It was a bright, al
fresco morning when the stepfather walked into the front office at school.
Almost immediately, my
coworkers began questioning him in Sesotho.
He was being accused of
sexually abusing his stepdaughter, a student at the school who lived in a nearby
village.
She told teachers he
allegedly got drunk and tried to molest her the night before. She ran to her
chief’s house. He did nothing to help.
The man denied his
stepdaughter’s account. Teachers listened. Took notes. Then they summoned the
chief (not the one the girl originally asked for help.)
The chief marched into
the office with three villagers. His black and white dog stood guard at the front
door. He listened to the stepfather’s account. Took notes.
Teachers then summoned
the girl. She walked in, barefoot, took a seat on a small wooden bench in the corner of the office. She
sat up straight in the glare of nearly a dozen eyes beaming on her tiny
frame. She looked her stepfather in the
eyes and gave her account.
In Sesotho, she told
him that he allegedly try to molest her.
The chief listened.
Took notes. Nodded his head.
Afterward, she left to
finish playing with her friends.
The chief’s helpers
tied up the man with a dirty, green rope and walked him to the village meeting
place, where he was mocked by villagers.
What struck me about
this incident was the little girl’s strength. She spoke up against her abuser.
To his face. What a difficult thing
to do.
Ultimately, this little
girl ended up attending a different school and village for safety and security
purposes. I think of her often and pray for her. I’ll never forget her courage
and conviction.
She is my hero. She is
a lion. She is a little girl with a whole lot of courage.
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