I’m 27 years old. When I was 19, I left my mother’s place, taking my sisters along with me, and went to stay at my father’s.
We left because mother used to beat and belittle us.
In her mind, she owned us. She educated us. We belonged to her.
I still remember that day like it was yesterday.
That day, I fought with her over something trivial, as usual. It was during Ramadan. She threw the food in the garbage can and forbade us from opening the fridge or eating.
I went outside to talk with her, and we got into a fight.
She beat me up again, as usual. She kept punching me until she broke the glasses on my face.
That day I stood up. At the top of my lungs, I said, “I’m leaving, mother. I’m taking my sisters and leaving. You’re going to kill us.”
I left and took my sisters with me. That day I became the mother of two girls.
I now work to prevent violence against women, so that nobody has to go through what I did.