Please this is real story of a friend of mine:

"An open letter to the girl in her teens by
Femi Owolabi.

Hello dear,
I know you would have read or heard
something like this, since you assumed
this phase of your life. If you will oblige
me, however, I wanna share with you, the
story of Bisola, my friend who should be
twenty this November.
Bisola and I met early this year in my
neighborhood. You see, that evening, I was sitting, with a few friends, in front of
my house when Bisola walked past. Her
beauty is mesmeric that our eyes
followed her till she walked off the street.
Days later, Bisola and I already got talking.
Mind me not, I am skilled in making new
friends that quick. Especially when the girl
is beautiful, just like you, you know?
Bisola is the second of the three children
of her parents. Of course, she wouldn’t
agree to my friendship proposal on time,
and when we eventually got talking, she
told me of how she despises the guys in
the neighborhood; those guys who just
wanna woo every girl they see walk past.
“I will not allow any guy destroy my future
o,” Bisola told me. Let me confess, at this
initial stage of our friendship, my
affection was driven by pure lust. Forgive
me, men could just be like that,
sometimes. Bisola was careful. She
slapped off my hand when it rested too
much on her shoulder, that evening I walked her down the street. She repelled
every flirtatious gaze I cast at her.

She came looking for me one day,
sometime around mid-August, and was
told I was inside my room. My door was
pointed, and she came knocking. I asked
her to come in, but she was skeptical and
asked I come out instead. When I opened
the door and she peeped into my room,
she saw my shelf and marveled. She was
attracted by the books, obviously, and
willingly, she stepped into the room. “Are
you the only one reading all these plenty
books?” she asked me, as she knelt by the
shelf looking through the titles.

Bisola sat for JAMB this year but she
scored low and didn’t meet the cut-off for
a university admission. She was preparing
to re-sit for the examination. I helped her
search through the shelf for an old
Economics textbook because Eco, as she
fondly called it, was her preferred course
of study. The gift of that book really
meant a lot to her, and she hugged me,
for the first time. That moment when our
hearts got enclosed in a hug, I could feel
she’s troubled.
“I have not seen my period,” she let out a
sigh, looking into my eyes. At first, I didn’t
know what to say. “You had an
unprotected sex with your boyfriend?” I laced this question with smiles, hoping
she would take it as some witty asides.
“How could you relate such to me?” she
was furious, and she left. And for days,
she didn’t answer my calls. I got angry
with myself, you know. I called a friend
who is a doctor, asking her what could be
the reason why a month would go and a
girl won’t have her period. I told my friend
to eschew any pregnancy thoughts,
because the girl in question never
indulged in sex. My friend used some
medical jargon and then suggested some
medicines. The next time I saw Bisola in
the neighborhood, I ran after her, to show
her the names of the medicines that the
doctor has recommended. I wrote the
medicines’ names on a sheet of paper I got from my chest-pocket, and I took her
palm and put the paper in it. She was
reluctant in receiving it.

“Femi, can I trust you with something?”
she asked, in a whispering tone. I told her
to go ahead. “I had a D & C abortion in
June,” she said. Looking askance at her, I didn’t know what to respond. “We had
sex, my then boyfriend and I. I discovered
the pregnancy in June and I had to quickly
get rid of it,” she continued. Bisola is this
smart girl, but I began to see her naivety,
especially when she started telling me
about the boyfriend whom she now
hated. It was an irony; her naivety
juxtaposed her seeming smartness.
“You will be fine,” I calmed her, and I furthered with my enquiries. I was then
told that in the cases of some D & C
abortions, it may take about three
months before the patient gets her
period. I called Bisola and I told her to
worry not, for her period will come at the
expiration of three months that she had
the abortion.

We both started counting
down to September 4th when the three
months would elapse.
I was out of town when Bisola called me,
that it was the tenth day of September
and no traces of her period. I, too, got
overwhelmed with worries. “Let me go
back to where I had the D & C in June and
asked why this,” she suggested, and I agreed with her. She left her Lagos home
for somewhere in Ibadan, without telling
anyone what she was up to, except me.

