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I was raped

I was raped

Posté par Qandisha le 26 mar 2012 dans Droit | 4 commentaires

We launched a call for evidence for rape cases. We had no idea that the exercise would be that challenging. The aim was to demonstrate that no woman, who underwent this physical and psychological injury, could find comfort in the legal union to the abuser. It will seem absurd to some of you, because it is so obvious. However, the absurd is Moroccan and section 475 proves it. This law, which intends to apply in cases of corruption of minors and « love » teenage runaway, is senseless when violence and humiliation have marked the unique relationship between victim and offender. Nevertheless, reading these snippets of stories made ​​people aware that the articles of law regarding this issue are not the only problem areas. None of these witnesses has charged a complaint against her aggressor, because they are afraid of the social judgments, in addition to the torture and mistreatment of police officers during the interrogation of women victims of rape. Throughout the readings, the lack of emotional support is also felt. Structures empowered to help these women rebuild their lives after rape are absents and the aftermath is brought to life.

They are Moroccan or foreign resident in Morocco. They testified spontaneously, against heart indeed, but with the hope that it can change things … Or even just the relief of their suffering.


Today I am a broken woman. I can’t sleep without medicines and I’m afraid to go out alone , people scare me so much that I can no longer work, I quit my job and my only comfort is my friend whom I live with and who supports me a lot. My weight is so low that you can see my bones, I often feel sad, and I need people’s company although I feel uncomfortable with them.

My mother died when I was 16 because of a disease, and she suffered for years. Three years after her death, my father was diagnosed with cancer. While he was following consultations in Casablanca, we used to live in Meknes. My grandmother died. After her funeral, people came to visit us. Among them a neighbor of ours. I had the misfortune to open the door (I didn’t even let him in), while my father was on the road to Casablanca with my unique sister to see his doctor.

The neighbor knew I was alone, he forced the door and brutally raped me. He may have desired me since a long time because I was pretty and emancipated. I had so many girlfriends and boyfriends; I had no intimacy with anyone. My first intercourse was this one, a rape.

The guy walked away quietly after that, carrying the container that his mother had lent us for the kitchen. I suffered in silence because I could not tell my sick father, my father with whom I had a symbiotic relationship, a professor with rare ideals, he taught me a lot and supported me when all his friends tried to return him against his daughters. This Dad whom I love, I could not hurt him, when he knew he was dying and leaving us with vultures. On the other hand, when I told my oldest sister what happened to me, she blamed me and made me feel guilty, she told me that I deserved it. Her life was not easy, but it was not a reason for her to destroy me when she was supposed to be my only support.

Today I feel angry, if I ever meet this man again, I will not hesitate to take a car, crush him and kill myself after.


I still remember the bruises and the blood that covered my body and head, and it wasn’t caused by a rapist but it was my father when he learnt that I was molested by the grocer of the area, I was just 6 years old.

I am a very beautiful girl, fair skin, brown hair and a big green eyes , when I was a little girl, people liked me and the grocer-man too . He used to offer me some things from his shop things to eat whenever I go shopping in his grocery.

One day, he invited me to his shop, and then he touched my body. In the evening, while taking a shower, as a child who describes her stories to her class mates naively , I told what happened to the housekeeper at home. The house keeper left me in the bath and she got out of the bathroom with a faint face telling my mother about it who related it to my father when he came home. My father went out angry to hit grocer-man, when he didn’t find him, he came back at home and he hit me instead until I lost consciousness.

Next day I went to school with a body full of bruises. My father took me from school and we went to the police to lodge complaint. The police commissioner was my father’s friend , when he saw me in such a bad condition he blamed my father and wanted to put him in jail , but , I refused to let him prison my father. I would never ever forgive myself if he did it.

Until now, I keep traces of a double traumatism; this means, the sexual abuse which I was victim of and my father’s violence against me. I felt guilty for a long time , but now I certainly know that it wasn’t my fault , I no more hold any grudge against my father because he is socially influence and that is what we have to reconsider.


I was a student. My parents thought I’d be better off alone in an apartment where they could come whenever they wanted. It’s true that I was doing ok. My parents overpaid everything to make sure I was well and safe. The concierge and the neighbors were watching me, sometimes a little too much, but I was not complaining. There was always someone waiting for me to take a taxi in the morning. Having grown up in a village, because of positions held by my father, I felt that Casablanca was a big family that welcomed me with open arms. I trusted everybody. The concierge forbids me to accept the services of unknown housecleaners in my apartment. I thought he was being paranoiac due to my proximity to police headquarters.

