Recalling that She desired to be everywhere, he was, anywhere She perceived his scent. All night long, She penned Her thoughts of him, wild adventures with him, passionate sex with him, kids with him. Wait a minute! I skipped a significant narration. Let’s take a step back. Marriage with him, next, kids with him. She held Her breath for a while, released it gradually, paused from Her writing, and contemplated striking the marriage part of Her reveries. Her pastor father considered inter-tribal marriage an abomination. There was no point fantasising about the impossible, or was it? Love is beautiful, especially when crested with the sanctity of marriage. They sealed their union at the registry unaccompanied by family and in the presence of two hired witnesses. During their honeymoon, he hit Her multiple times on Her chest. We are now at Her burial, waving Her ‘Gone too Soon’ banner and whispering to each other, ‘Ah! She suffered the consequence of Her action. Only if She had listened to Her father. Death na de price for disobedience.’ We blame Her for being a victim of violence and for Her death;

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Knowing that I had seen that paper airplane fly in through Her window, with inscribed sentences of love. I saw it. We all saw it, up close or from a distance. We were there from the beginning, from the pre-teen days when they celebrated every birthday together on top ‘bestie’ level, to their final days in secondary school when they started dating. We saw their love blossom from pre-teens to teenage-hood. It was time to jet off to the university. Burna Boy for talk say the babe chop breakfast. Well, he didn’t end the relationship. They became closer than ever while he was pursuing his first degree in the UK. He returned three years later, on one knee, with a ring, pronouncing his intentions of marriage. Oh! What's that line our men use again, ‘From the first day I met you, our hearts aligned. You mean more than the world to me. I want to grow old with you and raise our kids together. Will you marry me?’ A perfect match made in heaven, kissed by the sun, and coloured by the rainbow. God, when? When will it be my turn? I asked. We, the unmarried ones, asked. Year one of marriage produced a beautiful baby girl and a few slaps here and there. I heard Her's mum on the other end of the phone, ‘Ada’m, did you say he hit you again? You should endure, my dear. Marriage has its ups and downs. Don’t worry. By the second year, the marriage would stabilise. Remember that our families were friends even before you both decided to make it official. Leaving now would jeopardise our family’s relationship.’ Months later, I heard Her mother’s voice again, wailing beside Her daughter’s corpse. During an argument, he had pushed Her from the top of a three-story building. We are now at Her burial, waving Her ‘Gone too Soon’ banner and whispering to each other, ‘Ah! Such a pretty girl from a decent home. But didn’t She see red flags when they were courting? She should have broken off the engagement.’ We blame Her for being a victim of violence and for Her death;

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Deeply concerned that Her relationship was toxic. He had assaulted and raped Her several times. We told Her it was better to have a broken relationship than a broken marriage. She fidgeted as he ran his hands over Her in his sitting room, grabbing Her breasts violently and sniffing Her. ‘My heartbeat, you said you wanted to tell me something.’ She took a deep breath and tried to distance Her body from his while forcing Her words out. ‘I'm calling off the wedding! I can’t do this anymore!’ He came closer as if to hug Her but hit Her until She became unconscious. He tied and raped Her before strangling Her to death. We are now at Her burial, waving Her ‘Gone too Soon’ banner and whispering to each other, ‘Ah! Such a good girl. But why did She go alone? She should have gone with family, friends, or the police.’ We blame Her for being a victim of violence and for Her death;

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Emphasising the need to end Her abusive relationship. We had watched him harass Her during work meetings for cheating, seized Her phone on some days, threatened Her to conceive, locked Her out for returning late, and called Her fat whenever She wanted to snack. ‘Make sure you go there with someone,’ We advised. She walked into his home with a friend and Her brother. But it was like taking a knife to a gunfight. Of course, his men handled Her company while he took the pleasure of shooting Her for daring to leave him. We are now at Her burial, waving Her and Her company’s ‘Gone too Soon’ banner, whispering to each other, ‘Ah! Such a good girl. But why did She go with unarmed people? She should have gone with the police or army officials.’ We blame Her for being a victim of violence and for Her death;

