THE SEXUAL FAST
Written by: Lizzy Oyebola Yakubu (Mrs. Yaks)
April, 2016
My heart tumbled as I walked toward my mum.
I had always known I could tell my mum anything. She had never given me a reason to doubt that. Never. But today felt different. Something inside me kept pulling me back. Maybe not now. Maybe keep quiet. Maybe this is one of those things you handle alone.
I slowed down.
She was seated, hands moving rhythmically as she picked beans, humming under her breath, completely unaware of the storm brewing inside her daughter.
Is this even a good time?
What if I say it wrongly?
What if she misunderstands me?
My throat tightened.
I whispered a prayer without even realizing it. Lord… should I ask her?
And then a memory surfaced. Her voice from another day.
You can tell me things. You can ask me questions. If I can’t answer you, who else should? You are my daughter. Be free.
I exhaled.
I cleared my throat. Once. Twice.
“This life,” I muttered, almost to myself.
She didn’t look up. “Any gist for momma?”
That was the opening. Or maybe the trap. I wasn’t sure which.
“Mum… erm, maybe a gist, maybe a concern,” I said. “And I don’t know how you’re going to take it.”
Her hands paused. Just for a second. Then she looked up at me, eyes steady.
“Ask,” she said. “Whatever it is, ask.”
My heart thudded.
Ah, may I not regret this.
I closed my eyes, and before fear could pull me back, the words escaped.
“Mum… I feel strange in my body.”
She raised an eyebrow slightly. “In your body?”
“I think something is wrong with me,” I continued. “I think I’m sick.”
She leaned forward, concern settling on her face. “Sick? How?”
The words rushed out, like they had been waiting for permission. “My body reacts strangely these days.”
I paused.
“Especially when I see boys.”
I searched her face, wondering if I should stop there. She nodded gently, her smile unreadable, and I continued.
“Mum, if I see a boy’s biceps… ah,” I waved my hand, embarrassed. “It feels like I should run and hide inside his arms. Like I’ll faint.”
“So today in school,” I went on, “Andrew asked me a question. And then he said… of all the girls in the class, I was the best.”
My heart beat faster just saying it.
“It felt really good, mummy,” I admitted. “I felt like I should go and tell him thank you. Maybe even hug him.” I shook my head. “But something inside me said no. That it would be wrong. That it would cross a line.”
My fingers twisted into each other. “Now I’m confused. Because I remember what you taught me. And what we learn in church. I know what is right. But I also know how I feel.”
The room was quiet. Mum returned to picking the beans, slowly. I kept talking.
“Sometimes I’m just lying on my bed, thinking. And these thoughts come. I don’t even know where they come from. My body just feels funny.”
She gently pushed the beans aside.
“My baby, I know that feeling,” she said.
I looked up sharply.
She smiled. “It’s a cool feeling. Sweet. Soft. It makes you feel seen. Wanted. You want to be held, touched, hugged. But underneath it, there’s that small warning. That sense that something is not right.”
“Yes,” I said quickly. “That’s it, mum. How did you know?”
She met my eyes. “I’ve been there.”
My breath caught. “You’ve been there?”
“Yes,” she said calmly. “I have.”
She reached for my hand. “Let me tell you something about this feeling.”
She paused.
“What flows in your body?”
“Blood,” I answered automatically.
She nodded. “Blood. Not petrol. Not mineral resources. Blood. Life.”
Her thumb rubbed small circles on my hand. “So it is natural for a living body to feel. And because we live in a fallen world, feelings will come. Some you didn’t invite. Some you didn’t plan.”
She looked at me gently. “Feeling is not the same as permission.”
Something settled inside me.
As she spoke, warmth spread through my chest. I felt light. Safe. Heard.
Then she asked, “Have you eaten today?”
“No, mummy.”
“Why?”
“I’m fasting.”
She smiled and picked a stone from the tray, flicking it away. “This morning when I fried plantain and egg, what happened to you?”
My mouth watered instantly. “Chai, mummy. That dodo smelled like heaven. I wanted it badly.”
“But you didn’t eat.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I was fasting.”
She called out calmly, “David, put off the TV and come close.”
“Okay mum,” my brother replied, pulling a chair to sit nearby.
The room grew still.
She turned back to me. “Your body noticed the smell. It reacted. But you didn’t run into the kitchen. And you didn’t die.” She tapped the bowl lightly. “You stayed where you were.”
I nodded.
“All these things you are noticing in your body,” she said, “they are just smells.”
Something inside me slowed.
“Unmarried people are fasting,” she continued. “Food will walk past you dressed as people. Some loud. Some gentle. Some with strong arms. Some with sweet smiles. But fasting people don’t eat because of smell.”
My chest loosened.
“So you are not sick,” she said. “You are alive. You are only fasting. Attraction is not the problem. Timing is.”
She paused.
“A time will come when you can touch. When you can go close. When you can eat and enjoy without fear. But now, doing any of those things will break your fast.”
Her voice was steady. “One of the greatest strengths you can have in your youth is saying no to something you are deeply attracted to, simply because you know it is not time. Only strong people say no to themselves.”
She touched my chest gently. “You have help. You have the Holy Spirit. Call Him. He is closer than you think.”
She smiled softly. “That is how God helped me. I waited. And when I came to your father, I was preserved. Whole. Happy. God blessed my waiting. He blessed my marriage. He blessed my home.”
I felt something rise in me. Not fear.
She looked at me. “What are you doing right now?”
“Fasting,” I whispered.
She smiled. “Exactly.”
“One day, the fast will end. The food will be served properly. Hot. Clean. Yours. But not now.”
“I will wait,” I said.
She pulled me into her arms. My brother joined us, awkward and laughing.
“Blessed children,” she said softly.
I closed my eyes.
Relieved.
Resolved.
I am fasting!
.
.
.
.
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