Blame It On A Yellow Dress

Blame It On A Yellow Dress

Mummy had said nobody was allowed to touch her there; that secret place where even she, in spite of her curiosity, was still too ashamed to look. But she guessed daddy wasn’t ‘nobody’. Daddy who was big and tall and hairy; Daddy who when he spoke– which wasn’t very often–always surprised her with his deep, gravelly voice; Daddy with his aloof, preoccupied air and his intimidating collection of huge professors’ books; Daddy who never seemed to notice that she existed.

She was standing before the mirror when Daddy came into her room. Daddy looked at her long and hard. Then Daddy said he wanted to inspect her, make sure she was clean, really clean inside, because the inside was what mattered. Daddy said it was something all Daddies did, and although everybody knew, nobody liked to talk about it. It was the Daddies’ job to ensure that their little girls were always clean. That was what Daddy told her, and she narrowed her eyes, listening with total concentration. After all, Daddy spoke very little, and even less to her. He told her to take off her dress. It was the bright yellow one she loved so much; the one that Mummy said stood out against her very dark skin; the one with the white lace that ran along the hems and the neckline. The one she would wear for her birthday next week. She would be seven. Mummy had warned her not to try it on again before her birthday so she would not soil it, but the dress seemed to call out to her. she could not resist.

She hesitated, but only for a second. Daddies should always be obeyed. Her class teacher said so. She took it off, her pretty yellow dress, and laid it carefully at the corner of her bed. She didn’t want to crease it. Daddy looked at her and nodded slowly in what looked like approval. She beamed. For the first time, she felt like Daddy really saw her, and wasn’t just looking at a vague spot over her head. Daddy said very nice my dear, but we have to make sure you are really clean…inside. Daddy’s voice was strange now, unlike she had ever heard it before. This voice was not the deep rumble she knew; this one had a strange cooing quality to it, like Daddy was whistling ever so softly. She nodded anyway.

Daddy said get on the bed. She hesitated longer this time. For some reason she felt self conscious now. She wanted to grab her yellow dress to her flat chest and run out of her room and never come back. But something in his eyes held her. She got on her bed and sat, awkward and uncertain. She glanced at the door. Like she did most Saturdays, Mummy had gone for her weekend classes, and from there, she would go to the village women’s meeting. She would not be coming back soon. Daddy said lie down face up. She lay down, searching his face, not knowing what she expected to see. His eyes were blank, devoid of emotion, but there was the sheen of oily sweat on his forehead and above his upper lip. Daddy said close your eyes. She closed her eyes and saw Daddy as he was with his professor friends. It was the only time Daddy really talked. Mummy would serve her fragrant peppersoup with cold beer, and the men would drink and laugh and argue with big words. And sometimes they would play loud highlife music and sing along, their voices like thunder. It was the only time Daddy really laughed.

She felt Daddy’s hands on her thigh and her eyes flew open. Daddy said close your eyes in a voice that now sounded like his own. She closed her eyes. She didn’t want to be bad, but it was just natural the way her thighs clamped when Daddy tried to pull her panties down. Daddy said good girls don’t disobey their Daddies. She relaxed and Daddy took them off, her panties. Daddy said let’s see if you are really clean. It was that cooing sound again. Daddy parted her thighs and she pressed her eyelids firmly together. She heard Daddy’s breathing and she thought it odd that he sounded like her friend Aisha when her asthma attacks came. She felt Daddy’s hard fingers push and prod and pinch. She gritted her teeth because she wanted to tell Daddy to stop, but that would be bad. She didn’t know how long the inspection lasted before Daddy said open your eyes, my sweet. It was that cooing voice. Daddy said she was clean, but she must tell nobody, not even Mummy, about their inspection. Daddy said Mummy knew already.

It was something Daddy had to do, now she was a big girl. And she was a good girl too, so she would tell nobody. If she told anybody, something bad would happen. Daddy picked up her yellow dress, the one with the white lace, and Daddy held it out for her. She stepped in and Daddy fastened the button at the back. She turned and looked up at Daddy, searching his face for something she did not know. It was not good, this thing that she and Daddy just did; she didn’t know it, she just felt it. Aunty Kemjika, her class teacher, said Daddies and Mummies were always right. But now Daddy did something Mummy said nobody was allowed to do. Who then was wrong?

