Your Nudes Leaked
Wake up! Your ass is on the internet!
The day my nudes leak on the internet, I will go back to bed because that’s what I do when things are beyond my control. I sleep.
I will call my mum and tell her I’m sorry, but what is done is done. My siblings will be alright. We will banter about it in a couple of days. They’ll come up with something creative and rude to tease me with. Something annoying like “Agba Nudist.”
Then, I will open Twitter or whichever social media channel it leaked on and read through the comments. I will not engage. I will read. If I get too overwhelmed, I will take a break.
Delete Twitter. Delete Instagram.
I would spend two weeks batch-creating my content. In those two weeks, do not expect any posts from me except radio silence. Once the two weeks elapse, I will return to posting. I will post a random “come along with me to try Japanese food” video and pretend that you people did not see my bum-bum. Left to me, that didn’t happen.
If my nudes ever leaked on the internet, my default would be to not address it, and I am going to tell you why. I just need you to do something first.
I need you to imagine this.
Vivid Imagination
I’m taking longer than usual to write today’s story because I am heavily distracted. I’m at a lake with my work colleagues for two days.
It’s called Sylvan Lake and it’s in a beautiful, quaint town that’s straight out of the European books I read growing up. You know, the ones with daffodils and dandelions scattered in the fields. The ones Chimamanda talks about in that video where she addresses the dangers of a single story.
The streets are an oxymoron. Lined with old cottages and newly built houses sitting side by side, it’s a visual mix of old money reinventing itself to align with the architectural taste of new times. Some of those houses are Airbnbs and were built on sites of those old cottages, demolished and rebuilt by the kids of rich, dead parents.
Or at least that’s what it looks like. That’s what I gleaned.
There are people all around, visibly enjoying the warm weather today. A woman holds her child’s hand as they cross the street. The girl is giggling, her small legs making her stumble in her steps. She’s wearing an orange bucket hat and clutching a tiny purse in her even tinier left hand.
There is a colorful explosion of a playground in the far distance. Slides in yellow, swings in red. The blue of the sky and the green of the grass. People on scooters and bikes are on the sidewalk. If you turned around to face the lake, you would see people in their swimsuits across the shoreline. Kids running around with inflatable toys, some in their carts being pushed by a parent. Friends sitting on the grass just absorbing the summer sun. Lovers walking, holding hands.
It feels like the kind of place you would want to live if you had kids. Like it was pulled straight out of the entry scene of a rom-com.
Keep this scene alive in your mind. Feel it. Live in the moment.
In this story, you are me. This is your life. It’s you who’s on a mini vacation with your colleagues.
Your phone rings. It’s your mum calling. You don’t pick because you’re doing a group activity and you don’t want to seem rude. You text her, “I’ll call you back, Mummy,” and put your phone on DND—do not disturb. You decide to immerse yourself in the group painting activity you are in. Be in the moment. You are painting a lighthouse.
The next time you think about your phone, you are back at the Airbnb you are sharing with your colleagues. It’s late into the night and the warmth in the air has made way for coolness. You decide to take a hot shower before you settle into bed. The water is warm against your skin. It was an activity-filled day and you enjoyed touring Sylvan Lake, but your body is exhausted after walking around the town, and there is a healing in the warm water as it runs down your body, making you feel relaxed.
Fifteen minutes later, you get out of the shower and finally check your phone.
Forty-five missed calls. Twelve messages.
Ehn? Kí ló se lè?
Your heart quickens.
You swipe down to catch a glimpse of the notifications, wanting to preview the messages first. Something must be wrong.
You see that you have an abnormal amount of notifications from Instagram and Twitter too. Your heart races even faster.
Did something terrible happen at home? God, please.
You decide to call your sister, not because she called seven times, but because whatever has happened, it would be easier to hear it from her first. Your mum called 35 times, but you are scared to call her back. You notice there are no missed calls from your dad.
Oh lord, is he alright?!
You start to call your sister back as you pace around the room, a hand to your chest. The phone is on speaker and with each trill, you pat your heart, a subconscious motion as if to beg your body to calm down. As the phone keeps ringing, your sister refusing to pick, a message pops up and it’s from your boyfriend.
“It’s over. I can’t believe I didn’t realize how much of a whore you are.”
You open the message, confusion seeping into your veins.
It’s over? Whore?? Is this one of those IG pranks?
You see he sent many other messages previously. Your natural inclination is to scroll, hoping the previous messages give you some context, and there, staring back at you, is a picture of yourself. Your breasts glistening, your ass looking like it is begging to be smacked. As the reality of what is happening begins to dawn on you, it hits you that the picture is a screenshot from Twitter.
Your heart stops.
This is not my story. My nudes have never leaked on the internet. A part of me is grateful for that because I have taken a fair amount of photos in which I was clad with little to nothing. Breasts out, ass out. I have shared those photos, and so I cannot swear to God and say that my nudes will never leak. There’s always a slight chance they will.
But, there’s a pompous part of me that feels like if my nudes were ever to leak on the internet, I would bounce back quickly. I would be indifferent. I would address the situation with the same level of interest a hungry cat would have if you put a bowl of oranges in front of it. Disgust. Then, indifference.
