When Precious* (22) finally decided she was ready to get intimate with the man she loved, she thought she knew what to expect. She never imagined that one afternoon would nearly cost her her life, permanently alter her relationship with her family, and shatter the love she thought she’d found.
This is Precious’ story, as told to Mofiyin
Dozie* wasn’t like my first boyfriend, who spent months trying to guilt-trip me into having sex. Every time the guy visited, I’d silently pray he wouldn’t try to kiss me. His breath was awful, and he’d leave saliva all over my face. I dreaded those visits because if something as simple as kissing him filled me with that much anxiety, there was no way I’d ever feel comfortable sleeping with him.
In September 2021, after we moved to Lugbe, Dozie* came along. At first, I kept my distance. He was in his 20s, and every girl in our compound seemed to have a crush on him. To me, he looked exactly like the kind of boy who knew he was attractive and liked to play with girls, so I avoided him.
Then, one day, while we were fetching water outside, he looked up and winked at me.
I rolled my eyes and walked away. But that didn’t stop him from coming for me. He’d gone through the trouble of getting my number from a neighbour. I ignored his messages more often than I replied to them until he returned to Jos, where he lived with his family.
I thought we’d never speak again until he texted me on Valentine’s Day.
He’d written me a heartfelt poem. Every line made it seem like he’d been paying attention to the little things that made me who I was. At the end, he asked me to be his girlfriend.
I was only 17. No one had ever put that much thought into winning me over before, and it made me feel like the most important girl in the world. I didn’t think twice before saying yes.
In the first few months, I experienced love I’d only ever read about. We’d wait up until I was sure my father had gone to bed, then spend hours talking on the phone late into the night. I fell for him completely. He dreamt of going viral as a content creator, and because he wasn’t making any money yet, I’d happily spend my allowance buying him recharge cards and data so he could keep creating.
But it bothered me that he posted videos with other girls. Sometimes they looked more intimate than I was comfortable with. Whenever I brought it up, he’d laugh it off and insist they were only creating content.
I wanted to believe him, but every time I watched those videos, I felt a lick of jealousy. Whenever he noticed, he’d sweet-talk me. Little by little, those conversations became more intimate. He’d tease me about all the things we’d do when we finally saw each other again, and before I realised it, all we talked about was sex.
I also read erotic books back then, so I’d built this fairy tale version of what my first time would be like. Little pain because everyone said there always was, but afterwards he’d hold me close, and I’d finally understand why people described sex as this beautiful, life-changing experience.
So when he eventually returned to Abuja and suggested we get a hotel room to make my first time special, I said yes.
***
The hotel was a far cry from what I’d imagined.
It was a roadside motel that charged ₦2,000 an hour. We’d only paid for two. The room smelled damp, and patches of mould covered the ceiling. I stood at the doorway for a moment, taking it all in. It wasn’t romantic, but I told myself that didn’t matter.
Within seconds of the door closing behind us, the fantasy I’d built in my head began to fall apart.
Dozie was already on top of me, his breath heavy with desire. The whole thing felt uncomfortable, and I winced under the weight of his body.
All he said was, “endure it”, as he reached between my thighs.
Within seconds, he pushed into me. A sharp pain ripped through my body. It felt as though someone was hammering a nail into me with all their strength. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to think about anything except what was happening.
When the bleeding started, I wasn’t alarmed. I’d always heard that happened the first time. I just lay there waiting for it to stop, but it didn’t
The blood trickled down my thighs, soaking the bed beneath me while cramps twisted through my stomach. I gathered what little strength I had and stumbled into the bathroom.
But the blood kept running down my legs, spilling onto the floor until thick clots collected around the drain. Dozie rushed in behind me. The moment he saw the blood, he started pacing the room, muttering over and over, “What if you die? I’m going to jail.” I was the one bleeding, yet I found myself telling him to calm down. Then a wave of dizziness hit me, and everything faded to black.
I don’t know how long I was unconscious. When I opened my eyes again, Dozie was beside me, looking completely helpless.
I told him to buy tissue and milk, but he said he didn’t have any money. In the end, I had to hand him my last cash.
The milk helped enough for me to think clearly again. Once the bleeding eased slightly, we stuffed layers of tissue into my underwear so I could pull my trousers back on. When I checked my phone, it was already 5:30 p.m. My curfew was six, so I asked Dozie to walk me home.
