“They Made Me Kneel and Apologize for Being Raped — 18 Years Later, I Became the Lawyer Who Got the Man Jailed.”
I Was the Girl They Shamed. But I Rose, Not to Take Revenge… But to Rewrite the Story They Tried to Erase.
2006. Anambra State, Nigeria.
My name is Chibugwum.
I was 13 when it happened.
My uncle was supposed to be my protector —
But he became the monster I couldn’t run from.
He was my mother’s younger brother.
Everyone called him Uncle Jude.
He lived with us. Ate our food. Slept under our roof.
And still… he stole what I could never get back.
That night, I was alone in the house.
My mother had gone to the market.
He came in, locked the door… and changed my childhood forever.
I didn’t understand what had happened.
Only that I couldn’t walk straight…
And I couldn’t stop shaking.
When my mother returned, I told her everything.
She slapped me.
“You foolish girl! You seduced your uncle? Kneel down!”
My aunt said:
“She’s becoming too fast. At 13, she’s already a disgrace.”
My pastor said:
“Let’s not break the family. Just pray. Maybe she dreamt it.”
I was made to kneel and apologize.
To him.
In front of the whole family.
“I’m sorry, Uncle Jude.”
He looked at me.
Smirked.
And said:
“I forgive you. But next time, dress properly.”
They sent me away to the village.
To my grandmother’s house.
A punishment for being abused.
But that’s where the journey began.
2008. Onitsha.
I started school again.
Used my pain to fuel my books.
Read everything I could find.
I vowed:
“I may never get justice now… but one day, I will defend girls like me.”
2012.
I passed WAEC.
Got admitted into the University of Calabar, Cross River to study Law.
Worked in a bakery during holidays.
Tutored children.
Sold puff-puff on campus.
But I never stopped.
Graduated.
Entered Law School.
Became a Barrister.
And on the day I got called to bar, I held the wig in my hands and whispered:
The Continuation..
“For that 13-year-old girl who wasn’t believed — this is for you.”
2023.
Now 31, I was volunteering at a women’s legal clinic when a woman brought her daughter in.
She was 11.
And the man who raped her?
Jude Okonkwo.
My uncle.
Same method.
Same manipulation.
Different victim.
He had relocated to another state — where no one knew his history.
Until that day. I took the case personally.
Worked with investigators.
Found two more victims.
Got statements.
Gathered evidence. The day of the trial, he walked into the courtroom.
Saw me in my black robe.
Paled.
He whispered:
“Chibugwum?”
I didn’t blink.
I stood up and said:
“My Lord, the prosecution is ready.”
I read out the charges.
Presented the evidence.
Played the confession he made to a third party.
Showed the scars he left behind.
It was a long, hard case.
But in the end…
He was sentenced to 25 years in prison.
When the judge passed the sentence, I felt no joy. Only release.
The girl’s mother cried and held my hand.
“You saved my daughter. God will bless you.” I said:“ I was once her.”
Today, I run a foundation called “The Kneeling Girls.”
We provide legal aid, therapy, shelter, and scholarships to victims of sexual violence (Rape).
Over 400 girls have been helped.
Some are in school.
Some are in university.
Some are now lawyers too.
My mother came to see me recently.
She was older now.
Tired.
She said:
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know how to protect you.”
I looked at her.
And I forgave her.
Because healing isn’t about erasing the past —
It’s about refusing to live under its shadow.
From victim… To voice.
From apology… To authority.
From buried… To builder.
Sometimes, the world will make you kneel for what wasn’t your fault.
But God will raise you to stand for those still kneeling.
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