She should blame it on the yellow dress. She had always though it too pretty to wear, strange as that might have felt. It must have made Daddy see something, that dress. She would never wear it again, not even on her birthday. Maybe then, Daddy would never see her again.



62 thoughts on “Blame It On A Yellow Dress” by Uche Okonkwo (@Uche)

  1. You know how i feel about this story…about your writing…keep it going!!!

    1. Thanks, Seun. I will.

  2. hmmmmmmmm
    i like it.

  3. Uche this was so beautifully done,keep it up,I wonder why I or any other didn’t see it before now.
    Good job and some daddies hmm let me not go there.

  4. good job…. I’m shivering with horror and trust me when i say i don’t shiver easy!

    1. Thank you for reading, for commenting, and o…for shivering too. Lol.

  5. Really sad thing to do to any child. You captured the innocent child’s view and turmoil on the rightness of it all. Well done.

  6. wow….I don’t know what to say..this is so deep. Well written! Well done!

  7. wow…very well written, so sorry i’m just coming across this…very beautiful work dear

  8. all these me fooling themselves, nice write up.

    1. Don’t mind them jare. thanks.

  9. She’s only 7 for Pete’s sake!!! When I hear of father’s who molest their daughters (Not step fathers, but biological fathers), it makes me cringe, something must be wrong with them psychologically and genetically… Great story telling Uche..Love the way she blamed it on the yellow dress, It’s a proof of her innocence, one her father is trying to sully..

    1. Thanks, Mercy. And yes, there’s definitely something wrong with people like “Daddy”.

  10. this is so sad and it pains me that it happens…Well done, ur words created a picture

  11. Mr. Uche, the writing and the storytelling was very good.. Like the way you used the girl’s thoughts to tell the story..searing stuff, well done! When ‘Daddy’ told her to lie on the bed, I was even afraid to read further..such horror…

    1. Ms Uche it is, not Mr.. Sorry I scared you. Lol. Thanks.

      1. O my God, sorry jare Ms Uche. Great story once again!

        1. No wahala. I get that a lot.

    1. This coming from the king of horror or thriller. Let me use this opportunity to hail thee, Raymond.

      1. Me, King of Horror and Thriller? Wow….U place too much responsibility on my head bro. I will try to live up to Ur expectations. But seriously, this is good.

        1. Come now, don’t be so modest. And thank you.

          1. Hehehehe. I am not being modest oh! My name is not Modestus naa.

            1. Lol. Alright, tou win… Modestus.

              1. HAHAHAHAHA!!! Uchentus!!!

  12. That SOB stole his little girl’s innocence. men like that should be castrated.

    1. If only, Chetachi, if only. Thanks for reading.

  13. this piece is really good.. ve been away for some time, nd comin back to meet pieces dis wonderful brings smiles to my face…. good job

    1. Thanks for reading.

  14. Meeen, this is reaaly something you have put here.Can’t even describe how I feel right now.

    Well done!!!

  15. Blame it on the yellow dress!!!!!!!! Daddy and Mummy!!!!!!!!!! I loved it… good job Uche

  16. Poor thing and her sicko father. Good story and writing , liked it. Thumbs up!

  17. nice wirte up buh painful.well done.

    1. Thanks for reading, Empress.

  18. I feel like strangling that ‘Daddy’. Poor little girl. I love your story Uche. It’s so mature.

    1. Thanks for the compliment, Barbra.

  19. this daddy deserves a visit to the hangman’s house. stupid idiot that he is. practicing his fingering mastery on his small daughter. sick!!

    this was a very good story. well done

  20. Remarkable. Need I say anything more?

    1. Thanks for the compliment, Kaycee.

  21. This is so touching and unfortunate. Good job.

  22. U captured this problem beautifully. Abusive parents take advantage of the innocence of their victims to perpetrate their atrocities. Good job!

    1. Thanks, Golfish. And that’s an interesting name – The Goldfish.

  23. morounmubo (@morounmubo2011)

    very well laid out and full of suspense!!! Kudos to you!

  24. Now this is great stuff! Time for mummys to say ”No one, not even daddy!” I mean it! You really are good and this is so timely, and well….just thank you!

  25. well done, scribe…the realistic ring of the story is nauseating but what can one do but expose it further. God help us

  26. the writing is beautiful. the character and language is just right. keep it up

  27. A very philosophical way to highlight the issue of child abuse. Nice story

  28. ***** 5 stars says it’s beautiful.
    Theme though is a bit disconcerting, though a reality.

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