One school day, a day not like others, social workers visited my primary school and explained to us what rape is. Then during the session I related to what they were saying and decided to tell my story. They gave me a card to give to parents when I got home. I never realised that this was going far, I gave my mom (stepmom, who moved in with us in the year the rape took place) the card and told her that the social workers wanted to meet with both of them the following month.
We, I and mom, went there. What I noticed about her after meeting with the social workers was that she had red eyes and could not even speak. We got into a taxi, heading home. When we got there she asked me what had happened. I cried because I felt betrayed by the social worker who told my parents what I so badly wanted to hide from them.
It was difficult to talk about it. I felt that it was all my fault, that I should have not gone to him when he called me. I did not understand that everyone at home was trying to help me. I did not want to open that chapter in my life. My father came early from work that day, and I was told to change clothes and wear something warm for we were going to open a case at police station.
The first mistake I made was not understanding the importance of that, I felt that the disgrace was already enough for me to bear. We got to the police station and my father spoke then I was asked questions. I could not say it all but the little I said was enough for the police to take us to the suspect. I had to confirm that it was him in front of people whom I wished would never find out about what had happened to me. In a few seconds, there were so many people asking the reasons of his arrest. My father explained to the crowd and I felt like it was the end of me, but it was not, it was the beginning.
My life seemed to be falling apart; I missed too many school days, too many questions were asked, too many tests to be done, too many counselling sessions to be attended. I gave up before the war even began. I wanted my “normal life” back. I wanted to be normal like other kids, but all of that seemed way too far and lost for me.
I decided to close my doors for my family because I felt that they did not love me at all, that I was a shame to them. When the pressure was too much and the family received threats from the suspect’s family, I knew that it was my fault. Had I did not opened my big mouth and did something I was told not to do in exchange of my life, life would have been normal.
I felt helpless and never acknowledged the fact that God cared. I was not aware that the Holy Bible said: “Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you.” 1 Peter 5:7. I wanted to die so badly. I felt too weak and I was a coward, scared of the court outcomes, which I knew in the back of my mind would be bad for me. I always knew and grew up in a township where people said money can open any closed door. I knew that my father was a God-fearing man and even if he would have had money to bribe judges, he would not have done that.
“Without the unlocking key called money, you cannot run far in this cruel world,” Anonymous.
Tell us: Do you think the rapist will get away with it?