One Response to “Australian Childhood Foundation Campaign: Stop Child Abuse Now”

1. 

   lydia said on Thursday, April 30, 2009, 18:16

   Child abuse must stop now. It is sad that child abuse has been going on secretly for many years. i was abused as a child between the 60s and 70s and no one was able to save me but God.
   please read

   Chapter 4 Head Injury There were two other families living in 87 Flaxman Road with us, in separate apartments. The landlord lived on the middle floor with his family, while another Nigerian couple lived in the basement with their daughter. The daughter was more or less the same age I was. I don’t know much about their personal circumstances, but I was aware that my parents were on talking terms with them. On most school days by the time I got home, my parents were out. I used to sit at the foot of the stairs and wait for them till they returned home. Sometimes when the couple see me sitting on the stairs awaiting my parents’ arrival, I believe that it was out of compassion, they would beckon to me to come into their home to stay with them until my parents arrived. Because I knew the family quite well I would accompany them into their home and play with their daughter till my parents arrived. They appeared happy to have me in their home during those times. Staying with this family went on for some time, till one day I was told by my parents that I was not allowed in their house again, even if I was asked to come in. This, I later learnt was the result of an argument that had broken out between them in my absence. I Immediately had a problem. What should I say if they asked me in, on one of those lonely afternoons while waiting for my parents? The next day, I did my best to adhere to my parents’ instruction. But the family refused to see me sitting alone on the stairs awaiting my parents, so they asked me in. I informed them that I was not allowed in their home. They still insisted, stressing, that they were not strangers to my parents neither was I in their home. So as not to appear rude, I went into the family’s apartment downstairs, hoping that, somehow my parents would understand my predicament. The family prepared some food as they normally did around this time of the evening and offered me something to eat. I don’t quite remember what the meal was that evening, but I joined the family to eat at the dinning table, sitting next to my friend, their daughter. We both spoke about school, friends and what we thought about our teachers. After the meal, we sat in the living room to watch TV. Within about fifteen minutes after dinner, there was a hard knock on the door. My heart started to pound, I was afraid, very afraid. I suddenly remembered that accepting the family’s hospitality was a disobedience to my parents. My friend’s mum opened the door and there stood my mum and dad. With my heart racing, I thought about what was I going to say? What will become of me, will I survive this night? All these questions swiftly flooded my mind. When I saw the look on my parents’ faces I knew that I was in a lot of trouble! I blurted out a muffled hello to both of them. They looked at me but ignored my greeting. Both tersely thanked the family for having me. I briskly walked upstairs to our apartment with apprehension. The moment I got through the door I was asked to stoop down. I recall that this kind of corporal punishment requires one to bend down on one leg and with the other leg lifted up, you then place one hand on your back and using one finger of the other hand to touch the floor for balance. I had to stay balanced for at least thirty minutes – a
   painful and difficult posture for even an adult. I was only a child. Whilst I was in this position, I was being queried about my visit to the family downstairs, before I could answer; I had received a kick to the back of my head from my dad’s black boots. Not just once, I received about two to three kicks to the back of my head. I did not see
   them coming. By the time I had received the second kick, blood was dripping from my head down my neck to the floor and I had fallen to the ground. They must have been hard toe boots. I was in deep pain. I could not answer the questions he continued to ask. My head was throbbing painfully when, for the first time ever in my life, I heard my mother shout to my father to stop it. He stopped and left me there on the floor, still bleeding of course. She pulled me up from the ground and quickly got a wad of tissue to wipe the blood. In an attempt to stop the bleeding, she held the tissue to my head until blood was no longer dripping. My father, who was a trained nurse before arrival in the UK, should have checked the wound he had inflicted on me. At the very least, to confirm that bleeding had stopped. I don’t think my parents actually understood the extent of the injury I sustained that evening. I was told to go to bed, so I changed from my school uniform into my pyjamas. I then got my beddings from the corner, laid them on the couch and got into my bed and closed my eyes. I was in an agonising pain. My head was throbbing and aching so badly that I had to hold my head to go to sleep. I don’t know how long it took me to fall asleep that night. All I can remember was that I woke up in the middle of the night crying and screaming, because I was in so much pain. My father, still lying in bed, asked what the matter was. I replied him, crying out in pain, that my head was hurting. When the light was switched on, I could see that my pillow was covered in blood. Quickly, my father got out of bed and when he saw the blood he shouted – “eweje!” meaning – Look at blood! I had been bleeding continuously from my head. My parents had a frantic discussion between themselves. Some of the things they said, I neither heard nor understood, while I was holding my very painful, aching and throbbing head. However, I heard them agree and say that they had to call the ambulance service immediately. Some of the blood had clotted and locks of my hair were stuck together. The injury was still bleeding profusely down my neck. Dad called the ambulance service and told them that I had a head injury; sustained from a fall down the stairs. What are the odds of that happening? This was a single room apartment, where the only flight of stairs