It all started when I was 9 years old. At that age, barbies, candy and ice cream where toys meant for babies. I would sit in class and pay attention to what the teacher was saying. Five multiplied by zero is zero...Five multiplied by one is five…I couldn’t help but wonder what Leslie and Tamara where giggling about.
“Hier, c’était trop chaud !”
What was hot yesterday ? I was curious. I wanted to giggle too. The bell finally rang. It was lunch time. Whilst we were having lunch at different tables, I couldn’t take my eyes of these two girls. I wanted to know what was hot yesterday. What could have been so hot that made them whisper and giggle this much? We all rose up from our tables when it was time. I ran towards Leslie and Tamara. They looked at each other and I’m guessing what went through their mind was: what is this one doing here again? I asked them about what they were talking about and surprisingly they didn’t hide it from me.
“Amina, tu dors à quelle heure ?”
I usually slept by 9:30pm at that time. From that day on ward, I would sneak into the living room, turn down the volume of the television (so I wouldn’t have anyone walk in on me) and watch my imaginations away. At first, I was fascinated by the basic “go-in-and-come-out” movement of the penis. I would watch, smile and wonder when my time would come. I was slowly getting tired physically for my lack of sleep. Tables turned when we would find used condoms on the playground alias “La cour de recréation” .
As the years went by, sex became an outlet for me to get rid of my day to day frustrations. It went from pornography to masturbation to…addiction. My spirit craved nearness to Allah but then I couldn’t control my flesh. I couldn’t control my thoughts. It didn’t have to happen every day but then when it did happen…I knew immorality was unacceptable in Islam. I had moral standards and I had virtues. In the moment, it was enjoyable but when I reached an orgasm I found myself suffocating in pity. I wouldn’t go on my knees and plead for forgiveness. It kept happening over and over again… I was the one everyone looked up to. I was the one father praised before his peers. I was the one good example my younger ones adored. I was the one trying to be faithful to Allah. Shame, guilt and addiction became the little demons that followed me wherever I went. Don’t get me wrong…I could go months without falling back into temptation. It took just one little thing to put me back in that same spot…That little thing could be a picture, a video, a tweet, a Facebook update…I tried to justify my wrong doings by claiming that my hymen wasn’t broken yet. I was a virgin physically but my thoughts were whore-ish. And you know what the funny thing about sex is… Once you start with it, you can’t go back. You keep wanting more. The more you indulge in it, the wilder your imaginations become. Darn it! Pornography had me questioning my sexual preference at some point. But masturbating was just the birth of my second life.
It was a raging war between my morals and my desires. But it was okay…”I’m still a virgin” I kept telling myself. The actualization of my fantasies found solace in nudes, private videos, oral sex…Just between me and Femi. My Nigerian King…Until the day he leaked my photos on Twitter. I was smart enough to keep my face out of the pictures. But then the shame was still upon me. I lied and denied. But I knew the truth. Femi knew the truth. Allah knew the truth. I would have considered myself lucky when friends and family stood by me believing that I would never do such shameful thing. But then I wasn’t lucky, I was lying to myself.
I am still lying to myself. I am not an addict…I’m not a whore…I’m not…I am Amina El Radali.
As I walk out of this house with my hijab covering my silky hair and my sins, I walk away as a new being hoping to not fall victim of my own mind again.
- The Alpha Female