First time, I was 11. He was 17. He’s a Christian missionary now. I reported to my school, nothing happened.
Next time, I was 16. He was 16 too. He left me with scars from a knife. I reported it, specially trained police said ‘girls like me, no make up and decent skirt, don’t have this happen to them.’ I bought a domain name with his full name and told my story and stubbornly kept it up for a year. He’s an actor now.
I was so vulnerable then. My dad found out and called me a slut. I ran away from home. On my own in London with no home and no money. There were more then. A man who was 40, after I had an operation to remove an ovary at 17, raped me a day later. He was a teacher. His life fell apart despite me not reporting, I’d learnt not to by then.
At 19, I had fallen into my current career that put me at risk. I was going on a date with a man while his house was searched. He knew, and raped me at gunpoint. Threatened me with his dogs. He let me walk home. He’s in politics now.
Sexual assaults. One is still in a military prison, I told my boss and he had him arrested immediately. The only real justice I ever got, and I feel guilty about his indefinite attention.
Then, a colleague I work with now. We disagree, I win in the room but he gets me later sometimes. This told me that rape is about power, not sex. I got pregnant once, he stopped me getting an abortion. Eventually I miscarried. He cried at the hospital. He’s done it again since. He’s critical to the work I do, so it’s unfair to the populations we serve to do anything until we have achieved our aims. But then I’ll get him back.
Honestly, the big victory is that I’m a successful woman with a PhD and a law degree; married with two children; very successful and often I’m happy.
I believe you all. It’s so so hard.