Lana

From the streets to a home full of hope

‘If I ever had my own home, I would finally have a place where I could be safe. Where no one could send me away…’ That’s what I thought when I was sixteen and suddenly had nowhere to go. I had been abused from the age of three to twelve. When my mother found out, she simply threw me out onto the street. No safety net, no one to catch me. Yet something of hope remained in me. I slept on couches, on floors, with people who meant well, even though it wasn’t always safe. Until one day I got a small house. Two rooms. Not much, but it was mine. My sisters came to live with me. I felt responsible for them. I had to take care of them, I felt that in my bones.
When my brother brought home a young man who supposedly had nowhere to stay, I didn’t hesitate. He needed help. That was all I knew.

Trapped in my own home

What started as help quickly turned sour. He became increasingly violent. At first subtly – coercion, blackmail – but soon with blows. He forced me into marriage, not out of love, but out of self-interest. He said, ‘If you don’t help me, I’ll hurt your sisters.’ Sex became a means of power. Every day. I felt trapped in my own home.
The neighbours saw it, knew what was going on, but no one did anything. Even his brother saw him hitting me, but didn’t dare to intervene. Help seemed impossible. If I was admitted to hospital, who would look after my sisters? No one. So I had to stay.

Only years later I knew that what had happened to me was forced marriage. I though it was my fault. It sounds almost inbelievable, but I did not know my rights.

Fleeing, losing, but never giving up

When he was arrested after an armed robbery, I had the chance to flee. I refused the women’s shelter. It felt like another prison. So I fled. First to Israel, later to America. It never really felt safe. He kept looking for me. He sought me out through acquaintances, threatened me, sent people to my work. I had to go into hiding again and again.
I lost my baby because of his violence. That child… it would have had no life. It may sound harsh, but I believe it was spared me. Eventually, I found a way to heal through therapy and painting. Through art I was able to express what I felt. I had no words.

For those who have no voice: I want to be that voice

It was only years later that I realised what had happened to me was forced marriage. I thought it was my fault. It sounds almost unbelievable, but I didn’t know my rights. It was only in the women’s shelter that I heard: this was rape. This was coercion.
I set up a foundation. I want to help others as I needed help myself. A listening ear, a place where you don’t have to explain why you are afraid.
People need to know: you have a choice. Always. Ask yourself every day: what do I want today? That sentence changed my life. I advocate for more attention in education, information about boundaries, about your right to your own body. At school, you should learn: you can say no. You can choose. And at the town hall, the registry office: take a closer look. Ask questions when a young girl with empty eyes is standing opposite a man with a beer bottle in his hand, about to get married.

My story is not unique. And that is what makes it so important. Because as long as this continues to happen, there must be someone who says: ‘I see you. You are not alone.’