Aida

The moment my children were taken away from me

It was a situation that changed my life forever. I felt devastated, but I had to keep going. Not because I had hope, but because I had no choice. I mentally died five times, but I’m still here. And that’s why I know I’m strong. What sticks with me most is not the pain of the abuse. Not the months in the hospital. But that one moment: saying goodbye. Holding your children in your arms, and then having to let them go… That feeling. It’s just inhuman.

Going along with a plan that wasn’t a plan out of fear

When I was pregnant with twins, the pressure started. I already had a two-and-a-half-year-old daughter and my health was failing. My husband proposed a “solution”: ‘When the twins are born, they will go to Egypt. They will be better cared for there than you could ever provide.’ It sounded like an order, not a question. And because I knew what would happen otherwise, I agreed. I thought, ‘Maybe he’ll forget. Maybe it won’t come to that.’
But it did come to that. After a difficult delivery – one normal, the other by emergency caesarean section – his mother came over to “help”. Within three days, she was sick on the sofa. So I had to take care of her, and three children, and him. And me?
I no longer existed.
When the twins were three months old, I flew to Egypt with them and my eldest daughter. I thought I would bring them back with me later. But that was not to be. The worst came when I had to say goodbye. They were seven months old. And I had to go back. Just like that. Without them. I could hear them crying. In the Netherlands. While they were there in Egypt. I could feel my milk flowing. My body knew I missed them.

“I started planning my escape. Risking my own life. I told everyone that I would return to Egypt. Even my children. It was the only way it could work.”

That was the moment I broke down

I was hardly allowed to see them anymore. Calling was not possible “because of the internet”. Skyping didn’t work “because the computer was broken”. They called his mother “mummy”. That cut through my soul. And when my eldest daughter turned six, it happened again. She had to stay in Egypt because she had to go to school there. And I wasn’t allowed to take her with me. That goodbye… She stretched out her arms to me and said, ‘Stay with me, Mummy.’
The powerlessness turned into a pure will to survive. I knew that if I let this happen, I would lose them all. I started planning my escape. Risking my own life. I told everyone that I would return to Egypt. Even my children. It was the only way it could work. I returned to the Netherlands with all my children.
Leaving everything behind. Risking everything.

For anyone who thinks: this won’t happen to me

I often thought: I’ll jump out that window. Once, when I said that to him, he said: ‘Shall I open it for you?’ I survived. I got a place to live, rebuilt everything. But the scars remain. Why am I sharing my story? Because I thought I was the only one. And now I know: I’m not. But if I can help prevent this from happening to one other person – even if it’s just one mother, one child – then it’s worth it.