 

Conscious of the commitment She made to visit him, Her Facebook lover, that weekend. We saw Her neatly pile Her clothes into our famous weekend bag. We helped Her pick out the best spa for waxing, lingerie and jasmine oil for Her three nights with him. She waved Her last goodbyes and texted us the address and picture of the special man on top safety measures because We no know who be better person these days. Their case was love at first chat, so it should have been their first meeting of fun. It was fun until the third day when We could not reach Her. We raced to the police station to file a missing person’s report. The police's rude expression was enough to discourage us, but We persisted. ‘You talk say She comot 3 days ago go see man abi?’ The police asked. ‘Na wa o! This kind university student wey de go man house. Na de book wey Her papa send am go study be that? Maybe She follow de man run na. May We give am some days before we go the address wey She give you people.’ The next day, a picture of Her dumped mutilated body went viral with many parts missing - breast, vagina, and uterus. He and they-part of We (because he could not have planned to mutilate Her alone) were humane enough to leave Her face for identification. Probably, a witch doctor had emphasised the potency of Her genitalia for prosperity and requested Her parts to make him wealthy, or he was an organ trafficker. Some of We-dear friends attended Her burial. Like the police implied, the rest of We called Her wayward for going to a man's house and greedy that's why She dated a yahoo boy. Now, let's time travel to a week before. He had brought his mum from the village to show Her say him don hammer, your boy is now rich and blessed mama! He allowed Her to feast on the grilled chicken, soup, rice, juice, and wine he had bought, maybe fattening Her up for the sacrifice of wealth. On Her third night, he drugged Her, and stained his white ritual handkerchief with Her vaginal juice. Then, he mutilated Her nipples and uterus. We are at his mother's burial, waving our ‘Painful Exit' banner and whispering to each other, ‘Ah! She didn't raise Her useless son well. That is why he killed Her.’ We blame his girlfriend and mother for being a victim of violence and for their death. Alas, something shifts in the air, the kind of shift that warns you other tales are coming, one that refuses to wait its turn, one with different smiles of the same monster; 

 

Considering his predicament. His wife had been missing for four years. He stood before the priest, exchanging the Better for Worse vow with his new partner, the new mother he wanted for his children. His first wife returned several weeks after his wedding with tragic tales of how She was kidnapped and held hostage for four years. Well, true or not, the point was that She was back to take Her place in Her husband's and children’s life. Wetin come happen to the second wife wey carry belle? The first wife shot Her, killing Her and Her foetus. We are at Her burial, waving Her ‘Gone too Soon’ banner and whispering to each other, ‘Ah! Such a good woman who agreed to care for his children. Maybe She should have left when the first wife returned. His first wife is heartless for killing Her. I pray She rots in jail.’ We blame Her for Her death and also the perpetrator because the perpetrator is a woman;

 

Bearing in mind that She and Her kids had suffered physical and emotional abuse. She wanted a healthy environment for Her kids to develop well and decided to leave the marriage. She left peacefully, or so She thought. First, to a women's shelter before traveling to Her parent's home in the village. He came to Her location and threatened to kill Her and take the kids. The NGO took Her through the police process of reporting the case. Guess what? The police gave Her a letter of invitation to give him. When She showed up at his place with the letter, he macheted Her arms and left Her to bleed. We are at Her burial, waving Her ‘Gone too Soon’ banner and whispering to each other, ‘Ah! Such a nice woman. But She should have delivered the letter with Her kids. He would have taken Her to the hospital because his kids were present, or the kids would have called for help.’ We blame Her for being a victim of violence and for Her death;