Thus when the young mason of the building under construction across the street, has offered to get me gas, I have not refused. He was younger than me and was very nice. He used to go shopping for the concierge, and since he was not at the door, I let the mason do me a favor and I wanted to pay him gracefully after. But I did not think the price would be that expensive. He set up the gas cylinder. He accepted a soft drink because of the heat. When he was at the door, I called him so I could give him money. 13 years later I’m still thinking that if I had not stopped him at this moment, those few seconds, he would be gone. He marked a moment of hesitation, so I asked him if he wanted something. I wanted to be nice to a boy who did not have the same opportunities in life than me. He jumped on me. Misunderstanding paralyzed me. It took me a while to understand that he was raping me. I have not been able to defend myself. I let him. I did not feel anything when I was deflowered. I just felt his movements and the floor hardness. I even think at the time, I preferred to be on a bed. I could not remember him going, I think I fainted. I woke up at night; it was dark and very hot. I just felt like a piece of meat, an animal like any other.

Telling my parents would have killed them. I could not do that to them. He was gone anyway. It’s been 13 years since I treated for OCD and for attempted suicide. Sometimes I clean my vagina till making it bleed. It happened a few times to meet men who would not make me want to puke, but I automatically develop veganism’s despite my 10 years of psychological treatment. I don’t know if one day I can live normally. I testify to help protecting other women.


I am not sure whether the testimony of a French living in Morocco is “valid” for the cause you are defending. I was raped by my ex-husband and by a Moroccan, knowing that he was a “friend”. I’ve been looking at my blank page for two days and even if the facts and the acts of that night are etched in my memory I find it hard to write on this paper, my words, my life that night will be read by other eyes, and the fact that people will know makes me uncomfortable. Yet I must. I was raped, and I knew that person, He was my friend, we met often to discuss, talk about our problems, to go out. Sometimes XY came to my house to talk, play cards; we watched movies, exchanged viewpoints. XY sometimes slept over when it was too late to go home, in the living room.

We slept together one night fully dressed, too tired from speaking too much, drinking a bit and smoking. We even made ​​love to try once but that was it, our discussions have taken over. And there was this evening too, that night.

I did not understand how or when things got out of control. I remember we were listening to music, I remember going back to grab a CD that I wanted him to discover, and while writing these words I feel the surprise and fear. He pushed me against the bench, I was defending myself and screaming « But what the hell are you doing? » His slapped me and said: Shut up! You’ll like it.

I struggle and I cannot free myself, I did some self defense but he was too strong for me, I couldn’t! I heard myself screaming: But stop that right now, you’re crazy! His hand, his hands cover my head in the pillows, I’m afraid, I cannot breathe, he relies on me with all his weight, and he is in my back and shit! Fucking stop it! He took off my pants and my panties, he spread my legs and it hurts, I want to sink into the sofa choking my screams and disappear forever. He pulls my head back by the hair. It hurts: Bitch its good eh! I cry, I beg you stop hurting me! But he continued, I want this to end it hurts, this nightmare to end I want to wake up.

His rattle marks the end of my punishment, I woke up it’s time to go away, he was weaker, I do not know where I found the energy to push him, I run to the bathroom, I locked the door and then I call myself a bitch to be confined at home. I did not even think of my phone. I’m sitting behind my door and I wait, I cry with anger, rage, shame, I call myself every name, and I wait I tremble, I’m cold and very cold feeling sick, the door input slap, I wait, I’m always cold, I shiver, I wait an hour or two there is no more noise, I’m still afraid, I go out I make the tour of my apartment. He’s gone. I LOCKED everything and return to the bathroom and I wash, wash myself, and wash myself, all the hot water until the water is cold, I feel dirty, dirty outside and inside, it is necessary that I remove all this foul stain. I feel a little cleaner, I take my clothes, wash the dishes, and I smell him everywhere. It’s horrible, it’s over.

I take my phone I call the police, it rang and I hung up before someone answers, what do I say? Hello, I just got raped by a Moroccan friend? I imagine the following dialogue: but what was a man doing with you, a single woman?

