Sista Clinik

National service started on a good note, until some of the men in my office started to misbehave towards my fellow female service personnel and I. It started with sexual jokes which we were all not comfortable with. Then it moved on to gifts, money and promises to buy us stuff all in the quest to touch our bodies. There was one particular man who would go round each morning to greet everyone. He used that opportunity to rub his hands on our backs till he felt our bra through our dresses. I ignored it the first time thinking it was just my imagination. He did it again the next day and I began to feel uncomfortable. The third time he tried it, I gave him a bold and polite warning that I wasn't comfortable with that. His response? He shouted at me and asked me which sort of person I was and rained a few insults on me. I ignored him and reported the issue to my boss to talk to him on my behalf. Fortunately for me, my boss is one of the few upright men in the office. He did talk to...

Vera’s story on sexual harassment shared last Friday reminds me of mine . I recently changed jobs, and I quite remember the question my then employer asked when I broke the news of my resignation. Apparently he had heard from somewhere that his P.A was being harassed, sexually, by a man also in the office.   ‘ Are you leaving because of Kofi (real name withheld)?” he asked. “ I heard he’s been harassing you. Is it true ?” Well, no I wasn’t leaving because of Kofi; not necessarily. But Kofi wasn’t making my stay at the company easy either. I remember also vividly the very day I took the job. I was seated next to the lady who was handing over to me. There were a few things she needed to take me through before she took her big step out of the company.  As we sat behind the desk, this man that I later got to know as Kofi walked by. He went straight to the Augusta (also real name withheld), and while talking to her, helped himself to what was almost a scoop o...

The truth is, this brokenhearted 23 year old woman knows me well. She's seen me survive the most crippling depression that claimed most of my young life. She is quite familiar with my social awkwardness too. The inconsistency. The starts with no finishes. The deserted hopes. The self-dug graves. The rock bottoms. The dismal fails. The discovered and lost dreams. The words siting unfinished in my drafts folder. She knows me. She is after all the best friend. The accusation stings only because I know she is right, that is who she knows.   I can't go back or erase the memories. I sit quietly, but bothered by a simple sentence 'You know you never finish anything you start.' A statement that seems to ask 'Why am I kidding myself? What would possess me to think I can commit myself to such overwhelming responsibilities that are obviously above my capabilities?' 'She is right, she knows me.' I remind myself quietly. Maybe she has forgotten, b...