Lightening Strikes Twice

Many, many years ago when I was growing up in a high-school environment I met Farah. A year younger than I, she was a beautiful girl who loved people. We weren’t best friends but we were good friends and on sunny days I can sometimes remember her and I walking on the same road, talking and giggling like two young kids do. But behind that smile, Farah carried burdens that no young girl should carry.

I remember one day while I was studying for an exam she asked me what a woman's worst nightmare was. I immediately replied, “Rape”. She got all quiet, put her head down on the floor and stammered that she had to go somewhere. She did this so naturally that I didn’t notice that something was wrong.

A few months later I learned that Farah’s life was all wrong.

She had lived in another country (Ethiopia) when she was only two years old. She was a happy child and loved playing with flowers. When her parents were not looking Farah was kidnapped from the garden of Paradise and taken to Hell. She doesn’t remember all the details but because of the extent of the trauma she remembers being in a room with a man and him doing something to her that she didn’t understand because she was only two. Waxey moodeysye iney ciyaarayaan

But years later she knew what he had done to her. He had raped her.nacal ha ku dhacdo ninkaas walaahi in qoorta laga jaro waaye

After he was done he dumped her on the streets for someone to find her. They took her to the police and reported that she was a lost child. Her parents found her and took her home. They knew what had happened to her but they never talked about it. It was forbidden. They never explained to her why it had happened. The man never got caught. Amxaar yaa taaban kara

She grew up forgetting about what had happened to her. When memories are so bad, the brain represses it into the subconscious. She resumed her life as a happy girl although she grew up to understand that because her mother was a non-Muslim, her elder brothers had also chosen the path to not be Muslims.

And the extent of this was shown one night when Farah was 16 years old. Her elder brother came in to her room and raped her. Was he drunk? I don’t know, I never could ask. Tears flowed while she recalled that night to me and all I could do was listen and then hug her and tell her everything was going to be okay. Years after the police were involved but no one was charged. Her parents probably did not believe her. They wanted to silence her. The brother never touched her again.

They say lightening doesn’t hit the same place twice. For Farah it did. But despite the horrendous things she went through, details I cannot list for fear someone would recognise the story, she held onto her faith like a leech would to someone’s skin.

She ran to God although many other people would run away from God if they had been through what Farah went through. She believed everything happened for a reason and she accepted that it happened to her to make her stronger, to make her more religious.

I remember years ago her brother got married and moved out. I breathed a sign of relief for her. I remember meeting him before she told me about what he did. He seemed like a charming young man. But then again, rapists pretend they are.

Why on earth do we hear about honour killings towards women and no honour killings towards these men who rape their victims? Why do the women get punished while the men roam free to commit their crimes. It’s all a wonder to me.

I don’t know what has happened to Farah. It has been many years since I last saw her. Wherever she is, I pray that she is well and has found a husband that will treat her so right and heal her wounds and let her forget about the days where she was almost destroyed.