Tahirih Justice Center » Stories of Victory

Sofia’s Story

apaschke — Wed, 09 Jun 2010 21:08:19 +0000

Sofia*, an immigrant girl from Mexico, came home one day to find her mother lying in a pool of blood, unconscious on the floor. She had been severely beaten by her husband, Sofia’s stepfather. Although Sofia’s mother had been repeatedly abused by her husband, this time it was more severe than ever before. Sofia called 911. The police and trauma team air-lifted her mother, who had sustained a serious head injury, to the hospital.

When Sofia’s mother was discharged from the hospital, mother and daughter had nowhere safe to stay, so they returned to the only home they knew. Her mother told police that she was afraid of her husband and asked them to remove him from the trailer the family shared. The police arrested Sofia’s stepfather, but he was only jailed for a month. Upon his release, he went into hiding from the police and secretly returned to the trailer. He was outraged that Sofia had called for help. In revenge, he raped her. At age 11, Sofia became pregnant.

Sofia and her mother were afraid to stay any longer. Tahirih and a team of advocates successfully arranged emergency housing for them at a secure women’s shelter, far from Sofia’s stepfather. Tahirih, with the support of Crowell & Moring, filed a U visa petition for Sofia and her mother. On November 17, 2005, it was approved. At 12 years old, Sofia gave birth to a baby girl, whom she is now raising with her mother.

*Names have been changed to protect privacy. The photograph included here is not of Sofia. Photo by Sergio Pessolano.

Mateen’s Story

apaschke — Fri, 28 May 2010 19:28:47 +0000

When I married Kasim, I had no idea I was in for a lifetime of misery and violence.

My parents, especially my father, showered me with love and kindness throughout my early years growing up in Saudi Arabia. Yet, Kasim was nothing like my father, and instead of the happy marriage and loving household that I dreamed of, I suffered constant sexual, physical, and emotional torture at the hands of Kasim for over two decades.

Kasim brutally hurt me all the time. He beat me for lifting my veil from eyes so that I could see, he beat me in front of our children (and often beat them, too), and he would beat me and call me derogatory names in public. Once, when I asked him not to beat our maid, he became furious at me, beat me so severely that he sheared my earlobe, and locked me up in the house for fifteen days straight. When I begged him to allow me to use the bathroom during this imprisonment, he told me to use the garbage can. I felt so humiliated. Kasim had an easy time getting away with hurting me because he was a wealthy, respected physician. He boasted to me constantly that he could do anything to me in Saudi Arabia and no one could stop him.

Kasim would force me to have sex with him constantly from the very beginning of our marriage. Once, when I gently told him that I did not feel like having sex because I had severe back pain, Kasim beat me so hard on my head and body that I lost consciousness. When I woke up, he had removed my clothes and was forcing himself on me. I felt sick and wanted to vomit. Another time, when I was in the United States for my son’s kidney transplant, I called Kasim, who was in Saudi Arabia, and told him that I used our credit card to get the tires on our car changed. He screamed at me for changing the tires without asking for his permission first and told me he was going to come to the United States to kill me. I was shocked when he actually showed up at our house in Virginia the very next day and started beating me. Luckily, a neighbor saw the beating, and the Virginia police came and arrested Kasim for a few days. After they let him out, he returned to Saudi Arabia, and when I went back, he punished me for his arrest by beating me for a whole day. He broke my left eardrum such that when I breathed, it felt as if I were breathing in air from my left ear. To this day, I suffer from problems in that ear.

After that incident and almost twenty-five years of this torturous marriage, I finally mustered up the courage to file for divorce from Kasim. I moved from place to place in Saudi Arabia so that he would not find and kill me as I was fighting for divorce. I am still surprised that I was able to obtain a divorce, because Kasim had the police come to arrest and harass my family members to threaten me to revoke the divorce petition. Even the judge tried to convince me to withdraw my petition. Kasim vowed to kill me when I got the divorce from him, and I knew he meant it because he felt I had dishonored his manhood. I decided to flee to the United States because it was the only place Kasim had ever been arrested for hurting me. I felt it was the only country that could protect me from Kasim.

With the help of the Tahirih Justice Center and Fidelis Agbapuruonwu at Mayer Brown, I was granted asylum in the United States in the spring of 2008. I wept so much when I heard the good news. The experience of a twenty-five-year long violent marriage will never go away. But I am finally free and safe to build a new life for myself and my children.

*Names have been changed to protect privacy. The photograph included here is not of Mateen. Photo by Sergio Pessolano.

