Dear Reader,
Welcome to the WARIF Survivor Stories Series, a monthly feature where stories of survivors of rape and sexual violence are shared to motivate and encourage survivors to speak their truth without the fear of judgment or stigmatisation and to educate the public on the sheer magnitude of this problem in our society. The Women at Risk International Foundation (WARIF) is a non-profit organisation set up in response to the extremely high incidence of rape, sexual violence, and human trafficking of young girls and women in our society. WARIF is tackling this issue through a holistic approach that covers health, education, and community service initiatives.
WARIF aids survivors of rape and sexual violence through the WARIF Centre – a haven where trained professionals are present full-time, 6 days a week, including public holidays, to offer immediate medical care, forensic medical examinations, psycho-social counselling, and welfare services, which include shelter, legal aid, and vocational skills training. These services are provided FREE of charge to any survivor who walks into the Centre.
BETWEEN FAITH AND FEAR
I grew up in the tender care of my grandmother, an elderly woman whose love became the anchor of my life. I never knew my mother—she passed away shortly after giving birth to me, lost to postpartum depression. All I had ever known of her was the stories whispered to me as a child. For me, “mother” has always meant “grandma.”
My dad did his best. He stood by us in those early years, but when I became a teenager, he remarried and moved to another state. His visits to Lagos became occasional—sweet but fleeting moments of connection. Through it all, it was my grandmother who carried the weight of raising me.
She is a deeply faithful woman, devoted to her church and grounded in her belief in visions and prophecies. While I often had my quiet doubts, I never resisted her. Her faith had shaped her, and her love for me was too genuine to ignore. She poured herself into caring for me, not only as a guardian but as the only true mother I had ever known.
About a year ago, not long after I completed my National Diploma, I began working alongside her in her fashion business. She proudly introduced me as the head designer of one of her outlets—a role I embraced, partly for her and partly to carry forward her legacy. Around that time, our church held its annual seven-day revival, a spiritual gathering that drew members from across branches and brought in guest ministers.
It was during this revival that a guest minister called me out and spoke of a vision concerning my life. He insisted that I faced an impending danger, something only “spiritual cleansing” could avert. After the service, he requested to see me and my grandmother privately. With a tone of urgency cloaked in authority, he instructed us to buy specific items and bring them to his hotel room.
Because my grandmother believed so deeply in prophecies, there was little I could say to change her mind. She trusted the words of the minister with the kind of faith that had carried her through life’s storms, so when he asked for specific items, she bought them without hesitation. Out of love for her, and perhaps a quiet hope that she was right, I went along. Together, we made our way to the hotel.
When we arrived, the prophet greeted us solemnly and then asked my grandmother to wait in the living room while he led me into the restroom. I still remember how uneasy I felt, but my grandmother’s calm presence nearby gave me a fragile sense of reassurance.
Inside, he began performing rituals—murmuring chants, waving the items over me, and instructing me to rub strange substances on my skin. At one point, he called my grandmother in briefly, praying over me in her presence. She bowed her head with conviction, believing this was for my safety, before he sent her back out, saying he needed to continue the “prayers” with me alone.
That was when his tone shifted. He told me to remove my clothes for the “next stage.” My body froze with fear, my instincts telling me something was terribly wrong. I hesitated, my heart pounding, but his face hardened, and his voice rose with anger. He threatened to leave me “unfinished,” to abandon the cleansing if I didn’t comply. Afraid, confused, and caught between my grandmother’s trust and my own trembling doubts, I reluctantly obeyed.
He pressed a figurine-like object across my bare skin, muttering words I barely understood. A strange heaviness washed over me. My body grew weak, and my mind felt clouded, as though I were being pulled into a fog I couldn’t escape. He then pushed me to the floor and inserted his penis into my vagina and had sexual intercourse with me.
I couldn’t shout or resist because I was spellbound. Afterwards, he asked me to clean up and get dressed. It wasn’t until we were on our way home that I fully regained my senses and began recalling what had happened. I had to pinch myself, thinking I was dreaming.
The moment we got home, I couldn’t hold back the tears. I picked up the phone and called my dad, my voice trembling as I told him everything that had happened. It was one of the hardest conversations I had ever had, but I needed him to know.
When my dad spoke to my grandmother, she struggled at first to accept it. Her faith and her deep respect for religious leaders made it almost impossible for her to believe such a thing could happen. But when she looked at me—saw the pain in my eyes, the weight I was carrying—something in her broke. Her love for me was stronger than any prophecy.
She took me to the hospital, where doctors carried out a medical examination. The confirmation of the abuse felt like a heavy blow, one that left her utterly shocked and heartbroken. I could see the guilt in her face, the silent questions of how she hadn’t protected me from this.
The next day, my dad arrived. Standing together, my parents in their own way—him by blood, her by sacrifice—chose to fight for me. Side by side, they went with me to the police to report what had happened. It was a difficult step, but a necessary one. The police then referred us to the WARIF Rape Crisis Centre, a place where I would finally begin to find not just help, but healing.
At the WARIF Centre, I received medical care, forensic examinations, and counselling. At the time, I was overwhelmed with anger toward the prophet and even toward my grandmother, as well as constant flashbacks, anxiety, and difficulty concentrating. The counsellor assured me it was not my fault. Her words gave me the strength to begin my healing journey.
After my first counselling session, I felt some relief. With each session, I was better able to process my emotions and gain clarity. I also joined WARIF’s monthly group therapy sessions, where I met other survivors like me. We supported one another and shared each other’s healing journeys, and that gave me a sense of strength and belonging.
The prophet was eventually arrested by the police, and the case was taken to court. We have attended several hearings, and the proceedings are going well. I am hopeful that justice will be served.
It’s been over a year now, and despite the trauma, I can say I am living a meaningful life. This painful setback has made me appreciate life in a new way. My grandmother is now better informed, and I have forgiven her. Our relationship is stronger than ever. I am thriving as the lead designer in my grandmother’s fashion outlet, and recently, my fiancé proposed to me.
Today, I can say that my life is beautiful again. With my grandma by my side, the support of WARIF, and the grace to forgive, I have turned my pain into purpose, and I have found love, healing, and a beautiful new beginning.
I am deeply grateful to my support system, especially the WARIF Team. You are doing an incredible job, and you gave me the strength to rise again.
*Real name of the Survivor changed for confidentiality
Dear Survivor, please know that you are not alone, and it is not your fault. Help is available. If you have been raped or know someone who has, please visit us at:
The WARIF Centre
6, Turton Street, off Thorburn Avenue, Sabo, Yaba.
Or call our 24-hour confidential helpline on
0800-9210-0009
