Rashmi

‘I felt the inequality every day’

I grew up in a family where girls are not only daughters, but also represent the honour of the family. In our family, you had to remain a virgin until marriage. Especially according to my parents. My father… he really lived according to old ideas. What people would say was all-important. As a girl, I felt the inequality every day. If my brother came home late, that was fine. But if I was late? Then it was immediately, ‘What will people think?’ When I ended up in a difficult home situation, I sought warmth and affirmation outside the home. On the street, with a group of young people. I was that girl who sat with a book in her hand and smoked a joint at the same time. Not easy to place. I fell in love. With a boy from another group. Everyone warned me. They said, “You really have to stop seeing him.” But I was already in love.

Love as a trap

What started as a relationship ended in exploitation and human trafficking. I was placed out of my home for my own safety. But when I was released, he picked me up with a plan. That same evening, I had my first client, and from that moment on, the exploitation and threats began.
After that, I was trapped. Not literally, but everyone around me controlled me. I knew that if this came out, I would lose my mother and father. It wasn’t even him I was most afraid of. It was his crew. One man… he just beat us. He could lift me with one hand.
I tried to escape several times. But each time, threats followed. He said, ‘If you leave, I’ll take your cousin.’ He knew her, had seen her.
Eventually, my story was uncovered through child welfare services. I was placed at a secret address. Not only for my safety, but also because of the threat of honour killing. My father couldn’t bear the shame. He didn’t say anything, but I knew. In our culture, you become a “discarded girl”. Someone who is no longer worthy.

When my father tried to arrange a marriage, I had to choose: his honour or my freedom.

‘What I wanted was simple: just a father’

The damage was not only physical. It was the feeling that I had lost my family. I did keep in touch with my grandmother, who was my anchor. But my grandmother passed away. And my father? He kicked me out of the family. Literally. In our tradition, we perform rituals when someone dies. He performed that ritual for me. As if I were already dead.
Later, when my father tried to arrange a marriage with a boy from our country of origin, I had to choose: his honour or my freedom. I knew: I would never study, never be able to work. I would just become a housewife. But that’s not who I am. That’s just not me at all.
That choice was the beginning of my turnaround. I eventually married the man I loved in my own way – for faith, not for law. I became a mother. And I repaired, bit by bit, the bond with my father. As long as we don’t talk about the past, everything is fine. Then everything is “perfect”.

For those who think this is far from your reality: it’s not

Now I work in social services myself. And you know what? I see it there too. Girls who suddenly have to go “on holiday” to visit family abroad. Who are afraid they won’t come back. I believe love is the key. Every child deserves love. That’s the basis. Not rules, not traditions. Love.
What I would say to other girls? “Stay true to yourself. No matter how difficult it is.” One day, you’ll be sitting in a chair somewhere, old, perhaps with a cup of tea by the fireplace. And then you should be able to say: I lived my life. Not someone else’s.
My story is not unique. And that’s what makes it so important.