Fuck Me And My Sister
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Fuck Me And My Sister
The Standard Group Plc is a multi-media organization with investments in media platforms spanning newspaper print
operations, television, radio broadcasting, digital and online services. The Standard Group is recognized as a
leading multi-media house in Kenya with a key influence in matters of national and international interest.
Standard Group Plc HQ Office,
The Standard Group Center,Mombasa Road.
P.O Box 30080-00100,Nairobi, Kenya.
Telephone number: 0203222111, 0719012111
Email: corporate@standardmedia.co.ke
More stories to check out before you go
Your child is likely to be molested by those closest to you: her own father, uncle, cousin, nephew, neighbour or friend. Not a stranger.
The 2016 Child Protection Report by Childline Kenya reveals that children are three times likely to be victims of sexual abuse than adults, with strangers as minority perpetrators. The report further reveals that child neglect and abandonment are the chief grounds upon which abuse thrives.
For internationally renowned televangelist Joyce Meyer, the perpetrator was her biological father who “raped me a minimum of 200 times. I was ashamed most of the time and very lonely because of what was continually being done to me. He took me to the bar when I was a teenager and would force me to have sex with him in the back seat of a car with his drunk self. None of my relatives believed me when I shared my ordeal with them, because they didn’t want to get involved. So I gave up trying to seek help and decided to live through it. I was trapped,” she recalled in one of her sermons.
“I was mentally, sexually and emotionally abused by my father as far back as I can remember until I finally left home at age 18,” adds Meyer, an American.
Closer home in Kenya, there is Esther Nzioka, who was assaulted by her cousin in Nairobi in the 1990s. She was 10. He was 24.
“Many women are sexually abused at some point in their lives. I was one who lived to tell the story,” she says, recalling the day when some relatives came to their home in preparation for a wedding. “There were people in the kitchen, relatives catching up.”
Esther was in bed when “in my drowsy stupor, I felt something fill my mouth… I wasn’t sure what to make of it. Then it moved downwards… I then became aware that something was wrong. I wrestled within my mind trying as hard as I can to wake up. When I did finally get up, I changed my clothes and ran to the kitchen. I sat there, traumatized. I wanted to scream but I couldn’t. I wanted to say something. I was numb. The women in the kitchen were too caught up in their stories to realize that something was wrong.”
Her cousin’s parents, the perpetrator, lived upcountry. He needed a place as he attended college in Nairobi.
“That marked the beginning of my hell. At some point in my teen, I tried reaching out to the youth pastor at the church we attended, but he threatened to excommunicate me from the fellowship. My cousin was in the church choir and the youth pastor couldn’t afford to lose such a fine young man from the youth group,” shares Esther, adding that the few people she reached out to claimed she was making up stories.
“I remember this one time while in Form One, taking a knife and threatening to stab him if he got any closer, as we were wrestling (he wanted to pry the knife from my hand). I slipped and fell. My dad came running wondering what was going on, then my cousin said I just accidentally slipped and fell. Why didn’t I tell my father then? I don’t know. I was afraid. Caged. I didn’t know how my parents would handle such a confession,” she narrates.
“It takes a lot for a victim to open up about sexual assault, to be turned away or be told that it was the victim’s fault for being in the wrong place at the wrong time and other sick allegations that people make shatters one’s heart into smithereens so tiny, only a miracle can help piece them back together,” says Esther, adding that defilement continued until she was 15 when her parents shipped her to a boarding secondary school.
“Guess who I found working as an accountant at the school? This to me was a testimony that the devil is alive and well. How could he have been working at the same school that was meant to be my place of solace? Although he couldn’t get his hands on me while I was at school, every time I saw him, cold chills would go through my body. I would cringe. Every time,” says Esther, explaining that she had to write her cousin a letter, threatening to tell everyone at home. “I told him I would even tell the school principal. All I wanted was for him to move out of home, completely. My dad was a very stern man. Maybe he moved out because he feared he would lose his job. Or maybe he thought my dad would take some cause of action. I’m not sure exactly what convinced him, but he moved out eventually.”