I have been ​​raped by a friend. A few years ago, I became suspicious, on guard in my relationships with men. A man came close, almost managed to give me this confidence in men. Almost is important.


I’ve started seeing flash backs, I could not tell if they’re nightmares or a remote reality. These flashes began at the age of thirteen, fourteen. Probably because my family convinced me that bad memory is linked with their constant warnings of approaching boys, is a question of honor according to them.

My father was keeping watch over me, following me in his car, terrorizing me with his threats so as to have no contact with any boy.

These flashes kept coming over and over again, even more picturesque…in my sleep as well. I was feeling a penis between my thighs, rubbing on me repeatedly. I also remember the cotton of panties I was wearing, I still doubt about a scene, when my grandmother’s maids were wondering whether it is blood or something else, I still see one of them but I don’t dare asking her

I don’t know where it happened, but I don’t dare push the research. After all, what for? If it is just to cause a scandal to the family, and who’ll believe me anyway?

I was 4 or 5 years old, my brother was one year older than me. In summer the whole family gathered at my grandparents’ house; and so as not to be disturbed by kids’ screams and quarrels, my grandfather took us to a swimming pool, in a four stars hotel next to our house, he gave the lifeguard some money to look after us and teach my brother how to swim.

When I felt like going to bath room, I asked the lifeguard to show me the way, I remember that I was going unwillingly when he took me to the bathroom in the basement, dirty and full of papers and bags on the floor (it’s obvious that these weren’t for customers), when I finished relieving myself, I was in need of toilet paper, I asked him to give me some.. «There is no paper … but I’ m going to clear you » he replied! so he asked me to open the door, I was wearing purple one piece swimsuits, then to turn, against the wall, until this time, I wasn’t aware of anything, I just obeyed him and did what he told, I felt that he is actively rubbing a big thing at my bottom, and every time I tried to take a look down there he insisted me to keep watching the wall.

It was like that, at every time during these summer holidays, I had the bad luck to meet a pedophile, if my brother suffered the same acts.

Thereafter, some psychological damages appeared, the educational behavior of our parents didn’t put things together.

Today, I think that my family did not protect me, so let them guard their honor for themselves!!


I was about to be raped when I was on a holiday in Marrakech, with a friend who was so busy to go out with me at night; thus, he gave me a second key to his apartment. When I went back home at 4 o’clock after midnight from the night club, I suffered from a harsh aggression inside the residential building. After beating me and taking away all my belongs, the guy, whom I thought was the security guard of the building, pushed me and he started unfolding his pants’ belt. So I run till the garden of the residential building, I could see the windows of the inhabitants, and two major choices came to my thought, I had two main solutions; firstly, to shout loudly so that all residents get out of their houses and I will certainly be saved; secondly, I should keep quiet, running silently while taking the risk of being caught by him.

Therefore, I have chosen the second solution; that is to say, keeping quiet and running without looking behind me; I did not know how I did find myself in the guest room at my friend’s apartment in tears and terrified. Why did not I shout? Why did not I settle a complaint against him? I imagined myself face to face with the police, here is their primary question: “Do you live here?”, “No, I am with a friend!” Yet friendship does not exist within the police jargon, so I have to answer the why of how. “What were you doing at 4 o’clock after midnight wearing such revealing clothes?” “I came home from a night club (automatically, I am considered as whore for them). In brief, I can already see myself spending the night at the Commissionership even before I would clarify what happened to me.

Neither society nor justice helps; also the police is not considered a protection in itself since it is a source of problem in such kind of situation; a victim woman in my case will be the first one to go to prison, and for the psychopath rapist, the officers’ reaction towards him will be the following citation: “He was on the right time, in the right place and he could also seize the right opportunity”. As a result, the majority of victims would prefer to keep quiet. Did society succeed in convincing us that being victims, we shared a part of responsibility of what is happening to us where the weight of taboos and the non-said is what we like to not to meddle our names in such a story of sexual aggression. I refuse to belief that we could do nothing but suffering and enduring. I am fed up living in a society which by means of pressure , push parents to choose the concept of “honor” and “reputation” over their daughter .A society which obliged women to protect their rapist or criminal for fear of a socio -cultural scandal. Nowadays, it is a question of rebelling against society which infected by hypocrisy that women hate. It is a question of denouncing this justice which gives reason to the rapist. It is a question of understanding the fact that submission is not the only option since we should never forget that “The most ordinary reason of throwing out our power is mainly to believe that we do not have any”.