It’s easier said than done since I am yet to live through this, and so I will tell you a story of someone whose has. A story of someone whose nudes have leaked.
This is a narrative story of my friend, Amaka.
Amaka
Tobi and I were just friends. Well, friends with benefits. I didn’t want a serious relationship with him, and he didn’t want one from me either. It was one of those friendships that became something more, without a plan.
We had chemistry—a strong physical attraction to each other and the only emotional connection that existed was that—“Tobi na my guy.” My friend. I cared for him platonically, but I was also attracted to him.
It started in bits. A stroke at the base of my back. A stare that lingered too long. A peck that came too close to my lips. And in one moment, after he walked me back to my hostel and stopped to hug me goodnight, the modalities of our relationship changed.
He kissed me. I kissed him back.
It was exciting and heavily flirtatious, but we both knew we weren’t there for a long time. One day, I’m sitting in my room after an annoying day filled with too many classes, and a message from him came in. It read, “Your body is so hot. I couldn’t stop staring at you in class today.”
Ehn ehn?
I smirked to myself and responded, “Well, would you like to see my hot body?” sending along a picture of my naked self.
He “oohed and ahhed,” telling me the parts of my body that drove him insane. The dip of my hips, the glimmer of my light skin, my nipples so erect. How much he just wanted to suck them.
“I want to pin you up against a wall and appreciate your beauty with my hands and my mouth.”
“Platonically, of course,” he added quickly, jokingly.
We always did that. Remind ourselves of the terms of this relationship. We were friends who were attracted to each other. C'est fini.
And that’s how it began. He’d ask me for photos and I would send them. He’d touch himself to my pictures and tell me about it. The teasing and attention he gave me was a thrill. I enjoyed it.
But as exhilarating as it was, after a while, I began to get uncomfortable. I didn’t want to keep sending nudes to Tobi. I didn’t like how it made me feel on some days. I wanted to go back to being just friends. So I decided I’d just talk to him about it. What’s the worst that could happen?
We met up at the school cafeteria, the one behind the Faculty of Law where they sold the tastiest gbegiri and amala I’ve ever eaten in my life. Somehow, what I thought was going to be an understanding conversation to return us to the normalcy of our friendship turned into a big fight. He became visibly angry at me, raising his voice and gathering an audience. I had never seen Tobi like that, and I became irritated, so I too became angry.
“He is not alright in the head,” I mumbled to myself as I stormed out of the cafeteria. “When he is done being mad, he will come back to apologize. Rubbish!” I hissed.
Although I was mad at him in that moment, at the back of my mind I assumed he would be back in a few days, apologetic. We were friends after all.
I was young, naive, and very wrong.
He did not come back in a few days. What happened in a few days was a violation that directly led to the end of our friendship.
I was pretty active on social media back then. I modeled on the side while I was in school, so my Instagram was primarily used as a portfolio. Instagram is where Tobi and I met. He DM-ed me to ask me on a date, and I shot him down, saying I wasn’t interested. We later realized we were in the same school, and a friendship blossomed.
About two days after I told Tobi I was no longer sending him photos, I woke up to what I thought was going to be a normal morning. You know how we all have that morning ritual where we grab our phones and go on social media without even thinking to stand up to see if our legs work. That’s what I did.
I picked up my phone and saw multiple missed calls from my sister Ada, which I found a bit odd, so I called her back. She didn’t pick up. That’s normal. My sister does not understand that the “mobile” in mobile phone means your phone should be carried around. She always misses calls.
I swiped around my phone and went straight to Instagram, and the login page stared back at me. Well, that’s strange. How come I’m logged out? I tried to sign in, and it said “password incorrect.”
It’s possible I forgot it. I always forget my passwords. I’m quite scatterbrained. I made a mental note to return and click “forgot password” later and got out of bed. It’s time to be a functioning member of society. I have two classes today.
I’m standing in front of my wardrobe, trying to decide whether to wear my green frilly dress or cargo pants and a black tee when my phone rings.
It’s my sister. I hit the green button to pick up, and as I hear her voice, I knew something was up. She was screaming at me. Screaming at the top of her voice.
“Amaka!!! Your nudes are on Instagram!!!”
She was saying more words, but they were flying past me.
My nudes are on Instagram??? Chukwu m!
“How could you make such a mistake?? I’m sending you a screenshot now. Check WhatsApp. Check it now!” Ada shouted.
I opened WhatsApp robotically. I was in autopilot mode. As soon as I saw the picture, I smiled. The kind of smile that comes from deep sadness. I felt stupid. I knew who did it because he was the only person I had ever sent my nudes to.
At the time, I didn’t blame him, which I find weird now that I’m older. He was angry, and I rationalized his actions. I did not give myself the grace to be angry because I had other emotions to deal with. I was stressed.
What would I tell my Nigerian parents? My mother would kill me!
There was no reasonable explanation I could give to them.
