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

NANCY

Survivor of armed conflict from Colombia

“In Neverland, nothing will happen to you.” These were the words from a grandmother to the daughter of a union worker. A dreamer, yet thin and dishevelled, she was a girl who was always shouting, singing, and laughing, often for no apparent reason. Her family called her “Seven Giggles.” At 14 years old, her body had not yet developed its womanly shape, and her menstrual cycle had arrived a little late compared to other girls. This is her story.

After hearing about the local Scouts group from school friends, the day came when she made the decision to join. Excited, she left her house early, singing in her signature style. It was the first excursion the Scouts were having as explorers, with 14 girls and 15 boys much younger than her. The only trip she took was to the mountains of Bogotá, in the Cazucá area. The group walked for around two hours, climbing up the mountain at a slow pace.

As they were hungry, they decided to stop for lunch. Gathered together, they shared their food when two men passed by. The group greeted them, and the men asked for something to drink. After taking a drink, the men continued on their way. But before five minutes had passed, they returned, now accompanied by three other men much older than them. Without saying a word, they surrounded the Scouts, who were still eating together, took out machetes, and began to insult them, hurling profanities such as, “You sons of bitches, why did you come here? You will pay for it.”

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.

Nancy, Guamal, Colombia, 2024

NANCY

The girls and women were separated from the boys and the English teacher responsible for the excursion. All of the 14 girls were very scared. They forced the girls to undress and chose among them who they would take. In an attempt to console and reassure her Scout comrades, she started speaking. She was chosen second by the youngest man, likely because of her talkative nature. Where he took her, all she could hear were the screams of her comrades, but much louder were the insults from the men.

Stay still, motherfucker, if you don’t want me to kill you!” he told her. The “Seven Giggles” girl did nothing but look at the man with an emotionless glaze. She didn’t stop talking. She talked and talked, trying to get the guy to explain why they were doing this to them. At one point, the man threw her to the floor and put a knife to her neck. He told her, “Shut up, or I’ll cut your throat, or would you prefer that I cut your face? You decide.” With her legs tightly closed, she remained motionless, her eyes closed, listening to the screams of her comrades and the insults from the men. In her head, she just wanted this to end. The man was screaming, and his whole body was on top of her, exerting a lot of strength. “Open your legs, motherfucker!” he shouted.

She felt his breath on her face and was forced to inhale his pungent smell. It wasn’t long until she felt the knife on her face, and at that moment, she gave up. When he had finished, he looked at her and said, “It seems like someone else wants you next.” He took her back to where some of her comrades were, and she assured herself this wouldn’t happen again. One of her companions, Claudia, ran away, but they caught her and hit her with a machete. She has never been able to get that image out of her head. She saw Claudia, so fragile and helpless, but out of fear, she was unable to do anything; time went so quickly, yet so painfully slowly.

Nancy, Guamala, Colombia, 2024

The men left with their valuable belongings. It was over. They all got dressed, and as soon as they could, they went to release their male comrades and teacher. Everyone, even the teacher, looked at them, but no one said anything. They began to walk down the mountain in silence, some of them crying, but no more than the teacher. Once down, it was already night. The teacher looked for a phone, and after a long wait, a school bus arrived to pick them up. It took them to the school, where the principal was waiting for them with doctors and the school psychologist.

There, they were made to strip naked, and one by one, they were examined by a doctor. She felt disgusted by the checks the doctor carried out on her. When they had all been examined, the school principal said he would take each of them home as he needed to talk to their parents. She rejected the offer, saying, “I’m leaving alone, and I’ll get home alone.” He accepted, as did the psychologist. After arriving home, she barely spoke to her mother, not even to say hello. “I’m tired; I want to take a bath and go to sleep. I had a great time; the trip was fun.” Her mum said, “I was very worried; look at the time. I thought you didn’t want to come back.”