The man works in front of the building where I am… apparently, he was observing me for a while. Then, one day, He took the elevator with me and initiated a conversation, we introduced each other. Then we met during the break for lunch at Luigi. He was calm and he did not look like a psychopath. He asked for a date after work in a café but I refused since I preferred not to be attached to a man during his period of divorce. After that, he called me during the whole afternoon at my office so that I could confirm his invitation. At 17h30, when I left work, he was waiting for me, and he offered to give me a lift to the parking lot where I left my car which was parked away as I need 10 minutes of a walk to get it.

When I got in his car with a closed doors, he changed his conversation and he started criticizing my dressing style, since it is too tight and it reveals my shape….He tried to touch my legs in a violent way, a fact which pushed me to push his hands off my legs. Moreover, instead of driving throughout the parking lot, he accelerated through the Bouskoura forest. I was deadly afraid. He stopped and he forced me to kiss him, I started shouting loudly and hopelessly because I knew that there was no security in the surroundings. Then, he told me that he will not hurt me, meaning that he will not rape me. Nevertheless, he claimed that he was (excited) by me and that I have to…… so that he could calm down and he will not rape me. He obliged me, I was alone, no one could rescue me, and no one saw me in his car, so I gave up… It was a nightmare … Then, he put me in my car silently. I really wanted to react, and push him to suffer as he did to me… But it was also my fault in the sense that he did not oblige me to get into his car particularly that I am a married woman… I also thought of hiring few strong men so as to beat him without any mercy… But unfortunately, I did not have such contact in my repertoire… I continued to see him fooling around and I hope that he did not hurt other victims…”

I wanted to tell him that what he did to me was considered as a rape although It was not a penetration, and that nothing gives him the reason neither a short skirt and high-heals shoes nor the fact that she let him harassing her nor that she got into his car. However, that she was scared of the scandal. At the same time while arguing on her behalf, I knew that 98% of most reactions to this story would be the following: “Why did she get in his car, she certainly looks for problems and thus she found them”.


We say that time is a healer. Having said that, there are traumas which severely test time and the result is that relativity wins in the sense that there are wounds which cannot be healed through time, we shall leave to time the small troubles of the heart since traumas which are associated with sexual assaults are regarded as another totally different issue.

Seventeen years ago my life tipped over, life was as wonderful as it could be for a teenage who seemed to have a bright future. Seventeen years ago, I turned out to be a statistics since that time. Eight women out of ten women were raped have decided to carry the heavy burden of silence. I am going to spare you the tragic details of my rape. I remember in which state I went back home that day; there was no one since my parents were on a trip and it was a chance of a life time… They would not notice that I was under the shock… I remembered the water which was burning my body when I was taking a shower, his voice, his laughter, the water was so hot, the voice still muttered in my mind: I wanted to put an end to my life… shivering in the sense that I tried to cut my veins that day, I would not probably be still alive in this world unless for the hasty return of my parents from their trip because it seemed that my mother had had a bad presentiment, ah! If you knew that your feelings were right, mother! I was still under shower when I heard my mother cheerfully calling me, I ensured myself that nothing in the world would push me to deprive them from the right to live in peace ,of which another one had deprived me of.