Faizah’s Story

apaschke — Mon, 24 May 2010 15:14:49 +0000

They told me that worms would come out of my clitoris if I was not “excised.” I will never allow my daughter to go through the same suffering that I did.

When I was five years old, my family forced me to undergo female genital mutilation in our small village in West Africa. No girl could refuse, and especially not me, because my father was an elder in the village. I remember it vividly—four women held me down as I screamed out in unbearable pain. For up to two months afterwards, my mother poured a painfully scalding hot mixture on my private parts as part of this ritual. I was only a small child to suffer such pain.

But the next time they did this to me, I was a teenager. Because my family and village deeply believed that all women must be excised, I was compelled to undergo frequent examinations. When I was around fifteen, they determined that my clitoris was growing back, and I was forced to undergo the horrible procedure again. This time, my father’s wives held me down, and as before, my genitals were cut with an unsterilized knife and no anesthetic. As before, the procedure was excruciatingly painful, and this time, I bled for an entire day afterward.

Although I continued to experience pain and frequent, vivid nightmares of the procedure, I was one of the lucky ones in my village because I was able to go to school and get an education. In my early twenties, I met my husband Paul, who was a Christian, and I began accompanying him to his church. Paul and I fell in love and decided to marry.

In spite of the happiness we shared, my excisions continued to haunt me. The procedures resulted in physical, psychological, and emotional pain that I have carried my whole life. I endured the pain and heartbreak of four miscarriages. To become a mother, which is all I wanted, I had to undergo very painful corrective procedures in order to give birth to my daughter and son. Even now, after the corrective medical procedure, making love to my husband makes me bleed, gives me excruciating pain, and causes me extreme sadness because it robs me of my ability to enjoy intimacy with the man I love.

After my daughter, Marian, was born, my family told me that she needed to be excised. They believed it was their right to have Marian mutilated, and I knew they would punish me and forcibly excise her if I tried to stop it from happening. I was horrified by the thought and knew that I had to protect my daughter at all costs so that she did not have to suffer what I still suffer.

Paul moved our family to the United States for him to attend school shortly after Marian’s birth. I applied for asylum here knowing that no one in my country would protect us from the harm that we faced if we returned. Many of the police there believe women should be mutilated, and will not interfere in family matters. Thank God for the Tahirih Justice Center and my wonderful pro bono lawyers who took my case. They spent endless hours working on my behalf, and finally, in September of 2008, we won asylum in the United States. I am thrilled beyond belief that my family is finally safe and free. I look at my daughter everyday and thank God that I was able to protect her from the violence that I faced.

*Names have been changed to protect privacy. The photograph included here is not of Faizah. Photo by Sergio Pessolano.

Rati’s Story

svarghese — Fri, 26 Jun 2009 17:18:55 +0000

In December 2004, my family introduced me to a man in hopes of arranging our marriage. He appeared to be a promising partner—a handsome doctor with a bright future in the United States. At the time, I had accomplished much in my professional career and was ready to get married, which is why I agreed to the match. Shortly after our marriage, I moved to the United States from India to embark upon my new life as a married woman, but my initial excitement was quickly and abruptly shattered.

The abuse began within the first few hours of moving into my new home. I was subjected to nearly constant physical, sexual, and psychological abuse. My husband exercised control over every aspect and dictated every detail of my life—from when I slept, to what I ate, to what I wore. I was shocked to discover that I had married a violent and possessive man. I was terrified and helpless, without any control over my own life. In one particularly violent moment while we rode in the car, my husband became angered because I took my eyes off him and looked out the window. In retaliation, he grabbed my head and slammed it into the car window, breaking blood vessels in my eye.

I was enmeshed in his abuse like a bee in a malevolent spider’s web. Escape seemed impossible; I came to the United States on an H-4 visa, a type of visa intended for spouses of foreign guest workers in specialty occupations (H-1B holders). I had no way of working to support myself. I was entirely reliant on my husband for my survival and thus endured the abuse for months.

A few months after my arrival in the United States, my husband decided to take me to the United Kingdom for a holiday. When we arrived at Heathrow airport, he was in a particularly cruel mood. He screamed at me and said that he and I should go separate ways on reaching our destination. After going through immigration, I asked him for some money. My husband ordered me to beg and plead before him in public. I refused and tried to use a credit card to change some money. Frustrated that he was losing control, my husband caught me by the shoulder and physically dragged me away while I was speaking to the woman behind the counter. He cornered me and began taunting me as I remained backed up against a wall. Frightened, I placed the credit card in his pocket and decided it was time to escape.

