When rape is your fault……

Browsing through my friends’ profile on Facebook is something I do once or twice a day to keep in touch with my contacts. Today, however, as I went through some posts shared by one of my contacts, something struck me in a shared article.

I felt so angry after reading this article that I thought I needed to write this piece. The article in question was not the problem really. It was for a good cause even; a movement against rape. The last paragraph of the article was what didn’t sit well with me.

The police officer after stating that the suspect of the assault had committed the crime before, he ended by advising students that ‘they should not dress provocatively’. Really? My mind screamed in the silence around the library. Really?? My fingers started to itch. My eyes took on that glint that my grandma would have ‘tsked’ at. Not a look for a girl, she would have shaken her head. Well, that look my friends is that of unadulterated fury. It leaves me speechless and my body trembling.

How does the fact that a girl was assaulted become her fault? Did she choose to be raped? Why does society still blame the victim while the assaulter walks the street looking for more victims? When has the way a person dresses become the lure for rapists?

If you are a man and you’re reading this, please let me know if you feel like raping girls because they’re dressed in shorts on a sunny day. Or a bikini in a beach or even a short dress to show off their lovely legs? I can imagine you shuddering in disdain at the sheer thought of it. You know why? That’s because you are not a sick man who wants to dominate another person so badly that you would stoop so low. You are obviously a man who will woo a lady he’s attracted to and back down if the answer is no.

I remember growing up and being told to dress to cover up my body so as not to entice young boys. My parents are Christians who believed that you shouldn’t allow men lust after you as it is a sin. I was about 10 years old when I went to the countryside (village) where my grandparents lived. That afternoon, I was in search of my brother who loved football. He was in big trouble with my dad already for having stayed out that long. I was trying to be his lookout as usual by hunting him down and returning home with him.

Anyway, after walking for 3 miles, I met a young man who was a relative of ours. I asked him if he had seen my brother and he said yes, he would take me to him. Happy to have found the location of my brother, I followed this relative for another mile. On getting to an old school building, he asked me to go ahead as my brother was in there. Naively I walked up to the building and peered into it with a smile on my face but found no one. Then I felt him pounce on me and all my survival instincts kicked in (Thank God for WWF and my brother who didn’t realise until I grew up that I was a girl and not to be wrestled with). I kicked him in his groin and ran like the hounds of hell were after me. I did not stop running until I arrived at the front of my grandpa’s house.

I collapsed at the tap in front of it gasping for breath and taking little sips of water. I could hear my heart pounding in my chest. I did not say anything to my parents and till this day, I have never breathe a word of that incident to anyone. I was afraid that my dad would ask why I went in search of my brother in the first place. I was terrified that they would not believe me. Or worse still, they might blame me for it.

It’s been 14 years now but I still remember clearly that event. And since then, I have survived one threat of rape and another near-rape incident during my undergraduate studies. I kept asking myself, how provocatively would a 10 year old daughter of a Deacon have dressed to entice a relative to attempt rape? Why would the other guy have thought it was alright to jump me on my way home and rip my shirt? For days, I couldn’t help asking myself if my shirt was too transparent or my jeans too tight.

After all these years, I have come to realise that rape is never the victim’s fault. It’s never really about how you were dressed, or which route you took or how late you stayed out. Someone out there who is just sick and hungry for control decides when to strike. They choose you not because you led them on but because they have mental issues that they have to deal with.

As always, I would love to hear from you….

Love

Sharon

Musings of a lost but found girl….

Dear Journal,

I sit here in a high chair with the lamp giving just the right amount of light I need to focus. I slowly sip cup after cup of hot water from a mug. I have spent the last 12 hours writhing in pain and pondering about my future. As I sat down after dinner on this chair, I broke into a broad, genuine and a-very-much-like-me smile for the first time yesterday.

As a mentor once said, ‘Sharon, try to collect your ideas and write a book’. Of course I said yes and seemed elated by the idea. However, some days go by and I feel that there is not enough interesting things to write about. I do not count my romance books as I come up with romantic ideas faster than anything else. Probably because I have read more than two people’s fair share of Harlequin, Silhouette and the rest that dare to write about love and prince charming.

The reason for my smile is that my life has so many twists, turns, pains and sorrows to actually write a book. Some hilarious experiences like yesterday when after self-diagnosing, I found out that I really was having an allergic reaction to a food/product. I had earlier thought I had scarlet fever and was actually suffering some of the symptoms! Well, before you roll your eyes at how wild my imagination can run, I have to say that wikipedia and google are not helping in that department.

Few days ago, I sat with tears in my eyes. Although I have a reputation of being stoic and mostly emotionless, I do have my weak moments. One of such was when I returned from a really hectic 12 hour shift and could not imagine how I would survive the next month. My final exams are around the corner, the course work deadlines fast approaching and the ray of hope that has always shown overhead was elusive this time.

I have felt betrayal, displacement and terrifying anxiety (especially before I sent out my appeal) in the past month. Last night, I even had power-cut for 5 minutes! But then, I have met new friends-Lynette, Rita, Maria, Julie, Robert and we could be friends for life. I have worked with new partners like Jess, went on a boring date with someone from a dating site, had 55 year olds hit on me, heard again that I looked 18 and that I have an Irish sense of humour.

Those are the happy days that replace the distressing days. Besides, everything else has gradually started falling into place. As an old friend once said, take life’s punch on the chin and keep your head up like your nose is bleeding. I have learnt in these last 30 days not to take life too seriously, I would never get out alive anyway. I have decided to take a step at a time, move away from people not worth a place in my life and focus on my happy place. My group members Kyra and Cristina would surely be smiling at this last statement.

I will end by sharing the reassuring words of my beloved dad. ‘It is when the night is darkest that the dawn comes’. It might not be exactly true in theory, but that has always been the pattern in my life and it has kept me going. As always friends, feel free to share your thoughts on my piece as I always welcome comments.