Vanee_Bee

I got my heart broken long before I realized that broken hearts are mostly associated with ‘boy-girl’ relationships.

I got my heart broken by rapists that left so many men, women and children powerless and victims to a hurt so deep that it forever lingers in the shadows of their existence.

I got my heart broken by murderers that left children as orphans and many parents, well, robbed of their shot at parenthood.

I got my heart broken by hospitals which often decide that treatment belongs to the rich.

I got my heart broken by teachers who were put in schools to educate and empower but all they do is kill children’s dreams, hope and joy.

I got my heart broken by leaders that did nothing but laugh at the demise of their people, as if the more their people suffered, the more entertained they became.

I got my heart broken by a system so corrupt that it put my beautiful country on its deathbed.

I got my heart broken by mothers that looked aside and let fathers do their worst to their children.

I got my heart broken by thieves who seem to think it’s okay to feed off another person’s sweat.

I got my heart broken by friends who were anything but friendly to people who dared to trust and love them.

I got my heart broken by witnesses who gave false accounts at the expense of someone else’s life.

I got my heart broken by people who make light of people’s pain, fear and worries.

Everyday I watch the news or go into the world, my heart breaks just a little more.

I got my heart broken further when I realized that people would rather watch the worst happen to them because they feel so powerless.

I got my heart broken by a religion that repeatedly told me that there was a higher power that could stop all these causes of my heart break but decides not to and it’s okay.

I emphasize, I got my heart broken long before the pain of a heartbreak was limited to just ‘boy-girl’ relationships.

Article by;

Vanessa_Beyonce

I have always argued that the letters ‘N’ and ‘O’ in NO are silent letters but it has been impossible for people to understand. I didn’t have a satisfactory explanation for my argument but I gathered a group of women who gave me the perfect answer to this question.

“My name is Maria. At the age of 7 is when my father first touched me. I was sure my voice box let out a sound and my lips pronounced a loud ‘NO!’ but he still did it anyway. He instilled in me a pain so treacherous I called on the ancestors to receive me home but they never did and for years all he did was break a portion of my heart, bit by bit. So I began to think that the ‘N’ and the ‘O’ in NO, are silent letters.”

“My name is Asminn. At the age of 13 I became a woman. I had been told that it was a very important time for women of our culture. So like the proud woman I was happy I’d become, I went and told my mother and she was happy and she couldn’t wait to tell all my aunties and the women in the village. So later that week, one night I was asleep in my room and I felt my body suddenly get pressed down onto the bed. I couldn’t move. It was my mother and some of my aunties and village women. I asked her what was happening and told her that I couldn’t move. She just smiled then I saw her, the woman I’d known to be the last female genital mutilator in our village. I was sure my voice box let out a sound and my lips pronounced ‘NO’ but she still did it anyway. So I began to think that the ‘N’ and ‘O’ in NO, are silent letters.”

“My name is Regina. At the age of 22 I was excited because I’d got a new job. It demanded me to work late but that was a risk I was willing to take for a better and hopeful career and life that lay ahead. The best part of it all, was the random after work drinks. I lived hard for those days. After one of them, I wanted to go home and my boss offered to take me down to my uber. On our way out, he pushed me into the janitor’s locker and I was sure my voice box let out a sound and my lips pronounced a loud ‘NO’ but he still did it anyway. So I began to think the ‘N’ and ‘O’ in NO, are silent letters.”

“My name is Minny. At the age of 25 I fell in love and oh how beautifully he loved me, the way that I dressed, danced, looked at him, the fact that he seemed bewitched by my existence in his life. I had enchanted him and never for a second had I regretted being the enchantress. Other men didn’t hide their desire for me but it wasn’t something I was ever too keen about but my man, he began to let jealousy poison him. He began to accuse me of entertaining them, seducing them, amongst other forms of immorality he’d think of. One day I dared to tell him that I had become tired of the drama and that I wanted to break up. He slapped me so hard I went spiralling down on the floor. I was sure my voice box let out a sound and my lips pronounced ‘NO’ but he still beat me till I lost consciousness. So I began to think the ‘N’ and ‘O’ in NO, are silent letters.”

“My name is Melissa. At the age of 30 I finally have an explanation. I speak about the women who’ve been raped but are sure they said NO! I speak about the women who’ve been beat up but are sure with every hit, they said NO! I speak about the women who said NO to arranged marriages! The ones who said NO to Female Genital Mutilation, yet for all these women, both those mentioned here and those not, they’d agree that the ‘N’ and the ‘O’ in NO, are a silent letters.”

Vanessa_Beyonce