Without money and with only two pairs of clothes in my suitcase, I somehow managed to call my cousin who helped me find the courage to return to the United States to piece together a life independent of my husband. My cousin bought me a ticket back to Maryland where my relatives were living, and thus I escaped my husband and his violence. With the support of my family, I obtained a protective order against my husband and informed the police about the violence to which I had been subjected. My husband was arrested and charged with assault and domestic violence.

With the help of the Tahirih Justice Center and my pro bono attorneys at DLA Piper, Emily Caputo and Roberta Ritvo, I applied for a U visa, a form of immigration relief for victims of crime who assist law enforcement in the investigation or prosecution of their perpetrators. On May 2, 2006, I was granted Deferred Action status, allowing me to temporarily remain in the United States. At that time, regulations governing the visa had not yet been issued. Before the regulations were released, many women like me had to renew our status annually, waiting in legal limbo until the provisions were finalized. Fortunately, the regulations were issued in 2007, and Tahirih helped me to reapply. Finally, as of just a few weeks ago, my U visa was approved, making me eligible to become a permanent resident.

The freedom I have found with the help of the Tahirih Justice Center, advocates at DLA Piper, family, and counselors has inspired me. I now volunteer at a local domestic violence center to try to be of support to women who are experiencing what I have endured. In addition to my full time job, I am also pursuing a career as a real estate agent. In my free time, I express my creativity by making jewelry and scarves. Most importantly, I live a life free of abuse and full of security and self-confidence.

After Nine Years of Waiting for Justice, U Visa Approvals Finally Underway

After nine years of waiting, immigrant victims of crime are just now receiving protection under the U visa. These visa grants are a historic development for protecting immigrant victims of violence. The U visa was created in 2000 for victims of crime, but the government failed to issue the visa consistently until now. Throughout the country, approximately 14,000 U visa-eligible immigrants continue to wait for justice. Rati’s approval was the first U visa granted for a Tahirih client, yet other victims continue to face distressing backlogs and delays.
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Isabel’s Story

svarghese — Thu, 26 Mar 2009 13:20:05 +0000

I married my sweetheart. We met when we were both 14 years old, just schoolchildren. He left for the United States a few years after we met. We wrote love letters. He sent me gifts like lotion, make-up, and clothes. I felt loved.

I graduated high school and we married. We had dated for five years. When he proposed, he traveled to El Salvador to be with me. He proposed to my parents first, according to tradition. Then he asked me to spend my life with him. I agreed. On a hot summer day in El Salvador, we celebrated our marriage.

For the next six years, Eduardo* lived and worked in the United States while I stayed at home in El Salvador. He told me that women in America “got ruined.” I visited him at least once a year and had three children during this period—a daughter and two little boys. We all lived at my mother’s home.

Eduardo and I talked of living together in El Salvador. He told me he intended to come back, and I was happy to envision growing old together in the country. But then I learned that Eduardo had destroyed this dream by getting into enormous debt in the United States. He summoned me to join him there to help work it off. Once I came, I realized he never intended to return home.

By the time I recognized how much trouble Eduardo faced, he was already controlling me emotionally and physically. He monitored everything I did. He didn’t want people to see me in public. He was never this way before. Things got progressively worse. Respect between us started to disappear, and once it was gone, there was no longer a single thread of the relationship I thought we had.

The situation worsened when Eduardo began coming home drunk. I demanded to know where he had been, but he just raised his voice to scream insults in my face. We fought every night. He pushed me, threw me on the bed, threatened me, and strangled me. Throughout these assaults, he laced his violence with threats to call immigration to have me deported while the children remained in the United States with him.

One night Eduardo grabbed my hair and then pulled me to him to get a grip on my neck. He did this in front of his mother, who told me not to disrespect him as I struggled to escape his grip. I called the police, but my husband told me the police would arrest me. I told the operator I had the wrong number and hung up.

A few days later, I moved to a friend’s house and got a job cleaning houses. I struggled to pay all the bills for my three kids. Eduardo called to encourage me to come back home. I refused his pleas. After a few rejections, Eduardo began using threats by talking about the place where I worked and describing how few police monitored the neighborhood. I told the company I could no longer work nights. I struggled to move forward and keep my children safe and healthy.

Thankfully, I found the Tahirih Justice Center and they helped me get the legal status I was entitled to, separate from my abusive husband. Tahirih partnered with a wonderful pro bono attorney named Andrew McCormack from the law firm WilmerHale in Washington, DC who helped me prepare my application under the Violence Against Women Act. After some time, my petition was approved. I am so grateful that I am able to remain in the United States and care for my children.