was situated outside the room. Waiting for the ambulance seemed to take a long time as the pain grew worse. Meanwhile, I could hear my parents telling me the likely questions I would be asked and the likely responses I should give. Simply, I was being coached to tell blatant lies. In my pain, I knew I had no choice in the matter. Fearing for what could be in stock for me if I didn’t toe the line. Firstly, I should tell them that I slipped and fell down the stairs. Secondly there was no-one around to see what happened. They were teaching me to lie to get them out of trouble. The ambulance service arrived, the paramedics came upstairs. One asked my parents what had happened, while another paramedic was attending to me, applying wads of cotton wool to the injury to stop the bleeding. The paramedic then carried me into the ambulance where they made sure that I was comfortable. The driver quickly sped off, blue lights flashing on the way to King’s College Hospital in Camberwell. Within minutes we had arrived at the hospital, where I was whisked off from the ambulance straight to the Accident and Emergency Department in a stretcher. I was immediately attended to because I was still bleeding profusely. Once in the emergency department they immediately applied an ice pack to the back of my head
   to stop the bleeding. I was in so much pain, I felt as if my head was going to blow up as the throbbing pain continued. When the doctor asked me how I sustained the injury, I responded as coached by my parents that I fell down the stairs. I could see by the puzzled look on his face,
   that he found that difficult to believe or inconsistent with the injury. He hummed and asked how that happened, I answered and said that I slipped and fell down the stairs. He must have suspected that my story was not a true account and promptly probed further. “What did you slip on?” I couldn’t answer that question. I just stared at him because I did not know what to say. That question was not covered in my coaching. I was lying because I was afraid of what my parents would do to me if I told the doctor the truth. The doctor requested that I went for an X-ray to make sure that I had not broken my skull, or had any internal bleeding. I was rushed to the X-ray department by the nurses my parents followed along. Mum and dad were very anxious to know what the doctor had asked and what my responses were. They asked me as I was being taken to the x-ray department. Their calm but concerned look, masking the anxiety I could sense in their questions. I told my parents that the doctor asked what had happened and that I told him that I fell down the stairs. The X-ray investigation took about twenty to thirty minutes in a private cubicle in the X-Ray Department. My head was aching and still bleeding profusely. I was taken to one of the X-ray cubicles where I was gently laid down on an X-ray table. My head being supported by a nurse with an ice pack on the injury. I was screaming and yelling from the pain, it was as if my head was going to burst open. I could hear someone asking me to stay still as the x-ray was being taken. The machine made a slight whirring noise. I heard that the radiographer needed to take further Xrays at different exposures whilst I was screaming and yelling with pain. Finally the X-rays were all completed. I had to wait on the stretcher in the waiting room with my parents who also waited for the results. It was an agonising wait. I hated my father for what he had done to me. I cried for two reasons, firstly, the pain from the injury and also the torture I had received at the hand of the man that was meant to be my dad. Just before the results came through, a nurse came along and gave me some painkillers to reduce the pain. She also took me away to another cubicle to receive treatment to my head. She cleaned the wound, applied dressing and covered it in a bandage. The bandage was wrapped around the top of my head, such that my hair was entirely covered. I was then taken back to the doctor with my X-ray results. The doctor looked through the report and was happy to see that I did not have a fracture or haemorrhage to the brain. He did, however, inform my parents that I needed to be off school for about two to three weeks while the injury healed. The doctor discharged me and gave my parents a prescription for further painkillers. By this time it was early in the morning. With the painkillers taken, I must have been so exhausted that I didn’t remember how I got home, I fell asleep. I woke up to find myself on my parent’s bed. I was treated as an invalid for that day only. For the next two weeks I stayed at home unable to go to school. I was home alone with my head aching really badly. My parents did not stay at home with me during the two weeks, they went to work. I was so sad that neither of my parents cared enough to stay home and watch over me – I was under eight years old. They didn’t even seem to care. I was left by my parents, with food to eat for breakfast and lunch. I woke up each day with pain; I had to use my two hands to literally lift my head from the pillow to get up from off the bed. Every morning, during those two weeks, I would get up brush my teeth and have some cornflakes to eat. Then I took
   my painkillers and returned to bed, using my hands to support my head to lie down again. In the evening when my parents arrived from work, I would have dinner with them, take the last dose of my medication for the day and then make my bed on the couch where I would sleep till morning.
   Over the two week period, I felt better and the pain and throbbing headaches subsided. My head did heal but for many years no hair grew back in the area. The very spot remains bald to this day. There was really no communication between myself and my parents. I thought I was an inconvenience, maybe I was. Never kissed, hugged or embraced by either dad or mum. I felt unloved, just existing, living in a strange inhospitable environment. I really wanted someone to love me, to care for me, to talk to and with me, but there was no-one. Still that was my dream, my hope and prayer in those days. The head injury did heal but left me with physical, psychological and emotional scars

   Lydia Taiwo
   What A Life

   http://www.strategicbookpublishing.com/WhatALife.html