Tanzania Diaries: Aisha

My name is Aisha, and I’m 22 years old. I was born and raised in the UK until the age of 11, when we migrated to Tanzania.

I want to tell the world what is happening because I know some people might be going through the same thing or have experienced it. It’s an issue rarely talked about because many African, Asian, and Arab cultures think it’s acceptable.

I have an elder sister and a brother, as well as three younger sisters. We were all born in the UK. Our life in the UK and here in Tanzania wasn’t normal like others, but we grew up with hope that one day, our lives would change somehow.

Life wasn’t hard in the UK. We went to good schools, dressed well, and lived happily, even if we didn’t have much. I used to love my father a lot—I trusted every word he said. He would talk about Africa, specifically Tanzania, where we come from. He told us he was building us a house there—a really beautiful, cozy place—so that, in the future, if we went on holiday, we would have a place to stay. We were so happy and excited to visit Tanzania.

But my mom never wanted to go. She never even showed a slight sign of being happy about Tanzania.

As time went on, my older sister was nearly ready for college. She was a teenager, and, as we all know, teenagers want space. She wanted to dress nicely, have a phone, and explore—to go to different places. But our lives were locked inside the house. We never celebrated religious events, never went to malls, cinemas, parks, or anywhere. She wanted to experience all the things she had been forced to miss out on.

Still, my sister wasn’t a bad person. She wasn’t into drugs or anything considered wrong in Islam or in a natural way of life. She just wanted space.

When our dad told us we were going to Tanzania for a holiday, we were so happy and excited to see the house he always talked about.

But when we arrived, it was completely different. The house wasn’t finished—there was no electricity, no water, and the ceiling leaked when it rained. It was far from shops, so we were often starving. We slept in the dark. My sister’s phone was taken away, and she couldn’t contact anyone for help. My mom was scared because, sometimes, our dad would beat her badly. She couldn’t stand up for herself or for us. We had to fetch water in buckets from a well.

Our life was worse than I can explain. My sister was mentally affected—she went crazy for two and a half years. Several times, she tried to kill herself. She would run into the streets and was nearly raped.

So many things happened. One day, I asked my father, “Why did you choose this life for us? Why are we living like this?” He said, “I’m protecting you from Western culture. You will forget God.”

But my question was: Why did he leave us and go back to the UK while our life in Tanzania was like hell? When things got worse, he left. God is everywhere, and people do good and bad everywhere.

When my brother turned 18, he went back to the UK because he is a boy and was favored in everything. The rest of us were left behind. When my sister was mentally stable, she wanted to get married at 20 to escape the toxic home. She stayed married for four years but got divorced. Some men here are cruel—they beat and oppress women. And if you complain to the sheikhs or imams about your husband, they always take the man’s side.

After her divorce, my sister was forced into another marriage. In Islamic and African cultures, if you’re divorced and single, people see you as a prostitute. To cover the shame, she was forced to marry again.

I’ve never liked it here. At 17, I begged my parents for my passport so I could return to the UK. In response, I was beaten, and they threatened me with jail. But I didn’t stop. I sought help from family friends, but no one helped me.

Eventually, I contacted the embassy. I got in touch with a Swahili man who worked there. I told him my story, and he said he would help me. But he was a scam. He told me to meet him sexually in exchange for his help. When I refused, he told my headteacher about my plans to run away. The headteacher, who was friends with this man, informed my father.

When my father found out, he nearly killed me. He took away my phone and everything else to silence me.

But I wasn’t afraid. At 18, I ran away from home. I was tired. I could feel myself turning into my older sister. I even came close to killing myself. Many things happened to me in this country. I was raped. And who could—or would—believe me? To my parents, I had no value. I was considered a shame. They would’ve married me off.

I live alone now. I do small business to survive. I earned a certificate in office administration.

I’m not going to lose my mind. I’ll show them that I can make it. I’ve seen so many girls with stories like mine. Some have been through worse things I can’t even describe.

One day, I’ll open an organization where women like me can be heard, helped, and have a place to live peacefully. But even if I don’t succeed, God knows my intentions are pure.

I’ll help my mother and sisters escape that hell one day. But I couldn’t stay there, or I wouldn’t be alive today.

I want to say to other girls in my situation: if you have a chance, run. God is with you.

Aisha Ahmed, 22