Trigger Warning: This story includes sensitive themes such as sexual abuse, exploitation, and suicide.
Efua was the girl who always sat in the front row.
Not because she was confident, but because it was the only way she could focus. She struggled with thermodynamics, couldn’t understand circuit analysis no matter how many YouTube videos she watched, and math… math made her cry.
She wasn’t stupid. She just learned differently. Slower. Quieter.
When she got into engineering school, she was proud. Her family celebrated. But she quickly realized she was in over her head.
And the people who said they’d help?
They didn’t.
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In first year, she joined a study group with a few male classmates. They were kind at first, helped her understand equations, shared notes. But the kindness started coming with comments.
“You’re lucky we like you.”
“You know you’re too pretty to be failing like this.”
“Let me come over and help… at night. It’s more private.”
She didn’t know how to say no. She didn’t want to lose the help.
One night, after a study session turned late, one of them offered her a drink. She woke up hours later on the couch, disoriented. Her clothes were half off. He smiled at her like nothing happened.
She said nothing.
By second year, her results were still shaky. She visited one of her lecturers for extra tutoring. He told her: “You’re smart. But if you want to pass, you’ll have to do more than just attend class.” He locked the door behind her.
By third year, there were whispers. A video. Someone had recorded her, in a room, half-naked, confused, trying to cover herself as a guy laughed in the background.
It was sent around in WhatsApp groups. People laughed. Some pitied her. Most just gossiped.
She stopped attending lectures.
She stopped answering messages.
Her roommate found her two weeks later — cold, quiet, gone.
A bottle of pills beside the bed. A single note: “I tried. But no one ever really helped me.”
The school released a statement full of “thoughts and prayers.” No real investigation followed. The video? Still floated around in corners of campus until someone finally reported it, months later.
Efua’s name was never cleared. Just forgotten.
But those who remember… they know.
They know she wasn’t weak. She was trapped. Lied to. Used. Mocked.
And no one — no one — stood up for her when it mattered.
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This story isn’t for sympathy. It’s a warning.
To schools: Protect your female students.
To male peers: Help without expecting anything in return.
To girls like Efua: Your worth isn’t tied to grades, and no “help” that comes with harm is worth it.
To everyone: Listen. Believe. Intervene.
Efua didn’t need pity.
She needed safety.
She needed honesty.
She needed people who meant it when they said, “I’m here to help.”