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Counting the hospital visits. He dropped Her and the kids in front of the Accident and Emergency ward, zooming off. It was clearly not an emergency; no physical injury or fever, and She was not unconscious. ‘It is a headache,’ the exact three letter words She had told the family doctor in what was now Her 12th visit in 5 months. ‘Do you feel any physical pain, or are you uncomfortable?’ ‘No,’ She always said. ‘It’s just stress from work.’ We were not sensitive enough to recognise that Her No meant ‘yes, I am hurting deep inside because he had soaked all my work clothes in water the morning of my promotion interview. My constant visit for headaches means I need someone to talk to, someone who wouldn't judge me for being disobedient to my partner.’ Yet, She was admitted for bed rest or walked out of the hospital with Malaria or Blood Pressure Meds. She had a stroke months later and eventually died at the hospital. We are at Her burial, waving our ‘Died After a Brief Illness’ banner and whispering to each other, ‘Ah! This man is so unlucky. How can he be a widower after just two years of marriage? Plus, he had to care for Her while She was ill. Her kids are too young and need a mother. We will support him with a donation and pray that the Good Lord strengthens the family.’ We let Her be a victim of death because We were not sensitive to Her emotions; 

 

Reverencing the Good Lord. He was the Good Lord's dedicated servant. Chimamanda Ngozi Adiche probably thought of his kind when She created the character Eugene Achike in Her novel, Purple Hibiscus – both perfectionist, exemplary characters prophets use to illustrate the gospel, givers to the poor except those they consider pagans and claim to love God yet, are monsters in their home. The difference between him and Eugene is that the former is a Pentecostal prophet and the latter Catholic. In the congregation's eyes, the assistant pastor and his wife's relationship is the perfect description of a solid foundation in Jesus. What a phenomenal pair! A wife who sings down the heavens with Her angelic voice and a man anointed and consumed by the Holy Ghost to do signs and wonders. They were right. He performed signs and wonders in the church through testimonies and miracles, and at home with a belt on Her body. He dislocated Her joints a few times, injured Her jaw four times, seized the proceeds from Her musical career all the time, and threw Her out of Her car once, after church. But he had a justification he rooted in scriptures, the famous Ephesians 5: 22-24, and never made it to verse 25. She did speak out to We-Her spiritual mothers. ‘The devil is trying to destroy your marriage and even the church. We will not let the devil and his agents succeed!’ We told Her. ‘For 40 days, We would fast and pray to rebuke the spirit of violence sent from the pit of hell. The Holy Ghost Fire will destroy the camps of Satan's agents.’ He killed Her years later; however, he did it. We are at Her burial, waving Her ‘Gone too Soon’ banner and whispering to each other, ‘Ah! We lost a powerful and inspirational singer. That man is heartless and deserves to rot in jail. The church indeed failed Her.’ We discuss the 'he’ perpetrator because the victim is a renowned musician;

 

Alarmed by the fact that We are all Her killers. She tried to be invisible, but Her activism made Her loud. Oh! Loud to the ears of every We who cared to listen. How can We forget Her voice in court, when mutilated She bodies with breasts and clitoris missing, were recovered from the streets? Remember Her educational campaigns when another She died from complications of physical abuse. The most recent one, the favourite – Her talk at the Gender Health Equity conference. She made We sing it to stick in the brains. As much as We may not be attuned to the rhythmic flows of the song, the melody of voices, and the harmony of sounds, We should ignite Her intending consciousness as We read the lyrics.

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Chorus
A healthy community is definitely not one where its people in their positions as lovers, family, friends, acquaintances, neighbours, healthcare workers, state and law enforcement agents, and spiritual leaders:

Verse
Initiate violence
Encourage or validate abuse
Downplay Her pain and experiences of violence
Blame She for Her violent experiences
Support a fraction and ignore the rest because We consider one Her to be more righteous or renowned than the other
Deprive She of Her rights to safety and protection

Chorus
A healthy community is definitely not one where its people in their positions as lovers, family, friends, acquaintances, neighbours, healthcare workers, state and law enforcement agents and spiritual leaders:

Verse
Protect perpetrators
Aid or Participate in the killings of She
Pervert justice
Hide, ignore or destroy evidence
And neglect the acts of violence that lead to Her death and the processes after Her death;

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Signed,
 

The ‘feistiest’ of them all,
The Big Sister, penning Her ideal society,
Oh! The loud-mouthed She,
Who will become another victim of society,
And the Fearless butchered I.