In her early 20s, Esther began dating but hardly connected.
“I couldn’t let anyone lay their hands on me. Even a hug was too disgusting. Drinking became the order of the day. I became a workaholic and enjoyed the distraction.”
Esther finally got married, but before then, “Sex was an event, not something to look forward to. No, not even in adulthood, not even in the initial years of my marriage. It was more of a twisted way of avenging myself. Avenging my innocence. Once there, now gone. I was only a child then. And no one cared. They were afraid to talk. Those I trusted with the secret of my broken soul turned a blind eye. They insinuated that it was my fault. Buried their heads in the sand.”
The mother of three confesses that her parents only later realized her struggles when she was already married.
“My mum was so sad and my dad said nothing. No emotion. No words. Silence.”
According to Esther, sexual abuse robs one socially, spiritually, mentally and emotionally. It drains everything out of the victim, she says, adding that a “woman who gets married without having been healed of these deep wounds will cringe at sex in the context of marriage. And if she does not share with her husband what the source of her struggles are, then it is bound to put a strain on their marriage.”
She adds: “For wholesome healing to occur, a victim needs to deal with all these aspects of their lives. I met a handsome man who was willing to help me confront my past…reject living a robbed existence and seek to claim back what has been lost. My motto is, ‘there’s an expiry date for how long we can blame life, people or circumstances.”
Subscribe to our newsletter and stay updated on the latest developments and special offers!
The Standard Group Plc is a multi-media organization with investments in media platforms spanning newspaper print
operations, television, radio broadcasting, digital and online services. The Standard Group is recognized as a
leading multi-media house in Kenya with a key influence in matters of national and international interest.
Standard Group Plc HQ Office,
The Standard Group Center,Mombasa Road.
P.O Box 30080-00100,Nairobi, Kenya.
Telephone number: 0203222111, 0719012111
Email: corporate@standardmedia.co.ke
More stories to check out before you go
Your child is likely to be molested by those closest to you: her own father, uncle, cousin, nephew, neighbour or friend. Not a stranger.
The 2016 Child Protection Report by Childline Kenya reveals that children are three times likely to be victims of sexual abuse than adults, with strangers as minority perpetrators. The report further reveals that child neglect and abandonment are the chief grounds upon which abuse thrives.
For internationally renowned televangelist Joyce Meyer, the perpetrator was her biological father who “raped me a minimum of 200 times. I was ashamed most of the time and very lonely because of what was continually being done to me. He took me to the bar when I was a teenager and would force me to have sex with him in the back seat of a car with his drunk self. None of my relatives believed me when I shared my ordeal with them, because they didn’t want to get involved. So I gave up trying to seek help and decided to live through it. I was trapped,” she recalled in one of her sermons.
“I was mentally, sexually and emotionally abused by my father as far back as I can remember until I finally left home at age 18,” adds Meyer, an American.
Closer home in Kenya, there is Esther Nzioka, who was assaulted by her cousin in Nairobi in the 1990s. She was 10. He was 24.
“Many women are sexually abused at some point in their lives. I was one who lived to tell the story,” she says, recalling the day when some relatives came to their home in preparation for a wedding. “There were people in the kitchen, relatives catching up.”
Esther was in bed when “in my drowsy stupor, I felt something fill my mouth… I wasn’t sure what to make of it. Then it moved downwards… I then became aware that something was wrong. I wrestled within my mind trying as hard as I can to wake up. When I did finally get up, I changed my clothes and ran to the kitchen. I sat there, traumatized. I wanted to scream but I couldn’t. I wanted to say something. I was numb. The women in the kitchen were too caught up in their stories to realize that something was wrong.”
Her cousin’s parents, the perpetrator, lived upcountry. He needed a place as he attended college in Nairobi.
“That marked the beginning of my hell. At some point in my teen, I tried reaching out to the youth pastor at the church we attended, but he threatened to excommunicate me from the fellowship. My cousin was in the church choir and the youth pastor couldn’t afford to lose such a fine young man from the youth group,” shares Esther, adding that the few people she reached out to claimed she was making up stories.
