Let's Talk About Rape — Empowering survivors, changing the narrative

During this time, I struggled with the trauma of the violence I had witnessed and experienced. The pain and humiliation lingered, and I found myself battling feelings of worthlessness and shame.

elizabeth

Conflict-related rape survivor from Kenya

My name is Elisabeth Hatieno, and I am 33 years old. I was born on July 23, 1991. Both of my parents have passed away, and I lost them at a very young age. After that, my siblings and I were taken in by relatives. We are four in total: two girls and two boys. I am the second child in the family, with an elder sister followed by two younger brothers. We grew up in the care of our relatives.

My father passed away when I was nine years old. By 2002, my mother had already died. At some point, my siblings and I became separated because, after my father’s death, we had to move from Nairobi to the village. We were raised in Nairobi but had to relocate to the village, where life was challenging because we had a stepmother who had no children of my father. She was the one raising us at that time, and she faced many difficulties due to cultural challenges. The environment was hostile, and our stepmother often blamed us for the family’s struggles, treating us harshly and unfairly compared to her biological children, which fostered a sense of isolation and resentment among us.

One time, I visited my cousin in Kisumu while my late stepmother took my siblings to her parents’ home in another place called Bigori. Yes, it’s in the same region. I stayed with my cousin during that time and went to school, where I felt a brief sense of normalcy and support. However, even in this environment, I often felt the burden of my family’s expectations and the stigma attached to our circumstances.

Let’s Talk About Rape® is a collaborative, therapeutic project empowering survivors to reclaim their narratives. Through self-portraiture using a shutter release cable, participants set their own agenda as a tool for healing.

Elizabeth and Brooklyn, Kisumu, Kenya, 2024

Suddenly, I felt a sharp pain in my back, and I was struck on the back of my head. The next thing I remember was waking up by the riverside. At first, I thought it was a nightmare, but unfortunately, it was the harsh reality. I was in severe pain, naked, covered in blood, and I just started crying.

elizabeth

Eventually, we reunited, and I started visiting Nairobi again. I am here to share my testimony about what happened to me during the internal conflict in 2007. I was 16 years old, and the country was preparing for elections. Normally, elections are held every five years in Kenya.

The candidates contesting at that time were the current president, Mwai Kibaki, and Raila Odinga. The election was hotly contested because many people wanted change, and Raila was seen as the favourite. The election body at the time was called the Electoral Commission of Kenya (ECK), and results were coming in from various constituencies.

As the results were announced, people started celebrating because it seemed Raila had won. Excitement filled the air; people were having parties, drinking alcohol, and slaughtering sheep and goats. It was a chaotic atmosphere. The election took place on December 27, before the new constitution was implemented.

However, on December 31, the chairperson of the Electoral Commission announced that Mwai Kibaki had won. That announcement triggered violence—hell broke loose, and chaos erupted. I was returning from a friend’s house and heading toward my stepmother’s place when the results were announced. Little did I know that people were anticipating violence, and it was later discovered that some individuals were armed.

Elizabeth and Brooklyn, Kisumu, Kenya, 2024

Violence was instigated by well-known figures in the government and society. As I was walking, I suddenly heard gunfire; the police were shooting indiscriminately. I started running and bumped into a group of men who greeted me in a language I didn’t understand. I was caught in the middle of a tribal clash. They were armed with machetes and clubs, and it was clear they were prepared for violence.

A woman from a nearby house came and helped me clean up and gave me some clothes, although they didn’t fit me well. It was already daybreak, and as I stepped outside, I saw that houses had been burned, and people had been brutally murdered. It was devastating. I had no one to share my experience with because I didn’t even know what to do.

I managed to reach my stepmother’s place, where the women and children were hiding on the rooftop to escape the violence. I remained quiet, and one time, a prominent journalist named Joe Aguero came by, but I didn’t get a chance to tell him what had happened to me because everyone else wanted to share their own stories.

During this time, I struggled with the trauma of the violence I had witnessed and experienced. The pain and humiliation lingered, and I found myself battling feelings of worthlessness and shame. I often took out my frustrations on my daughter, Brooklyn, even though she was innocent and didn’t deserve it. I was overwhelmed by my past, and it affected my ability to parent her effectively.

elizabeth

As time went on, international efforts began to quell the violence, and figures like Kofi Annan intervened to help Kibaki and Raila reach an agreement. Throughout this period, I remained in pain and kept my experiences to myself.

Eventually, after about a month, I became seriously ill and was taken to the hospital. There, they conducted a pregnancy test, and I discovered I was pregnant. I was devastated because everyone was more concerned about finding out who the father was than understanding what had happened to me. The pressure from my family became overwhelming, and I felt I had no choice but to run away, eventually ending up in a place called Mathare, a large slum filled with extreme poverty.

elizabeth

In my search for solace, I found temporary escape in substances that dulled the pain. This led me down a darker path where I faced exploitation and abuse. I encountered individuals who took advantage of my vulnerability, leading to moments of prostitution just to survive. Each encounter left me feeling more broken, reinforcing the feelings of guilt and anger I harbored towards myself and my situation.

As Brooklyn grew older, I realized how much my unresolved trauma impacted our relationship. I struggled to communicate my love for her amid the chaos of my emotions. I often felt trapped in a cycle of anger and guilt, and the fear of repeating the patterns of abuse I had endured haunted me. I knew that she was witnessing my struggles and that I was failing to provide her with the stable, loving environment she deserved.

In those dark moments, I would cry silently, wishing I could change my circumstances and be the mother Brooklyn needed. I desperately wanted to break the cycle of abuse and neglect that had plagued my life and ensure a better future for her. I began seeking help and support, recognizing that I needed to confront my past to heal and be the parent Brooklyn needed.

Despite my challenges, I persevered, holding onto hope for a better future for both of us. I repeatedly asked Brooklyn for forgiveness, understanding that my actions were a reflection of my internal struggles rather than her worth. It was a long, difficult journey toward healing, but I continued to fight for a life free from the shadows of my past, determined to build a loving and nurturing environment for my daughter.