The school made the decision that she would not be seen by the psychologist due to her refusal to allow them to speak to her parents. From then on, the secret was hers alone; she didn’t tell anyone. She couldn’t talk to her classmates as she wasn’t in therapy; they couldn’t discuss that topic with her. When she went to bed, she didn’t want to close her eyes, as it always took her back to that day. The school year was over, and they cancelled her registration for the following year, meaning she didn’t have a place. The explanation given to her mother was that she was rebellious for being a member of the student council and defending student rights. She was never able to attend that school again.

NANCY

Years passed, and the girl who was no longer a child became a 24-year-old woman. Still with her muffled singing and distinctive laugh, she went on vacation with a friend to the beach of San Bernardo del Viento. Watching the sunset, the sun fell gracefully into the sea when three men dressed as tourists appeared. They approached her with guns in their hands and made her stand up. They said, “This is a kidnapping. Walk.” They took her to a desolate place away from the sea.

One of the men tried to force her down to the ground, but she told him no, saying she would stand up and bend over. This turned him on. She closed her eyes and hoped that he would be quick and that they would get out of this alive. She cannot describe the humiliation she felt. When the man had finished, he told her, “This is not over; stay here. I’ll be right back.” This happened several times; he left and came back, doing what he wanted with her every time he returned. When he let her go, she told him, “Remember that you gave me your word that it would only be you who would touch me. Look, I’m not crying.” She felt so helpless, fragile, and completely vulnerable, but she acted as though she were strong. He always came armed, threatening and even more drunk than how he’d left.

Time for her was eternal. She was very afraid of what would happen to her and her friend who was captured. Everything happened slowly; she remembered clearly the sound of music and drunken men. She stayed in the bushes naked, not allowed to dress. Every time he came back, he was tougher. Then, they heard screaming. “The son of a bitch escaped; there they go, shoot!” She grabbed the man who was raping her and pleaded, “Let me go.” She begged him so much that he told her, “Run!” She grabbed her clothes and put something on. “Don’t get caught,” she remembers him saying to her.

She recalls putting on her sandals and running through the bushes without looking back. She emerged onto a path and ran like she had never run in her life, feeling as though they were coming after her. Suddenly, a group of people with sticks came to her rescue. It was her friend, who had brought some of their other friends. She told them nothing happened and that she was fine. She hugged her friend and said, “Everything is fine; we are both fine. Come on, it’s not worth it; they are armed.” Then her friend shouted, “Let’s continue in the Fandango.” This is the festivity that takes place on the 6th of January, which they call the ‘Three Kings’ Day. “Yes,” she replied. “First, I want to shower and get ready for the party.” This party lasted all day and all night.

After many years, I allowed myself to speak and denounce my rape experiences. I realised that when I engaged in political advocacy, defended human rights, and spoke up for others, I was enabling my healing process.

nancy

Mural of Nancy created by Colectivo Dexpierte on the streets of Bogotá, Colombia, 2024, in collaboration with photographer Jadwiga Bronte.

Now back from her vacation, she told her boyfriend what had happened. He no longer lived in the same city as her, but he consoled her from a distance. Days went by, and she realized she hadn’t seen her period. She was pregnant. She told her boyfriend, who is now her husband. He told her, “Everything is going to be okay.” He asked her what she would like to do. She told him that she wanted an abortion, and he supported her. She didn’t want to have a baby in those conditions. During this time, she was inconsolable, crying all the time.

Now, as a 34-year-old married woman, her story continues. It was a Holy Saturday in 2007. She had just finished four days of activities with the National Community Mothers Program, which held events for female caregivers with children between the ages of 2 and 5 years old. The training was conducted by CINEP, Centre for Popular Education Studies. At 8 pm, she was serving food for her husband Tomás, who had just come home from work. When she finished serving the food, she sat on the couch to watch television with her 4-year-old daughter, Juliana. Suddenly and unexpectedly, three armed men with balaclavas covering their faces appeared. Only their eyes were visible.

