Within few minutes of settling down in a secluded place – off the campus – where Bimbola (not real name) agreed to narrate her ordeal to our correspondent last Monday, the dry white handkerchief she was holding became soaked with tears.
She tried to stop weeping for a while, but she couldn’t resist it, and the more her friend – who followed her to the meeting – tried to calm her down, the more she struggled to hold back her tears. What she passed through in August was painful, unimaginable and dehumanising. In fact, she might not be able to forget that night in her life.
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