I was paralyzed by fear during the whole year, I felt so vulnerable and I do not talk about the physical weakness. I continued to see my aggressor, a fact which has built a real psychological torture since that tragic event which happened to me has never left my vision. My parents noticed that I am no longer the same person; I became violent to the extent of bearing a grudge deep down, in my heart against the peaceful their peaceful living which I had “chosen” for them, it was their duty to take care of me and to console me rather than the opposite. They sent me to a shrink. But the pressure was too strong and I crushed. I stayed for 4 days in a coma after a suicide attempt; once again, by seeing the distress of my parents at the clinic, I took the firm decision to give them back their daughter. I had either to assume my silence or to speak unambiguously , once again I did not have the courage, I told myself that the thing which still remained purer in life was my parents who always see me as their “little daughter”. I pretended to take a good taste of my life. I left Morocco so as to study abroad and I believed that things would get better now since I left this unhealthy environment; however, I did not imagine that my devils would accompany me. I pretended living happily for many years. People did not scare me; I simply figured out that the human being is “curious”. In my deep depression, I tried to remain constantly conscious of one thing, that is to say, I could not allow my rapist to destroy my life. He could have won and I am going to surrender without fighting against those demons that rotted my life. I have the impression that I was separated for a long time from reality, especially my own reality, I built up another story, I told no one about my rape because what I learned from my experience is that people have a legendary capacity to apply what seemed to me to be a selective amnesia, I told my story to some reliable friends who obviously congratulated me for the way I escaped out of it, and I saw the same light of panic in their eyes, I think that they would have preferred not to know my story. In brief, I was young ,and I had the men whom I wanted, they were only dogs after all ! .And classic plan, I took my revenge unconsciously on those who did not hurt me, but it does not matter, I finally had the power. It is rather the illusion of power because every time it was a small piece of true me which was suffocated, but whatsoever, I managed to move forward in my life without anybody’s suspicion of the fire inside me. I could be in a full evening when one of several flashbacks of my rape came into my vision, I squeezed tightly my jaw for a brief moment, and then I quickly draw a cheerful smile which quickly became frozen. I was no more a “victim”, but rather a “survivor”. Due to the fact that I could not revenge myself against my aggressors, I wanted to take revenge on life, and the only way to achieve that was a professional success since my love life was a failure because I had nothing to give and I was not ready to receive anything from anybody either. And now that I acquired a professional success, that I proved to be a survivor, a woman of character, I still wonder about the emptiness and the feeling of loneliness overwhelming me even when I am accompanied.

The answer was quite simple and crystal clear, I kept on pretending! I switched the automatic pilot and forgot about it, I was no longer controlling my life but rather this simple person who, despite her evident assurance was simply afraid of rejection, afraid of not deserving to be loved and that she was not good enough to be “used”. Someone else was simply living my life and I realized that my life course was a complete distressing, I was destroying myself and I realized that during years, there was only one question which haunted me: what would have been my life if I had not been assaulted? And the answer came naturally, I shall be the same kind hearted, confident, and loving person as I was before the incident, I had one Eureka moment, a moment of relief by listening to my heart to become suddenly aware that this person was always there that I had been a victim of rape, but I had responsibility, yes, the responsibility of taking my person in hand, the obligation to learn again to like myself, I was not guilty, I had nothing to be ashamed of, I should not keep eternally asking this insidious question because I could not allow any longer my victim’s status to be part of my identity, I was far above that, I regret none of my decisions, none of my act, I lived what I had to live and this was my adaptation system. No, time cures nothing but it allows us to adapt ourselves to certain traumatizing situations. Since then, I learned to apologize to people that I had hurt, to forgive myself, the errors which I had been able to commit by trying to survive, to understand finally that I am on no account responsible for what happened to me, I do not feel guilty anymore, I learned again to like life, the others and especially to love the person who matters most in my life: myself. I could have these famous flashbacks, but they do not hurt anymore. I learned to let go things? I like who I am. I am grateful to life. One day, during a beautiful autumn morning, in a café terrace where I was sipping a cup of coffee, I believed I saw a very familiar face, the face of evil. My heart bumped, and I lowered immediately my head… All old feelings submerged and then a voice said to me that if somebody had to lower his head, it was him, and that I had to keep my head high and proud. This is what I did. I got up on my feet and at the same time decided to go to speak to him, or to strike him. I shall never know. I did not know how to describe the scene that I saw in front of me while rising. Truly, it was him. He had nothing more of the small stuck-up, stupid and arrogant handsome boy, he was in rags and insane. I did not know whether to laugh or to cry. Apparently, Godot does not make you always wait. I was even sad for him (just a little), and this feeling has allowed me to confirm that this chapter is closed. I was free.


Unfortunately, abuse does not only happen in the streets:

Virginity has never been of paramount importance to me, although I have always dreamt my first time would be with the man I would love and at the time of my choice. Unluckily, I was drugged… and then raped by my boyfriend who was back then a third-year medical student. I was only 17.

When I decided to take the plunge, I realized that I had lost my hymen. I understood that the story my friends have been telling was actually my own.

It has been thirty years… and it feels as it were yesterday.

There, that was my testimony.