Last week, I decided to share parts of my truth on my wall, especially for many unsuspecting parents to learn to protect their kids. After that, Mr Azuka Jebose and I talked at length and said many more parents and kids could learn something from it. He took time to put in words what we had talked about. Thank you sir for taking time to do this and putting it on your blog. May almighty God continue to protect you and yours. Above all, I thank God in his mercies for all the guardian angels placed around me to protect me all through. This is my testimony. I am more than a conqueror.
“Social media ornate dainty beauty and fashion designer, Tolu Meduna, boldly steps out from her past pains to tell her hidden story of sexual molestation and assault by “a man of God my family trusted”.
It’s powerfully engaging.”
Below is her narrative
I Was Sexually Assaulted At Age Eleven
By Tolu Meduna
The healing process for a traumatized, sexually assaulted and physically abused girl-child is not a happy walk along wedding aisles. No daughter should experience the upheavals of distress at childhood or any age. It takes years to unleash the pain within and letting it travel through the breeze and time of existence. Time is painful. Time is the truth. Time also heals. The deep scars remain as reminders of a bridge not too far, yet an agony at crossings. I needed to find peace and everlasting consolation within me. I have finally found the strength to begin healing from the trauma of my childhood years. I was just 11 years old. Perhaps some may not believe my story. Others would empathize and move on. But you would not understand until it happened to you. However, there is healing of letting go and starting life anew when we learn to share our unforgotten pain.
My name is Tolu Meduna. I was sexually assaulted and physically abused by the Pastor of a new Pentecostal church we joined, after my dad died and mom had to resign her job from Papermill Clinic in Jebba.
This Is My Story
A few years after my father’s death, his clinic and other businesses closed down. The paper mill company my mother worked for started to have financial challenges. It was the only paper mill that sustained our livelihood. She carried the burden of caring for our family when my father passed away. Mother comforted us with the words of God and the church became our safe sanctuary those years of “widowhood”. So when the Paper mill closed down finally, my mother moved us out of that town to seek a better life and employment opportunity. We relocated to Lagos State. We settled into a new life at a suburb of Lagos city with almost nothing: life was different from where we were coming from. Mother was eager to introduce us to the church she found in our new town: she said its teachings and traditions were structured in the ways of the Bible. She thought she found one when she picked this very popular Pentecostal church (then regarded as one of the top three Pentecostal churches in the country) as our church and spiritual temple.
The church and the Pastor became our extended family. Mother had no reason not to trust the pastor and other ‘righteous members’ of the church. So every Sunday and midweek, we religiously attended services. My family was also involved in activities of the church as set forth by the church’s administration. We had no reason not to trust any member, especially the Pastor. He was the “oracle” and regarded so by the congregation.
One of the highlights of the week’s services of the church was its “Deliverance services”, scheduled a few days of the week and conducted by the Pastor. There were also special and private deliverance sessions. Deliverance services were when believers came into the church, conducted loud prayer sessions, then withdrew within themselves, speaking in tongues, supposedly went into trance or what in modern religion is known as “Deliverance”.
One early morning, mom suddenly woke my older sister and me from our sleep. She persuaded us to get ready because she would like to take us to see Pastor for prayers. Her reason was that our new pastor’s prayer was better than the old neighborhood church “Jelenge prayer” we used to offer at my birth church: that his prayer was capable of even making me pass my common entrance exams. Oh! I was so eager to follow her. I hurriedly dressed and we went to church. I later realized that mother actually brought me because she had complained to the Pastor that I was very stubborn, so he asked her to bring me to see him for prayers.
So that morning, we arrived at the Church premises and went to the Pastor’s office. Mom knocked at the door and he came and opened the door. As the door opened, it revealed two men standing in the room; an elder of the church and the pastor. He ushered us into his office and asked my mother which one of her daughters was a stubborn child. She quickly handed me over to him as she affirmed it was me. Meanwhile, the elder left and the pastor told my mom to remain outside with my sister the ‘gentle one’. I felt betrayed when mom identified me to him as the stubborn daughter. He was a stranger. He then took only me inside his main office . He shut the door behind those I trusted most in my life at that time. I wasn’t stubborn, I just wished she could travel through my young mind then. I was mourning the death of my father, I missed my dad. I was in pains. I was in a torture of losing my father at such a young age, I was confused. I hid my pains and acted them out with my attitudes when I felt misunderstood.
After he shut the door behind my family, we were alone: just the two of us: an 11-year-old innocent baby girl and a sick nasty and fraudulent Pastor, abusing and assaulting his church members in the name of deliverance. He asked me to kneel down; he removed his trouser’s belt as I bent my knees to the floor: the satanic Pastor asked if I was a virgin, during his Deliverance session with me, an 11 -year old child. I said yes. Suddenly, his dark face turned cloudy, ugly and angry. I thought to myself: that as a father, as a man of God that could do no wrong (that was how brainwashed we were about Pastors, then). I thought he should be happy for me for being a Virgin.
He approached me closer and instructed me to raise my blouse above my chest, that it revealed my breast. I did and exposed my young breasts. I was 11 and about to experience a significant hormone change: My puberty period was within the distance of my human dignity. But as a man of God and a father figure, I did not think of what he was about to do to me when he asked me to pull my clothes up, exposing my breasts. He grabbed my breasts with his wickedly filthy hands. He began to caress them so painfully and ferociously. He was wild. I was immediately consumed by fear. The pains of him squeezing pathetically and painfully made me scream ; (thank God he didn’t cover my mouth) my innocent mother, had probably thought it was deliverance that was happening to me. Suddenly one angel (the elder that saw us arrive) rushed into the Deliverance room and that was how I was rescued from his sexual assault of my body. He desecrated my young temple; a gift privileged me by my creator.
The story continues here: click TheNEWS