They turned off all the lights in the house and threatened us, reminding us that we were surrounded by many men. They made us lie on the ground, and I laid on top of my daughter to protect her. I whispered in her ear to calm her down while Tomás was being threatened with a gun to his head. The men told him that if he tried to do anything, they would kill us all. They claimed they knew we kept weapons in the house and began to break things and turn everything upside down. I continued talking to Juliana and even sang to her. She eventually fell asleep, while all I could hear were things smashing to the floor. They didn’t allow us to raise our heads. I do not know how long it was for, but for me, it felt never-ending. My only thoughts were to protect Juliana and for all of us to come out of this nightmare alive.

In that situation, all I could do was remain still. I felt defenseless and powerless. I decided that if we came out alive, I would not have any more children because I could only protect one. I was immersed in my thoughts until suddenly, they shouted at me and told me, “Get up! Come with us.” I was worried about leaving Juliana lying there. Remaining still, I said, “Allow me to put the girl on the bed.” He replied, “Go on, but without getting up, and don’t you dare look at us.” I was in an all-fours position and forced myself to carry her with one arm. I put her in bed and covered her with the awning so that the mosquitoes wouldn’t bite her. I protected her the best I could.

They grabbed my arm and took me into the kitchen, saying, “We’re hungry; make us dinner.” I told them, “There is a lot of curd, cheese, and plenty of milk and bread.” Then one of them picked me up and said, “You know what we want. You are very pretty, so get naked.” I had already experienced that. I started talking and asked what would happen afterward. They told me, “We will leave your daughter and your husband locked up and can continue with them if you do not satisfy us.” With my head down, I told them, “Do whatever you want with me, but don’t touch my daughter or my husband.” Again, I negotiated my body.

After this, they said, “We’re leaving. Your husband and daughter are under lock and key. Stay still and wait an hour to turn on the lights. Stay there; otherwise, we will come and finish everyone off.” I remained in darkness, motionless for a while, then went to the bathroom to clean myself thoroughly. I didn’t bathe my body because I didn’t want my husband to realize what had happened to me; I didn’t want to cause him more pain. I saw him so scared and helpless; he wanted to protect us but couldn’t. I didn’t see the need to cause him more pain. I waited for a long time and calmed myself down. From outside, I asked Tomás how he and Juliana were. He told me, “We are fine. The girl is still asleep.”

“They’re gone,” I said. “Let’s wait a little longer to make sure they are far.” Then I turned on the light and managed to open the door. We hugged, and I said, “We’re fine; everything’s over. We’re alive.” Terror and panic reigned in the region. Irregular outlaw groups had control of the territory, both guerrillas and self-defense groups, which are now called paramilitaries. In less than two months, it was known that at least 86 women and girls had been raped. I experienced three painful events and, for many years, did not speak about it. Therapy taught me a lot about myself.

NANCY

I was always strong and never went a day without demonstrating confidence. I would always challenge anything I was unsure of or wanted to know further. I had learned that if I appeared aggressive and a little arrogant, that demeanor would serve as a shield and protect me, even if, on the inside, I was very sensitive and full of fears. My therapy involved working with boys and girls. They taught me to express my thoughts and stimulated my creativity. I say this because I studied to be a preschool teacher and founded the first kindergarten in the municipality where I live. After monitoring the conditions of the girls and boys, I decided to begin a similar process with women, and through learning their stories and identifying with their pain, I found healing.

After many years, I allowed myself to speak and denounce my rape experiences. I realized that when I engaged in political advocacy, defended human rights, and spoke up for others, I was enabling my healing process. Now, at this moment in my life, being on the farm surrounded by the energy of the animals and caring for the flora and fauna of the place where I live, I understand that one way to heal is by caring for others. If you ask me if I have ever been in therapy with a suitable professional, the answer is no, never. The closest experience I have had is when the Mukwege Foundation allowed me to participate in a coaching program via telephone.

I found my therapy with women, girls, boys, and my animals. They have allowed me to move forward and heal. From the thin, disheveled girl who always shouted, sang, laughed, and dreamed, I became a 60-year-old woman. I continue to be a dreamer—slightly disheveled and loud, occasionally distrustful but still just as rebellious. Though above all, my greatest trait is my capacity to love.