before getting into a keke alone? That we remember every touch we didn’t consent to, every stare that made us feel like prey? It’s not enough to say “sorry.” It’s not enough to post on International Women’s Day. We need real conversations. Real education. Real empathy. I pray our generation does better. That we raise boys differently. That we teach them boundaries, respect, and consent. That we don’t wait for another victim to go viral before we care. Because until then, girls like me will keep walking around with guilt that doesn’t belong to us, reliving moments we never asked for, and wondering: “Why does my body feel like a crime scene?” “Why does society treat my pain like a joke?” And most of all When will things finally change?

Other insights from Quietly Loud

Referral Earning

Points-to-Coupons