I remember the first time I was touched inappropriately. I was only ten. I didn’t understand it then, but I knew it was wrong. My distant family cousin forced his way into me but I laid stiff and defensive.

To him, I was very much asleep but I was wide awake and peeping at all his moves. He slowly moved to his bed when he could not succeed after several tries.

Growing up as a girl child in a society that teaches you to be silent, obedient, respectful and submissive even when you are hurting is like living in a world with no exits.

You feel the walls pressing in, not just from the acts of harassment themselves, but from the silence that follows. A silence louder than any scream I’ve ever let out in the privacy of my tears.

Sexual harassment is not always physical. It is not always obvious. Sometimes, it is a lingering look from an uncle that lasts too long.

Sometimes, it’s a teacher’s suggestive comments hidden behind fake compliments and other times, it’s a family friend’s sudden hand on your waist, or that particular neighbor living next door who expects a small something in exchange for some help rendered long ago.

It often starts subtly, with gestures we are told to ignore .“He’s just being friendly,” they say. But the touches get bolder, the words sharper and before we know it, we are trapped in a web of silence, fear and shame.

I was later threatened that if I dared tell anyone I was going to regret my existence. “After all no will is even going to believe you. And I’m going to make sure you are beaten so well in the end” with a wicked smirk on his face.

As a girl child, I quickly learn that your voice is a dangerous tool. One that can destroy families, lose jobs or bring shame to your community so we remain quiet.

Then there comes the fear of blame. Society rarely asks what happened to us. It asks what we were wearing, where we were, why we were alone, why we didn’t fight harder and why we didn’t speak up sooner.

I stayed silent because I knew no one would protect me. No one would fight for me. My silence wasn’t consent but survival. For four consecutive times and four different wicked creatures called men, I was wrongfully touched.

The causes of sexual harassment are woven deeply into our cultural and social fabric. Patriarchy teaches boys that they are entitled to the bodies and attention of girls. It teaches girls to shrink themselves and to be polite even when they are being violated.

Poverty on the other hand is another driver. Many girls endure harassment from teachers and school heads because they fear losing their education.

Others like me suffered in silence from relatives who fund our schooling and provide for their families. “If I speak, who will take care of us?” becomes a painful question with no answer.

Our broken justice systems also contribute. Cases are poorly investigated. Victims are shamed in courtrooms. Offenders are freed due to “lack of evidence and sometimes their status in society.” What then is the point of reporting when the system already sees you as a liar?

The effects of sexual harassment linger long after the physical encounters end. I still flinch when a man stands too close. Every man that comes into my life eventually leaves because I can’t be touched even in the most appropriate and affectionate manner.

I still doubt myself when I say no wondering if I am being too harsh, too dramatic and that is absolutely the right thing to do. My dreams were once big and bright. But for many years, they dimmed under the weight of trauma.

For some girls, the trauma manifests in dropping out of school, early pregnancies, depression or even suicide. We are taught to endure, to forget and to forgive.

But no one teaches us how to heal. I left home in fear young as I am to heal and feel secured without thinking twice of what the outside world also had for me and I am here today putting in my tiniest effort in everything I do because home that was supposed to be my safe space is not safe to return to and till now I have not had anyone to ask me why I left home.

 Change begins with listening. Truly listening  to girls when we speak. Believe us, Support us and Empower us.Schools must provide safe spaces and enforce strict codes of conduct. Teachers and school heads should not become threats, but protectors.

Communities must break the cycle of silence. Families must stop burying issues “to protect the family name.” We must teach boys that strength lies not in control, but in respect. Governments need to fund counselling services, enforce harsher punishments for offenders and provide free legal aid for victims.And most importantly, we must teach the girl child that her voice is not a weapon rather a shield, a sword and a lifeline.

I am no longer the scared little girl I once was. I write today not just for myself, but for every girl too afraid to speak.

Every girl sitting in a classroom or on a bus or at a dinner table feeling unsafe, unsure and unheard that though the uncertainties of tomorrow still haunt us, we can turn those uncertainties into hopes  if we are brave and if we build a world that listens, protects  and uplifts because every girl deserves a tomorrow free from fear.

The writer is currently a level three hundred student of the University of Media, Arts and Communication-Institute of Journalism (UniMAC-IJ) offering Communication in Journalism