*Names have been changed to protect privacy. The photograph included here is not of Isabel. Photo by Sergio Pessolano.

Fatima’s Story

vince — Tue, 06 Jan 2009 22:31:44 +0000

My name is Fatima* and I am from Guinea. I always dreamed of the life I could have had, if only my father did not die when I was a baby. My mother loved my father so much and was devastated when he died in a car accident. But she was not a widow for long. In line with our tribal customs, she was forced to marry my father’s brother, a greedy and abusive man. As my new stepfather, he physically abused us regularly. He beat my mother openly, punching her in the face in front of all of her young, scared children. My siblings and I were not spared from his unrestrained violence either. He often made me lie down on the floor and then would start beating me with his belt. He made our lives miserable.

All the more because of this terrible experience, I hoped to marry a man that I loved, just as my mother had when she married my father. But these hopes were dashed when, as a teenager, my stepfather forced me to marry a friend of his named Cheikh.* I was only 17, and this man was 42. I had not even completed high school. I was devastated and cried throughout the entire marriage ceremony.

This very real nightmare only got worse after my marriage to Cheikh. He was violent and beat me several times a week—using his fists, belts, and even small tree branches. I still have scars on my body and I cannot walk without pain to this very day. He raped me constantly, starting on my wedding night, when he held my face down and forced himself onto me.

Cheikh believed that it was shameful that I was not “circumcised.” In our tribe, almost all of the women undergo female genital mutilation. However, because my father was against the practice, and out of respect for his wishes, no one had forced me to go through it. When Cheikh asked me to undergo the procedure after marriage, I refused. Little did I know that he was planning to force it on me.

In 2004, Cheikh drove me to his village for a “vacation,” during which I stayed with his family members. A few days into our visit, his family told me that we were going to visit some family friends in the village. When I entered the door of the “family friends,” I was horrified to see several naked girls on the floor who were being cut. When I realized that this was a trap, I cried out and struggled to leave the house, but it was too late. My clothes were torn off, and three women pinned me to the ground while two others used a dirty knife to mutilate me. The pain was excruciating, and I struggled and screamed throughout the procedure.

I couldn’t walk normally, and I experienced recurring bleeding for several weeks after the procedure. When I returned to Cheikh, it was even more painful than before when he resumed raping me. He also continued beating me with as much fervor as before.

After unsuccessfully trying to run away from Cheikh on two different occasions, I finally got my chance to flee when my aunt and mother made secret arrangements for me to leave Guinea. After I arrived in the United States in 2006, I learned about the Tahirih Justice Center. Tahirih partnered with the great attorneys that worked on my asylum case, Kyle Cohen and Sara Zogg, from the law firm of Howrey, LLP. Due to their hard work on my behalf, I was granted asylum by an immigration judge in 2007, just a couple of days before Thanksgiving. I still don’t know how to thank my attorneys and everyone at the Tahirih Justice Center for all of their support throughout this difficult process. They are all truly my heroes.

*Names have been changed to protect privacy. Photo by Sergio Pessolano.

Bianca’s Story

vince — Fri, 19 Sep 2008 14:55:24 +0000

Bianca* and her three young children fled their home in West Africa when her husband’s family was preparing to perform the ritual known as female genital mutilation on her two-year-old daughter as a “cure” for her recently diagnosed dwarfism (considered a curse by local customs). But the challenges Bianca faced in leaving her country did not prepare her for the hardship to come once she arrived in the United States. She and her children arrived in the winter with nowhere to stay––they did not even have winter coats. The day Bianca first came to our offices, she and her children had walked for hours, sometimes along a highway, to get to us. She carried her suitcase with her only belongings over her head.

Tahirih filed an asylum case on Bianca’s behalf based on the threat her daughter faced if they returned home. But that was just the first step; Bianca had to find a way to survive in the meantime. For over a month, she and her children lived in an abandoned building. They had no furniture, beds or heat. Because of her immigration status, she did not qualify for a homeless shelter. And because she wasn’t herself a victim, she did not qualify for a domestic violence shelter either. At the time, Tahirih did not have a social worker on staff and our legal staff spent a tremendous amount of time advocating on her behalf. After many desperate pleas by Tahirih attorneys, Bianca and her children were finally accepted in a local shelter.