I was already late when I got home, and my father had burning questions on his tongue. But even more puzzling was one that stopped me in my tracks. “Why are you walking like that?” he queried in a voice tinged with suspicion.
I told him I’d unexpectedly started my period at a friend’s house. He stared at me for a moment before telling me to go and prepare his dinner.
Minutes had passed since Dozie almost rimmed me in equal parts, yet the blood still trickled down my thighs as I turned eba for my father.
My head was getting lighter, but I kept pretending everything was fine. I told myself I just had to get through the night.
If I could lie down and rest, I was sure everything would be fine by morning.
***
I don’t remember falling asleep, but I remember my sister’s scream pulling me back to consciousness. She’d entered the room and seen me in a puddle of blood. Her scream had drawn my parents attention and they’d rushed to my side immediately.
Within minutes, I felt myself lifted across the room, my eyes struggling to register which is which until I was carefully placed in the backseat of our car. I drifted in and out of consciousness on the way to the hospital.
Every time I opened my eyes, my mum asked what had happened. I couldn’t bring myself to tell her the truth, so I mumbled that someone had given me a drug.
“What drug?” she asked.
For some reason, the first thing that came to mind was “Postinor”
The next thing I remember was the car screeching to a stop.
When they revived me in the hospital, the doctor didn’t buy my story about a friend giving me Postinor. He kept questioning me until I finally admitted that I had sex.
The examination revealed a deep tear inside me. The penetration had caused a deep internal tear, and I needed surgery to stop the bleeding. After the doctor left, I broke down and told my mum everything that had happened with Dozie, begging her not to tell my father.
I only found out later from my sister that she’d broken her promise. The moment she told my father, he drove home to grab his machete and went straight to Dozie’s apartment. Around 1 a.m., he stood outside banging on the door and threatening to kill him until neighbours managed to calm him down. When day broke, he reported the matter to the police.
***
The morning after my surgery, my father insisted we go to the police station so I could make a statement. I reluctantly obeyed.
The moment I saw Dozie, I felt awful. His face was swollen from the beating he’d taken the previous night, and I didn’t want anyone hurting him again. I kept begging for him and tried to convince the officers that it had all been a misunderstanding. Eventually, my father lost his patience and flung Dozie’s statement at me.
As I read it, my hands began to shake.
He’d told a completely different story. Somehow, I’d become the desperate girl who’d thrown herself at him, while he was the innocent victim. That was when I realised the love I felt so deeply was one-sided.
Dozie spent a few more days in police custody. My father intended to press charges because I was a minor, but Dozie’s family begged him to settle the matter instead and promised to pay for my surgery, which cost around ₦350,000.
When the case ended, a part of me still hoped Dozie would reach out. I thought he’d apologise, or at least ask how my surgery had gone. Instead, he avoided me completely before eventually moving away.
As painful as losing Dozie was, living with my father afterwards was even harder. We never spoke about what had happened. For months, he refused to speak to me, and every day I carried this crushing sense of shame.
It wasn’t the first time I’d felt that way.
Four years earlier, my stomach started protruding. I was skinny everywhere else, so it was hard not to notice. My mum always brushed it off as part of growing up, but not everyone believed that.
It took two nosy women convincing my dad I was pregnant before he dragged me to the hospital.
That’s where the doctors discovered an ovarian cyst that had been growing inside me for almost two years.
After the cyst was removed, no one ever brought it up. I was left to make sense of things on my own. Being mistaken for pregnant and needing surgery at such a young age made me feel different from other girls. I dealt with those feelings by searching for validation from boys who made me feel beautiful and confident.
I never voiced those insecurities, so after everything with Dozie happened, I slipped into a depression that lasted for a long time. I became afraid of sex. Every time I thought about it, all I could remember was the pain and the blood.
***
It’s been a few years since then, and healing has come slowly. Today, I’m dating someone who makes me feel safe and has been patient enough to let me move at my own pace. Because of him, intimacy no longer fills me with the same fear it once did.
But the biggest change has been within me. I’ve stopped looking to other people to tell me I’m beautiful or worthy. Learning to find that confidence within myself has made all the difference.
*Names and details have been changed for anonymity.
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