“I remember this one time while in Form One, taking a knife and threatening to stab him if he got any closer, as we were wrestling (he wanted to pry the knife from my hand). I slipped and fell. My dad came running wondering what was going on, then my cousin said I just accidentally slipped and fell. Why didn’t I tell my father then? I don’t know. I was afraid. Caged. I didn’t know how my parents would handle such a confession,” she narrates.
“It takes a lot for a victim to open up about sexual assault, to be turned away or be told that it was the victim’s fault for being in the wrong place at the wrong time and other sick allegations that people make shatters one’s heart into smithereens so tiny, only a miracle can help piece them back together,” says Esther, adding that defilement continued until she was 15 when her parents shipped her to a boarding secondary school.
“Guess who I found working as an accountant at the school? This to me was a testimony that the devil is alive and well. How could he have been working at the same school that was meant to be my place of solace? Although he couldn’t get his hands on me while I was at school, every time I saw him, cold chills would go through my body. I would cringe. Every time,” says Esther, explaining that she had to write her cousin a letter, threatening to tell everyone at home. “I told him I would even tell the school principal. All I wanted was for him to move out of home, completely. My dad was a very stern man. Maybe he moved out because he feared he would lose his job. Or maybe he thought my dad would take some cause of action. I’m not sure exactly what convinced him, but he moved out eventually.”
In her early 20s, Esther began dating but hardly connected.
“I couldn’t let anyone lay their hands on me. Even a hug was too disgusting. Drinking became the order of the day. I became a workaholic and enjoyed the distraction.”
Esther finally got married, but before then, “Sex was an event, not something to look forward to. No, not even in adulthood, not even in the initial years of my marriage. It was more of a twisted way of avenging myself. Avenging my innocence. Once there, now gone. I was only a child then. And no one cared. They were afraid to talk. Those I trusted with the secret of my broken soul turned a blind eye. They insinuated that it was my fault. Buried their heads in the sand.”
The mother of three confesses that her parents only later realized her struggles when she was already married.
“My mum was so sad and my dad said nothing. No emotion. No words. Silence.”
According to Esther, sexual abuse robs one socially, spiritually, mentally and emotionally. It drains everything out of the victim, she says, adding that a “woman who gets married without having been healed of these deep wounds will cringe at sex in the context of marriage. And if she does not share with her husband what the source of her struggles are, then it is bound to put a strain on their marriage.”
She adds: “For wholesome healing to occur, a victim needs to deal with all these aspects of their lives. I met a handsome man who was willing to help me confront my past…reject living a robbed existence and seek to claim back what has been lost. My motto is, ‘there’s an expiry date for how long we can blame life, people or circumstances.”
Subscribe to our newsletter and stay updated on the latest developments and special offers!
The Standard Group Plc is a multi-media organization with investments in media platforms spanning newspaper print
operations, television, radio broadcasting, digital and online services. The Standard Group is recognized as a
leading multi-media house in Kenya with a key influence in matters of national and international interest.
Standard Group Plc HQ Office,
The Standard Group Center,Mombasa Road.
P.O Box 30080-00100,Nairobi, Kenya.
Telephone number: 0203222111, 0719012111
Email: corporate@standardmedia.co.ke
More stories to check out before you go
I am a 28-year-old career woman, a banker to be exact. Unlike many girls my age who are getting ready for marriage and planning weddings, I am in a relationship people may call bizarre. I am in love with a man who cherished me as a baby and watched me grow up. This is the man who has never stopped calling me beautiful, whose love is broad-spectrum and is in and out of season. That man is my father.
Don't be hasty to judge me, I have no regrets nor am I ready to change my mind.
It all began when I was 13. Those were the days I badly needed love. My mother gave more attention to my two younger brothers and often I felt left out. She kept finding fault with me; throwing tantrums at the slightest provocation and blaming me sometimes for things my brothers did.
"You should be their role model," I remember every beating from my mother. Justly speaking, it was not all uphill with her; there were some good times but I can dare say that the bitter moments outweigh the good ones by far! I grew to hate her too. I am not embarrassed that I found love and consolation from her husband.