Her struggles did not end there, however. The shelter required all residents to vacate the facilities during the day. In the winter, Bianca and her children would often ride on the Metro all day to protect themselves from the cold. During warmer months, they would go to nearby parks and wait until it was time to return to the shelter. Although Bianca had a successful career as a businesswoman in Africa, until her case was resolved, she could not work in the United States. Although she is now in a much better state, memories of the days when she was unable to independently care for herself and her children continue to haunt Bianca.

*Names have been changed to protect privacy. The photograph included here is not of Bianca and was generously provided by Sergio Pessolano.

Preethi’s Story

vince — Tue, 29 Jul 2008 22:38:22 +0000

My marriage to Duri* was arranged by my parents with the best of intentions. I was excited and had always dreamed of getting married. After a six-month engagement, Duri and I were married near my home in India, with hundreds of guests in attendance. Both Duri and I were dentists, and the plan was for me to leave my family, move with Duri to the United States, and become a licensed dentist there as well.

It didn’t take long after our move to the United States for my dream to fall apart. From the beginning, the emotional abuse from Duri was nonstop, and I knew no one else in the country to turn to for help. The insults were constant and varied. My husband called me a whore and would lock me out of our room. That wasn’t the hardest part though—the forced isolation was worse. Duri prevented me from accessing food, clothing, money, a car, the internet, a phone, and most importantly, my family and friends. If ever I was allowed to contact my family, Duri would monitor my calls and log into my email account to read my mail. He even locked me out of our home in the middle of a winter snowstorm, taunting me the entire time I was outside.

Duri played on my deepest fears, regularly threatening to divorce me and have me deported. Because my family is a traditional Hindu family, I could imagine nothing more hurtful and shameful than having to return to India as a divorcée. Although I could find work as a dentist in India, I could not imagine how unbearable my life would be if I returned from a failed marriage. Duri knew that bringing this shame on my family and on me was my greatest fear.

While I tried to pursue my goal of becoming a dentist in the United States, the emotional toll of my marriage proved too much. One night, I drank acetone in hopes that I would escape what my life had become. I spent the night on the bathroom floor, vomiting repeatedly, while my husband refused to help me. I struggled to recover on my own.

Then, one day I woke up to find that my husband was gone. He had moved out of the house, yet would still come by once a week, briefly, and always arriving with insults. Eventually, he stopped paying for the utilities and one by one they were cut off—first the gas, then the electricity. Duri had hoped that he could make my life so miserable that I would leave. I endured his weekly visits and verbal abuse because I was determined to be true to my Indian culture and not be the one to file for divorce. I was able to find a job to get by, but during this period I was so troubled that I could barely eat or sleep.

Thankfully, I now have a second chance at life and a renewed sense of hope due to the help of the Tahirih Justice Center. I am currently waiting to learn the status of my battered spouse waiver, which if granted would allow me to become a full legal permanent resident without my husband’s assistance. Meanwhile, Tahirih has worked to provide other critical services to help me escape my husband’s abuse. Allison Medina, Tahirih’s Managing Social Worker, encouraged me to see a therapist and referred me to one. I was then able to obtain the help and medication I needed to once again eat, sleep, and feel like a real person.

In addition, with Tahirih’s help, I obtained a scholarship to take a Kaplan dental exam preparation class and recently found out that I passed the exam. Razan Fayez, Tahirih’s Managing Family Law Attorney, challenged my husband’s attorney, who is known to be one of the top ten domestic relations lawyers in Virginia, and negotiated a favorable spousal support agreement. With this support, I will now be able to attend dental school in the United States, which I hope to begin in the spring of 2009. My greatest hope is to one day join Tahirih’s Pro Bono Medical Network and offer dental services to Tahirih clients.

*Names have been changed to protect privacy. Photo by Manish Bansal.

Rana’s Story

vince — Tue, 20 May 2008 22:41:26 +0000

Some people can think back to happy childhood days. But all of my memories are only of violence and misery.

My name is Rana* and I am from Saudi Arabia. I was orphaned at a young age and left to the mercy of my two violent and cruel older brothers, Sa’ad and Ghafoor. Even when I was a small child, they beat me for speaking “too loudly” or for studying instead of cleaning up after them. As I grew older, the beatings only grew worse. I can not remember a time when I was free of violence.

