An Open Letter To Every Teenage Girl by Femi Owolabi

An open letter to the girl in her teens by Femi Owolabi Hello dear, I know you would have read or heard something like this, since you assumed this phase of your life. If you will oblige me, however, I wanna share with you, the story of Bisola, my friend who should be twenty this November. Bisola and I met early this year in my neighborhood. You see, that evening, I was sitting, with a few friends, in front of my house when Bisola walked past. Her beauty is mesmeric that our eyes followed her till she walked off the street. Days later, Bisola and I already got talking. Mind me not, I am skilled in making new friends that quick. Especially when the girl is beautiful, just like you, you know? Bisola is the second of the three children of her parents. Of course, she wouldn’t agree to my friendship proposal on time, and when we eventually got talking, she told me of how she despises the guys in the neighborhood; those guys who just wanna woo every girl they see walk past. “I will not allow any guy destroy my future o,” Bisola told me. Let me confess, at this initial stage of our friendship, my affection was driven by pure lust. Forgive me, men could just be like that, sometimes. Bisola was careful. She slapped off my hand when it rested too much on her shoulder, that evening I walked her down the street. She repelled every flirtatious gaze I cast at her. She came looking for me one day, sometime around mid-August, and was told I was inside my room. My door was pointed, and she came knocking. I asked her to come in, but she was skeptical and asked I come out instead. When I opened the door and she peeped into my room, she saw my shelf and marveled. She was attracted by the books, obviously, and willingly, she stepped into the room. “Are you the only one reading all these plenty books?” she asked me, as she knelt by the shelf looking through the titles. Bisola sat for JAMB this year but she scored low and didn’t meet the cut-off for a university admission. She was preparing to re-sit for the examination. I helped her search through the shelf for an old Economics textbook because Eco, as she fondly called it, was her preferred course of study. The gift of that book really meant a lot to her, and she hugged me, for the first time. That moment when our hearts got enclosed in a hug, I could feel she’s troubled. “I have not seen my period,” she let out a sigh, looking into my eyes. At first, I didn’t know what to say. “You had an unprotected sex with your boyfriend?” I laced this question with smiles, hoping she would take it as some witty asides. “How could you relate such to me?” she was furious, and she left. And for days, she didn’t answer my calls. I got angry with myself, you know. I called a friend who is a doctor, asking her what could be the reason why a month would go and a girl won’t have her period. I told my friend to eschew any pregnancy thoughts, because the girl in question never indulged in sex. My friend used some medical jargon and then suggested some medicines. The next time I saw Bisola in the neighborhood, I ran after her, to show her the names of the medicines that the doctor has recommended. I wrote the medicines’ names on a sheet of paper I got from my chest-pocket, and I took her palm and put the paper in it. She was reluctant in receiving it. “Femi, can I trust you with something?” she asked, in a whispering tone. I told her to go ahead. “I had a D & C abortion in June,” she said. Looking askance at her, I didn’t know what to respond. “We had sex, my then boyfriend and I. I discovered the pregnancy in June and I had to quickly get rid of it,” she continued. Bisola is this smart girl, but I began to see her naivety, especially when she started telling me about the boyfriend whom she now hated. It was an irony; her naivety juxtaposed her seeming smartness. “You will be fine,” I calmed her, and I furthered with my enquiries. I was then told that in the cases of some D & C abortions, it may take about three months before the patient gets her period. I called Bisola and I told her to worry not, for her period will come at the expiration of three months that she had the abortion. We both started counting down to September 4th when the three months would elapse. I was out of town when Bisola called me, that it was the tenth day of September and no traces of her period. I, too, got overwhelmed with worries. “Let me go back to where I had the D & C in June and asked why this,” she suggested, and I agreed with her. She left her Lagos home for somewhere in Ibadan, without telling anyone what she was up to, except me. She consistently begged me not to reveal this to anyone, even when the worries seemed bigger than what we two can handle. The next day, she called me. “I have just been told that the D & C I had in June only took one baby of the two that was inside of me, and this one might have been growing” she said. I was shocked! I didn’t know how possible this could have been. “So, what do we do now?” I asked her. I could feel my voice shivering, because of how my heart palpitated. “Get rid of it!” she screamed. This time, it wouldn’t be through a D & C as she has been assured. She asked if I could raise her some money because she has been billed another N15, 000. A second abortion in a short interval-- of months? I couldn’t just take this. “Let’s leave this baby, my darling,” I begged. She was quick to anger you know. “Just say you can’t give me money. I should leave the baby? You, can you marry an after-one?” she said and she terminated the call. I tried to reach her again, and she wouldn’t pick my calls. Later in the week, she called me. It was not good news. The one of the twin babies has been confirmed lifeless. There was no other option than to bring out the lifeless thing from her womb. Few days after the operation, I spoke with her over the phone and I could barely hear her. “I have been bleeding profusely,” she said in a faint voice. “Femi, I feel so weak. Pads can’t even hold this blood. I’ve been using towels,” she added. I was already in tears, you know. I shared a bit of this on Facebook and many friends suggested I ensure her parents know about this. I had to open it up to one of her uncles in the neighborhood whom I always argue politics with. He brought in the parents and they set in immediately. Last Thursday when I called her line, her dad picked. “She is sleeping,” he told me. He thanked me for always checking on her. “When she’s up, I will ask that she returns your call,” he said. On Monday night, 28th of September, 2015, my phone rang as I stepped into my room. “Bisola is dead,” the caller said. “She died this morning at the University College Hospital in Ibadan,” he added. Oh yes, I laughed. That would mark the beginning of the mental illness that held me for hours. I became sicker. I became weaker. A part of me died with Bisola. The memories of that young girl who knelt by my shelf-- asking for an Economics textbook-- haunt me. Why am I writing to you? You see my dear, I discovered that Bisola feared being stigmatized as an after-one. Just like you, she wanna go to the university, graduate and marry her lover. But things went wrong, and she wanted to return to her normal self. I know you have a boyfriend. I had a girlfriend, too, when I was eighteen, and oh, we did crazy stuffs. I know you guys really wanna be all over each other and have sex. I write to beg that you be careful, okay? I know your approach to life could be refreshingly naïve. See, many boys would wanna play on this. You have to be smarter, okay? I wish I could explain better. And in the case you eventually get pregnant, sweetheart, don’t rush to abort it, please. Call your mum and dad, and tell them. Don’t go through a D & C alone. My parents, conservative Christians, won’t approve of abortion. I want to believe yours, too, won’t. It is your life that matters and not what people would call you; after-one or whatever. You will be amazed at how people will stand strong for you, the after-one girl. Please, take these things seriously and stay alive to enjoy that future! I care about you, always. Femi Owolabi, 1:15AM 30/09/2015. Onipanu, Lagos, Nigeria PS: You can re-share and re-blog this, and get it to the girls who would need it.