I felt even more foolish as I asked my sister to please report my Instagram page, since it had obviously been hacked. After a couple of days, Instagram pulled down my account, but the deed had been done. There were people who had screenshots of my nudes on their phones.
I didn’t react to it. I didn’t call Tobi to scream, shout, or accuse him. I didn’t think there was a point to it. A few days after my account was pulled down, Tobi called me, apologizing profusely, but I was done. That was the end of his existence in my life. I didn’t feel the need to manage my reputation in school or anything like that. It eventually all died down by itself.
Every Thing Dies Down
That’s the last line Amaka wrote when I asked her to share her story, and it stuck with me. There’s a popular saying that goes around whenever something crazy happens on the internet: “The internet never forgets.”
Don’t tweet negative thoughts. Don’t post revealing photos of yourself.
Essentially, don’t give too much of yourself to the internet because the internet always remembers. And there is a certain truth to it. People will dig up things from your past when they are vengeful or just want to win an argument.
But the truth is, even though the internet never forgets, the internet also moves on quickly. News eventually dies down.
In this era of short attention spans and content overload, if you ever share something insane on the internet and you are worried that the internet never forgets, rest assured it will pass in a week or two.
But this is for things you share voluntarily. What happens when someone breaches your privacy and trust and something as personal as your naked body ends up on the internet? What do you do? The same thing. You piggyback to Amaka’s last line and remind yourself that “everything dies down.”
You also have to remember something—heaven will not fall. I use this line every time something potentially disastrous happens. It reigns me in and reminds me that even though the worst can happen or has happened, life can still continue.
If your nudes end up on the internet, heaven will not fall. The sun will still rise in the morning. Or you can use this Nigerian classic: “and so fucking what?”
Random person: I saw your nudes on Instagram.
You: Okay. And so fucking what?!
It trivializes the crazy thing happening and reminds you that life continues.
Nudes 101
The truth is, people will still send nudes as long as attraction exists, but there is one universal rule on how you can protect yourself in case the person you are sending nudes to turns out to be a "Tobi."
Don’t. Show. Your. Face.
Take photos of your torso. Take close-up shots. Take full-body pictures. But whatever you do, keep your face out of it so that if you ever end up on the internet and someone confronts you, you have plausible deniability.
No be me be that.
Now what do you do if someone is threatening to leak your photos? I don’t know that I am the best person to give advice for that but this is what I would do. As I said at the start of this story, my default would be to not address it.
I would tell the person to leak it. I know, it sounds counterproductive. But if I’ve learnt that blackmailers will milk you dry. It’s going to turn into an unending cycle. You send 500k today and tomorrow they threaten to post it again for another 500k.
You will be a slave to that person.
If someone ever threatens to leak your nudes, call them on their bluff.
And I know that dealing with threats like these can be incredibly stressful and challenging. While my suggestion to not give in to blackmail is generally sound advice, there are also other things to consider to protect yourself:
Document Everything: Keep records of all communications and threats, including screenshots or any other evidence that might be useful if you need to involve law enforcement.
Do Not Respond: Avoid engaging further with the blackmailer. Responding or negotiating could encourage them to continue their threats and if you don’t respond, they might give up.
Seek Support: Talk to someone you trust—a friend, family member—who can provide emotional support and help you think through your options.
Report to Authorities: Consider reporting the blackmail to the police. Blackmail is illegal in many jurisdictions, and law enforcement may be able to help you take action against the perpetrator.
Consult Legal Advice: If the situation escalates or you are unsure how to proceed, seek advice from a lawyer who specializes in privacy or criminal law.
And that’s all the advice I can give to you as your comrade in sending nudes. Send all your nudes. Just be safe about it. And if you ever need to call someone out for threatening to blackmail you, find me. I might know a lawyer or two.
This is the first time I’m doing narrative writing that’s not a direct story of mine, and it felt somewhat odd. I struggled to connect with it emotionally, and I have a feeling that as you read it, you could feel that something was different when compared to my previous stories.
And for this, the writer in me feels apologetic.
But that doesn’t reduce the fear and anger I felt as Amaka told me her story. It felt unfair. Like she did not get justice for what was done to her, and it pains me that this happens periodically to women, and men, and nothing ever really happens to the perpetrator.
Another thing that saddened me was how she felt the need to not be angry. I’m a firm believer in calling out abusers. But then again, she was young, and maybe she felt fear. Or, maybe she just wanted to move on from the madness and pretend it didn’t happen.
Amaka’s story is a stark reminder of the vulnerabilities we face in the digital age and the importance of empathy and justice in our responses to such violations. It’s important to create a supportive environment where victims feel safe to express their emotions and seek justice without fear or shame.
PS: This story is a mix of fiction and real-life events. The names of the characters in this story have been changed to protect their privacy.
Ah my fav nude leak keh. What's the use of my IT/TECH Knowledge. It's to use Google imagines to do reverse Google search and take it up from there with stopNCII. Follow up with police/court order. Them no go fit shame you at all Nibo..
An interesting read❤️
There's something magical about the way you write. It could be a 20 minute read and one would not realize it until one reads it all. Kudos!