Remember, this page is dedicated to survivors. Their lives are here for you to read about, the horror, the pain, and their feelings.Out of respect for them and their families, I will not be mentioning their actual names. Please note that these stories may trigger memories from the past .They are very emotional and powerful stories. It takes a lot of courage to put your life into words for all to see. Many thanks to those who did.
May we all stand together and say to victims of sexual abuse: There is no shame for you in what happened. You are the brave ones and we honour you today.
Hello Ezar, my story begins from when I was a little girl. An innocent child at the hands of a cruel grandfather. Every Christmas my family would travel out where my grandparents lived. That’s how my young life started, being violently raped and abused over and over again. And that’s how the sexual abuse continued throughout my entire childhood. Yes, my grandfather raped me.
When I reached senior school, I was sent away to an all-girls boarding school in the east. That was where I met the next person that sexually abused me. She was my teacher, and I confided in her, the secret that I had been holding in all those years. She responded with kindness and compassion. But soon after, she went on to take advantage of my vulnerability, and continued the horrid pattern that my life had claimed. She would invite me to her home at night, usually when students were having prep, and exploit and shatter whatever human part of me my grandfather had left behind. She stole any innocence that had been forgotten, she tore me apart once again- leaving me more broken than I had ever been.
The years in that school went by, filled with numbness and unbearable pain. Filled with emotions I had never known existed. Filled with an emptiness that was so hollow. I was a walking dead person. How could I tell anyone that I was being abused by a teacher who had so much clout in school? The endless amount of sleepless nights became a ritual in my twisted schedule. The daily confusion and absolute loss that consumed me is indescribable. This torturous hell was my life as I had come to know it.
The abuse stopped after I graduated from secondary school. I got admission into the university and started attending a school fellowship. Our pastor shared her testimony in one of our meetings. She was abused too and I felt comfortable sharing my sad story with her. She literally helped me break my silence, held my hands, offered me a space in her home and heart. I am glad I did. I told her my story and the good thing was that I was believed. I was told I was loved. I was told it was not my fault, that the blame laid elsewhere. I was told how strong I was, how funny I was, how courageous I was. I was told I was intelligent. I was told I had support. And most importantly, I found friends who understood me.
I discovered that I didn’t have to become anything at all – that underneath my pain I was already beautiful.