So, This is My Story by Theoline Strauss

''Many of you may think I'm doing this to draw attention to myself...so be it.''

When I was a small child, about four or five years old, my uncle used to come to my grandmother's house with his friends to drink alcohol. One day, one of his friends took me into the kitchen, unzipped his pants, took out his ''thing'' and asked me if I knew what it was. I nodded my head because, obviously, I wasn't a baby anymore. He then lifted up my dress and tried to rape me, there, in the kitchen, at the sink. Fortunately, my great-grandmother, who walked with great difficulty, moved from her own into my grandmother's bedroom, he heard her moving about the house, and stopped. He fastened his pants and instructed me not to tell anyone...

A year after that incident, a family friend who had stayed for a while with my parents, came to stay at my grandmother's, where I lived. As a small child, I was fascinated by his hair; he had the most beautiful curls. So, in the afternoons, I'd play with his hair until he fell asleep. He would also put his fingers inside me. He instructed me not to tell anyone. He told me that no one in any case would believe me if I told because I was known as a naughty child in the family. So, I kept quiet about what he had done. 

When I was in Grade 11, a cousin and I went to Luderitz, southern coast of Namibia, for the school holidays. The family we stayed with had a son and three daughters. Their son worked on a fishing-boat on the sea. He would be away for weeks and return for short holidays. As a young teenager I had, and still have, an eye for a dark-coloured guy. The son returned from the sea and typical hormonal teenager, I fell in love the moment I saw him. He took me along to meet his friends. We went to the club and would stroll along the beach before returning to his parents' house. It was all extremely romantic for me. Little did I know, at the time, what he had in mind. 

One evening, we went to one of his friends' house. The two of them consumed alcohol and his friend became very drunk. The guy I was with, hit his friend with his fist and then strangled him, his friend, until he passed out. He then grabbed a knife, held it against my throat and told me to lie very still. He raped me. He held me hostage in that house for hours before we went back to his parents' house because he didn't want his family to see that I had been crying. Because I went home so late, his parents called my aunt and she demanded that my cousin and I be returned to Windhoek the very same day. I had always been labelled the black sheep of the family and didn't even try to explain myself because no one would have believed what had happened to me. I cried on the bus, the entire eight hour-long journey, until we arrived in Windhoek.

At eighteen, I met my ex-husband. We dated for three years before getting married, when I turned 21. He was the first person I felt I could trust and shared everything with him. One day, during an argument, he told me that I shouldn't think he believed my ''rape stories'' because, in his words, I had been born a whore. My sex-life with him was a truly horrific experience - it was as if he had imagined me a porn actress, or something. He behaved towards me in this manner because I wasn't a virgin when he had met me, he had said, and made me suffer, as a consequence. We were married for seven years and got divorced. 

I was still a young woman after the divorce and for the first time, could go out without asking anyone for permission. So, I went out and partied every opportunity I got. Men targeted me because I had already been married, had children, and was therefore considered to be ''very experienced''. Many of my so-called ''friends'' back then, who I had asked to give me a lift home, usually tried to rape me. None of them succeeded though because my ex-husband had been very violent and I had learned how to defend myself. I fought back. 

I've never told my story to anyone because I had believed throughout my life that no one would believe me. I was bullied at school. My parents responded as if I was a troublemaker and that's why other children were beating me up. I had to learn to stand up for myself and defend myself. The teachers at school thought I was just like that aggressive little girl who was filmed by her teacher, throwing a tantrum in class. 

I forgave all the men who had abused me sexually and who had tried to. I forgave the people who had bullied me because all of them have made me the person and the mother I am today. Out of my physically and sexually abusive marriage, God blessed me with two beautiful sons. Again, He also blessed me with the most wonderful husband and a beautiful daughter. I believe He did so because I forgave all my abusers. I also feel as if a mountain had been lifted from my shoulders after sharing my story. 

PS: Please, don't feel sorry for me? Mothers, try and protect your children wherever and as much as possible, please? Listen to them. Parents, when your child is rebellious, try and find out what is wrong, what has happened, what is the cause? These things do not happen overnight. Children are gifts from God and we, parents, have a responsibility to protect and care for them. For the sister who is afraid to tell someone her story, you may inbox me, Theoline Blommekind Strauss (Facebook handle). I am prepared to listen. No one is bad and worthless because they were raped and abused. 

September is women's month and we celebrate every brave woman who steps forward to share her story of survival.