I was willing to give my virginity to my first boyfriend. Don’t blame me. My parents caused it.

Growing up, my parents were extremists.

Anything they told you, you obeyed.

You didn’t have the right to ask why.

You didn’t have the right to question anything they said.

And if you dared to ask too many questions, you would hear, “Is that one in the Bible?”

So I grew up afraid to ask questions.

There were so many things happening around me as a young girl that I didn’t understand, but I kept quiet because I was scared of being punished.

I remember the first time I asked my mother about sex.

I was about eleven years old.

I had been hearing the word from my classmates, and I genuinely wanted to know what it meant.

One day, I went to my mother and asked,

“Mummy, please, what is sex?”

The way my mother looked at me, you would think I had committed a crime.

“Who told you that word?”

I said, “Nobody. I just keep hearing it and I want to know what it means.”

She started shouting.

“See this girl! I knew you would rub potopoto on my face. At this age, you are asking me about sex?”

I tried to explain myself.

“Mummy, I just want to know.”

Two dirty slaps landed on my face.

She told me to kneel down and wait for my father to come home.

I remember sitting there wondering what exactly I had done wrong.

When my father came home, my mother told him everything, but she added pepper, Maggi and salt to the story.

My father looked at me.

“Who is the boy?”

I was confused.

“Which boy?”

“Who is the boy you are seeing?”

“I am not seeing anybody. I only asked Mummy what sex means.”

Another slap landed on my face.

My father looked me straight in the eyes.

“Let me tell you now. If you ever get pregnant, we will carry your bag and put it outside. You will go and meet the man that got you pregnant.”

Then he turned to my mother.

“Give me food.”

That was the day I learned something.

In my parents’ house, questions were dangerous.

So I stopped asking them.

Even when I saw my period for the first time, my mother simply showed me how to use a pad and said,

“From now on, if a man touches you, you will get pregnant.”

That was my sex education.

School.

Church.

Home.

That was my entire world.

Then I got admission into the university.

For the first time in my life, I was away from my parents.

And honestly, it felt like somebody had removed chains from my hands.

I wanted to live.

I wanted to make friends.

I wanted to experience things I had only heard other people talk about.

I went for a freshers’ party.

I danced, even though I didn’t know how to dance.

I was just happy to finally have freedom.

Unfortunately, freedom without guidance can land you in the wrong place.

I met a group of girls who quickly became my friends.

They were experienced in things I knew absolutely nothing about.

Whenever I asked questions, they laughed at me.

“This one is a Jew girl. Who raised you?”

I didn’t mind.

I actually liked being around them because they were teaching me things nobody had ever explained to me.

At that time, I suffered terribly from menstrual pain.

One day, I complained about it.

One of the girls looked at me and said,

“That is because you’ve never had sex.”

I looked at her.

“Really?”

“Yes. Once you start having sex, the pain will stop.”

Then she looked at me again.

“And your breast too. Once you start dating a man and doing the things couples do, you will see changes.”

I believed her.

“Are you serious?”

“Of course.”

Then I asked the question that changed everything.

“So if I have sex, my menstrual pain will stop?”

“Yes.”

“But won’t I get pregnant?”

She laughed.

“Pregnant how? You will use CD.”

I looked at her.

“What is CD?”

They all burst out laughing.

“CD means condom!”

I had never even heard the word properly before.

But instead of going home to ask my parents, I kept quiet.

I was too scared.

Before I knew what was happening, they had introduced me to a guy.

He became my first boyfriend.

He bought me shawarma.

He bought me Coke.

He called me sweet names.

And because I had never experienced that kind of attention before, I started enjoying it.

My friends kept encouraging me.

Before long, they asked me when my period was coming.

I told them.

They looked at each other and said,

“Perfect. We’ll arrange everything before then.”

They had already scheduled the day I was supposed to sleep with this boy.

And I was willing.

Not because I truly understood what I was doing.

I was willing because I believed the things they had told me.

I believed it would stop my menstrual pain.

I believed it would make me more attractive.

I believed I was finally becoming a normal girl.

Then one evening, something happened.

I was in the kitchen cooking stew when a young girl came to our compound.

She greeted me warmly and handed me a small book.

“It is from our church. You can read it when you have time.”

I thanked her.

She also gave me her number.

“If you ever have questions, call me. If I don’t know the answer, I’ll find someone who does.”

After she left, I continued cooking.

Later that evening, I picked up the book.

I just wanted to read a few pages before going to the library.

But as I read, I froze.

One of the stories sounded exactly like what I was going through.

It was talking about young people making decisions because of pressure, ignorance and wrong information.

I kept reading.

The more I read, the more uncomfortable I became.

I suddenly realized that everything my friends had told me about sex solving my menstrual pain and changing my body was not the truth.

I dropped the book.

I couldn’t believe how close I had come to making a decision I wasn’t ready for because of information I didn’t understand.

I immediately called the girl.

When she answered, I told her everything.

I expected her to judge me.

Instead, she listened.

She didn’t laugh at me.

She didn’t call me foolish.

She prayed with me.

She answered the questions I had been too afraid to ask my parents.

And then she told me something I will never forget.

“Don’t be ashamed that you don’t know. Be careful who you allow to teach you.”

That sentence stayed with me.

I told her about the boyfriend.

I told her about the plans they had already made.

She encouraged me to step away from the situation.

And I did.

I ended the friendship with those girls.

I also ended the relationship with the boy.

For the first time in my life, I began asking questions without fear.

I joined the students’ fellowship the girl had introduced me to.

I learned.

I grew.

And slowly, I became confident enough to seek knowledge instead of pretending to know what I didn’t know.

I eventually graduated from the university with flying colors.

Interestingly, none of those girls I met in my first year graduated with me.

Some dropped out.

Some simply disappeared from my life.

Whenever I look back at that period of my life, I know one thing.

God saved me that evening I was cooking.

But I also learned another lesson.

Parents, please talk to your children.

Don’t make every question sound like rebellion.

Don’t make your children afraid to come to you when they are confused.

Because if you refuse to educate your children, somebody else will.

And you may not like what that person teaches them.

I was willing to give my virginity to a boy I barely knew because I was searching for answers my parents had refused to give me.

I wasn’t a bad child.

I was simply an uninformed child who finally found people willing to answer my questions.

Thankfully, I met the right person before I made a decision that could have changed my life.

 MORALS OF THE STORY

1. If you don’t educate your children, society will educate them for you. Children need a safe environment where they can ask questions without being shamed or punished.

2. Silence is not always protection. Sometimes, refusing to talk about difficult subjects leaves children vulnerable to misinformation from people who may not have their best interests at heart.