She consistently begged me not to reveal
this to anyone, even when the worries
seemed bigger than what we two can
handle.
The next day, she called me. “I have just
been told that the D & C I had in June only
took one baby of the two that was inside
of me, and this one might have been
growing” she said. I was shocked! I didn’t
know how possible this could have been.
“So, what do we do now?” I asked her. I could feel my voice shivering, because of
how my heart palpitated. “Get rid of it!”
she screamed. This time, it wouldn’t be
through a D & C as she has been assured.

She asked if I could raise her some money
because she has been billed another N15,
000. A second abortion in a short
interval-- of months? I couldn’t just take
this. “Let’s leave this baby, my darling,” I begged. She was quick to anger you know.

“Just say you can’t give me money. I should leave the baby? You, can you
marry an after-one?” she said and she
terminated the call. I tried to reach her
again, and she wouldn’t pick my calls.
Later in the week, she called me. It was
not good news. The one of the twin babies
has been confirmed lifeless. There was no
other option than to bring out the lifeless
thing from her womb.

Few days after the operation, I spoke with
her over the phone and I could barely
hear her. “I have been bleeding
profusely,” she said in a faint voice. “Femi,
I feel so weak. Pads can’t even hold this
blood. I’ve been using towels,” she added.
I was already in tears, you know.
I shared a bit of this on Facebook and
many friends suggested I ensure her
parents know about this. I had to open it
up to one of her uncles in the
neighborhood whom I always argue
politics with. He brought in the parents
and they set in immediately.
Last Thursday when I called her line, her
dad picked. “She is sleeping,” he told me.
He thanked me for always checking on
her. “When she’s up, I will ask that she
returns your call,” he said.
On Monday night, 28th of September,
2015, my phone rang as I stepped into my
room. “Bisola is dead,” the caller said.

“She died this morning at the University
College Hospital in Ibadan,” he added.
Oh yes, I laughed. That would mark the
beginning of the mental illness that held
me for hours. I became sicker. I became
weaker. A part of me died with Bisola.

The
memories of that young girl who knelt by
my shelf-- asking for an Economics
textbook-- haunt me.

Why am I writing to you? You see my
dear, I discovered that Bisola feared being
stigmatized as an after-one. Just like you,
she wanna go to the university, graduate
and marry her lover. But things went
wrong, and she wanted to return to her
normal self. I know you have a boyfriend.

I had a girlfriend, too, when I was
eighteen, and oh, we did crazy stuffs. I know you guys really wanna be all over
each other and have sex. I write to beg
that you be careful, okay? I know your
approach to life could be refreshingly
naïve. See, many boys would wanna play
on this. You have to be smarter, okay? I wish I could explain better. And in the
case you eventually get pregnant,
sweetheart, don’t rush to abort it, please.
Call your mum and dad, and tell them.
Don’t go through a D & C alone. My
parents, conservative Christians, won’t
approve of abortion. I want to believe
yours, too, won’t. It is your life that
matters and not what people would call
you; after-one or whatever. You will be
amazed at how people will stand strong
for you, the after-one girl.
Please, take these things seriously and
stay alive to enjoy that future!
I care about you, always.

Femi Owolabi,
1:15AM 30/09/2015. Onipanu, Lagos,
Nigeria
PS: You can re-share and re-blog this, and
get it to the girls who would need it."

Cc: lalasticlala

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too long
sell it!

nice...now a days teenagers use POSTINORtwo to clear it.....even gynaescoid should have done the trick......the bf no wise at all common go for gold of thirty naira he no fit afford or if he no get money he for use ballon or better still ...menstrogen ....So u see say dem DULL

hint. love atory.too long

This is not a fiction, believe me it is a sadden story of a lady.


Lalasticlala and ishilove please move it to the appropriate place. At least this can help someone change her mind from committing this same blunder! Thanks