Daddy is a businessman; so many times he'd be away on business trips. When he came home, I would lie on his chest and cry asking him not to leave me behind next time he went for a trip. "Darling, you're still in school," he'd gently tell me and press me hard on his chest. I was only a little girl then. If my mother shouted at me in his presence, he'd reprimand her. Those were the only times I felt justice being done to me.
At the age of 12, after my first menstruation period, I dared my mother for a woman-to-woman chat. "Why don't you like me? Is it that you expected a boy and you got me? Did dad rape you on the night you conceived me," I recited what I had been coached by my peers. She insisted she loved me but her actions continued to be different.
Then, my hips started growing and I was turning into a pretty woman. I often caught my dad stealing glances at me especially at the dining table. I didn't know about man-to -woman love then and it's much later I that I realised my dad had fallen in love with me long before I knew it. My mother cautioned me against men generally and talked ill about all of them.
But dad was and is still different from all the men I have ever met. He's charming, caring, listening and willing to understand. I can describe my dad as my father, my friend, counselor and my lover. No man can match him! As a little girl, I could see jealousy written all over my mother's face and at some point I started enjoying it. I would sit on dad's lap and wrap my little hands around his neck just to provoke her. She'd make a face but not at any time did she ever stop me. Maybe if she had talked to me about incest then, things would be different today.
On my thirteenth birthday, Dad had a surprise for me: a trip with him to South Africa. I can't narrate the joy of being alone for a whole week with a person who loved me dearly and away from my mother's quarrels. A nice hotel in Jo'burg was my birthday place. I had a nice spacious room all to myself and dad's room was opposite mine.
On the second night he came to my room and without any preambles he held me tightly and gave me a long deep kiss on the lips. I felt a sense of belonging and a very special attachment to him. That is the night I gave my virginity to my dad. That night we discussed many things and he told me that he wouldn't mind telling the world that he loved me were it not for societal outlook.
We'd keep it secret though sitting on his lap and him hugging me and kissing my forehead or cheek would continue. I left Jo'burg with many presents but above all, feeling gratified that I had been ushered into adulthood by a man who loved me and whom I loved.
Our love blossomed by the day and we'd go out many times. He'd pick me from boarding school and we'd spend the afternoon together. The world knew dad loved me but perhaps their interpretation was different. This continued until I joined university.
At the University I could see my peers with their little boyfriends and at some point I thought I would give it a try. I got myself a boyfriend but the relationship lasted barelya week. He was childish, noisy and hyperactive! That is the complete opposite of my dad. My relationship with dad is mature. He has taught me to be calm and how to handle issues maturely. I am not surprised he pushes away any young man who comes close to me.
The day my mother caught me on her bed with dad, she faked surprise and I had to tell her bluntly to stop pretending. Was she so blind all those years to see dad was treating me better than her? He'd give me money to pay workers. We'd go shopping with him and have night-long loud-laughter chats in the study. We went for his international business trips together and even have a joint bank account! When she caught us and kicked him out of their bedroom, the poor man ran to me. I now share my bedroom with him without an iota of remorse. My brothers hate me but because my dad has always been there for me, I must fight to make him happy.
Though we denied it when summoned by the clan elders, thanks to my mother's big mouth, our love is not ending anytime soon. I know the science behind having a child with a blood relative that's why dad and I have kept it on hold.
When the right time comes, I may opt to adopt. Meanwhile, I continue being dad's best friend and lover. We have never fought over anything over the years. Though people may call us insane, from my intellectual eye, I notice even the elders who stood to condemn us admire our relationship.
- The identity of the person telling the story has been hidden to protect her and others involved from stigma
Incest is a serious public health issue but it's usually ignored in order to protect involved families. Father and daughter incest is common in many African countries and as Allan Kimani, a counseling psychologist at Nairobi Counseling Services explains, many incest victims suffer from Stockholm Syndrome where they develop irrational empathy for their assailants.
"Whether the girl is a minor or an ad
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