I still can’t forget the look on his face as he passed me by after he had touched my behind. He had been driving past in a tok tok.
“Take that”, he said.
That was the first time I was sexually harassed. I was 15.

I stood there, completely in shock. I somehow managed to yell at him. I, then, walked away like nothing happened.
I heard similar stories before, and I knew it would eventually happen to me too.
I just didn’t know it would happen so soon.

I went on with my day. I later went to a friend’s place and told her what happened. I was still in shock.
Her reaction? “That’s completely normal. It happens all the time”, she laughed.
For a while after the incident, I could still feel the place where his hand had been, like it was branded on me.
I was filled with fury and wasn’t sure if I should tell anyone else.

Should I tell my family what happened, knowing full well what they’d say? Or should I just stay silent like everyone else?
Towards the end of the day, I decided to tell them, regardless of the consequences. I also planned to press charges.
I told only my mother. Till this day, my father doesn’t know, and he never will.

“Don’t make a big deal out of it”, she said. “We don’t want a scandal on our hands. I’m not going to any police stations. You want me to go to a police station, for heaven’s sake?”
Luckily, I had a friend whose father was a lawyer. He stood by me and told me his father would too.
I hoped this would convince my mother to approve.

We went the next day, but we had to file the charge at the Prosecution Department first before heading to the police station. This was supposed to make the process go smoother.
The officer in charge was eating when I arrived at the station.
He flipped carelessly through the report and said, “Let her look through the photographs we have”.
I flipped through over 1,000 pictures of criminals and registered offenders.

I can’t even begin to describe what these people looked like. Their faces haunted me for quite some time afterward.
But I found his picture in the end!
“I found his picture”, I told the officer.
He looked at me in wonderment. “You’re really going to press charges? Under your name? Are you sure it’s him?”
I was finally able to go through the rest of the paperwork after being asked the same questions by nearly everyone at the station.

The officer kept telling us things like, “Don’t worry, sister” and “I’ll teach him a lesson”, so that we’d slip him a few notes.
I found out last month that my harasser was a man in his thirties. He was brought in to the station and beat up.
Only then did the imprint of his hand on my behind disappear. I felt vindicated.
I wish I could have been there when they brought him in, so that I could see his face again and say, “Take that!”