Injustice...

I'm sure we have all heard the stories of slavery and oppression, of political prisoners being tortured and of women and children who are raped or murdered in Africa. If you are anything like me you probably thought those stories were horrible, atrocious and evil. But then again, if you were anything like me, having never ben to Africa, the stories remained simply that: stories. Like a movie that can be turned off and that maybe real life isn't as bad as the stories...

My mind was changed yesterday. I met a lady called Niki. She was from Nigeria and was in her late 40s. She suffers from severe depression and cries a lot of the time. She asked me to speak with her. The conversation turned to family and she told me the following:

"I grew up with my uncle and aunt from the age of 10 as my parents were killed. When I was 13 my uncle raped me. I hadn't even had a period yet so I didn't know I was pregnant until I was 5 months gone. I was about 7 or 8 months pregnant when my aunt woke me in the middle of the night and drove me to a building in the middle of nowhere where they cut my baby out. I heard someone say "It's a boy" and I heard him crying. They took him away to another room and my aunt took me home. A few days later I asked my aunt what had happened to my baby and was told never to speak of it again. I was then beaten so badly I dared not mention it again. I grew up and moved away to England, but when I was old enough I decided to ask my aunt what had happened. I had arranged travel plans to go to visit her but then found out that she had recently been killed in a car crash. I knew it was too late. Now I'll never know what happened to my little boy. I still hear him crying. Everyday I hear him crying and I can't get his voice out of my head. I hope he is alive. I stare at every black man I see hoping that one day one of them will recognise me and then I would know. Everyone tells me to forget him but I can't forget. How can I stop loving my little boy when every day I hear his cries?"

I didn't know what to say.

I still don't.

But the stories are not stories any more.

They're real.