Sa’ad, my eldest brother and head of the household, was particularly brutal. He routinely beat me—sometimes with his fists, sometimes with hard objects like belts or tape recorders—for wanting to complete my education and work. He would grow especially enraged at the paranoid thought that I might have a boyfriend, even though as a chaste, observant Muslim woman, I never did. Once, when I apparently received a marriage proposal from a suitor I had never met, Sa’ad decided to punish me. He grabbed a metal curtain rod and beat me so hard with it that the curtain rod was completely twisted and broken, and I had defecated on myself by the time he was done. Because the curtain rod had become useless, Sa’ad then picked up a chain and proceeded to whip me with it. This was only one of many horrible punishments I endured at Sa’ad’s hands.

In spite of the violence and harassment I faced from Sa’ad and Ghafoor, I still managed to complete my education. I was the only one in our family to do so. Instead of being proud of me, Sa’ad hated me all the more for it and continued to make my life miserable.

When I was about 25 years old, Sa’ad told me to prepare for my wedding. I was to be married to Sa’ad’s wife’s grandfather in exchange for a large dowry. An illiterate villager over 70 years old, he had two wives, several children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren. I was shocked and horrified, but when I protested, Sa’ad grew violent. I endured a forced engagement party, knowing that only God could save me from this horrible fate, since Sa’ad would kill me if I refused to marry the old man.

My prayers were answered when I sought the assistance of my kind and sympathetic cousin in the United States, who then convinced Sa’ad to send me to America on the pretense of a wedding shopping trip. After I fled, I found the Tahirih Justice Center, which not only helped me receive asylum, but also worked to ensure that I had the psychological counseling I needed to begin to heal the lifetime of violence that I had endured.

Rana received asylum in the United States in 2007. She is currently pursuing further education and is happily married to a man of her own choosing.

*Names have been changed to protect privacy. Photo by James Gordon.

Anele’s Story

vince — Wed, 05 Mar 2008 22:23:06 +0000

I grew up in a small South African village. I went to college, and became a teacher after graduating. When the government planned to redeploy teachers, I was forced to look elsewhere. I had always dreamed of traveling to different countries, so friends suggested I apply for nanny positions.

A friend introduced me to a woman named Sarah, who offered to arrange a potential nanny position. She promised that it would pay $300 weekly, require less than 40 hours of work a week, and allow me to attend school. I saved for a few months to pay the fee Sarah required, which was twice my monthly salary. When I called back, a man named Francisco returned my message. He told me where to deposit my money, and then directed me to come to Cape Town where he made arrangements for my departure.

I flew to the United States and arrived at Dulles International Airport where my new employers, Pat and her husband David, picked me up and took me to their home. They showed me to my room in the basement. Soon after, Pat explained my new job responsibilities. I was shocked to learn how different they were from those described to me by Sarah in South Africa.

What was supposed to be only daytime childcare turned out to be 24-7 on-call domestic servitude. At 7:00 a.m. I was to get their three kids ready for school. Then, I was to spend about seven hours cleaning the house, making all the beds, scrubbing the bathrooms, doing the laundry, ironing clothes, and a long list of other domestic chores. Around 3:00 p.m. I was to pick the kids up from school, watch them, and keep the house tidy. At 8:00 p.m., the kids went to bed, but I often was assigned other tasks.

I was paid a mere $140 per week, $1.75 hourly if you divide that over 80 hours. In addition, Pat and David monitored all of my calls, and threatened to have me deported or arrested if I reached out to anyone outside the home for help. I could not go back to South Africa because David took my passport and return ticket, demanding that I first repay the $6,000 he spent for me to come to the United States.

$6,000. I was bought for that price.

Nevertheless, I genuinely loved the three children I cared for. Through them I met Elizabeth, a nanny in the neighborhood who encouraged me to escape. One day, I broke into my employers’ bedroom and found my passport. Then I called Elizabeth, who took me to a motel in a small town in rural Maryland. After hiding there for a month, I stayed in random people’s homes, and sometimes became homeless for a few days at a time to avoid staying with men who demanded sexual favors from me in return for shelter. There were days when I did not eat, did not sleep, and felt like my world was falling apart. Life lasted like this for months.

Fortunately, a service provider referred me to the Tahirih Justice Center. Tahirih arranged for a wonderful and caring team of pro bono attorneys at Howrey LLP to help me prepare an application for a T visa, which specifically addresses trafficking cases like mine. In April 2007 I received my visa. Then I got my work permit. I met with Tahirih’s social worker, and she helped me to pay for nursing school classes. I look forward to becoming a professional in the healthcare field. I enjoy caring for people. It is a slow process but with the support of my friends and family, including my Tahirih family, I am beginning to recover from my traumatic journey.

*Names have been changed to protect privacy. The photograph included here is not of Anele and was generously provided by Rosita Najmi.