I’m in my late twenties.
When I was 5 years old,
Something happened that made me quite mad at my parents.
I saw baba beating mama.
I remember sitting on the floor in their room crying,
terrified of the violence I was witnessing.
She fell next to me when he was beating her.

I was in middle school then.
My little sister, who was three years younger than me, was also in middle school.
I was in 9th grade and she was in 7th grade.
My mother is ignorant and uneducated.
She harms others and herself.
She was never loved by her parents or siblings.
Girls to her were mere servants to their brothers, their mothers and their fathers.

The first time he hit me was the day I found out I was pregnant.
He picked a fight with me when his friend and his wife were having dinner with us,
And I fried the mombar (a kind of sausage dish),
Before the chicken breasts.
He pulled me by my hair,
And dragged me to the stove,
And threatened to set me on fire to get rid of me.

After I left my husband, I decided to look for a job.
I tried to find a job at a hospital, but they only needed nurses, and I’m no nurse.
I kept looking for a job but couldn’t find one.
Things were looking bleak.
“How old are you, ma’am? 36? Sorry, no can do.”
domestic violence, physical violence, sexual violence, gender violence, marriage, divorce, motherhood

My father used to beat me up when I was young, and he still does until this day.
My brother learned to be violent with me from him. He beats me up over trivial reasons, and sometimes without any reason at all.
I suffered from depression when I was 11 years old from all the things I’ve been through.
domestic violence, gender violence, physical violence, parents, depression, suicide

I wanted to be a boy when I was young.
My brother and our cousins would be allowed to play in the garden behind our house until late, but not me.
They used to hop the fence, play hooky, then come back and lie about it, make up stories.
As for me, if I even so much as tried to call my cousin at night they’d tell me
“Why? Aren’t you going to see each other tomorrow morning?

My father was the first person to touch me.
I used to tell myself that I was imagining it.
When he’d touch me with his leg from behind,
I’d tell myself he was just being playful.

One day, he made the sudden decision to get rid of our television, claiming that it was “brainwashing and influencing” me.
Another time, after our first fight, he took my mobile away.
“You’re never seeing this phone again.”
He was so angry that I was afraid he’d do something to me.

When my father died,
My brother decided he’d be the man of the house.
That didn’t mean that he’d help us.
It meant my sisters and I would be his servants.

My father used to yell at me all the time.
For things like putting too much food on his plate,
Or him not liking the tea,
Or if the tea was cold.
He would even yell at me if I left the window open when it was cold outside.
I was supposed to figure out that he was cold on my own.
parents, domestic violence, gender violence