I huddled in the sewer for four hours, surrounded by dirt and stench, flies biting me all over. I knew the Taliban men had come to kill me.
Over the years, I’ve developed a reputation of being a fighter. I’m not interested in conversation or negotiations—I want justice for my clients and am always ready for the next challenge.
Members of feminist organizations and social groups in several cities in Colombia went out to march on March 8, in commemoration of International Women's Day.
I silently prayed, waiting in fear for whatever was about to happen. A few minutes later, I felt a sharp pain in my genital area as my flesh was cut off. They gave me no painkillers or anesthesia as they cut; the pain overwhelmed me, and I lost all my strength.
Rider Sisters has become a social responsibility. It shows the wonders women can accomplish together. As female skaters, we share a path, and we are opening opportunities for other women.
My neighbors heard me screaming and called the police. They found me in a pool of blood with a severed hand on the floor. My other hand was almost detached and could not be saved.
The protest had an increased urgency, as that very issue is due to be settled in Colombian Constitutional Court in the coming months.
My husband, 10 years my senior, shouted at me for no reason. He would often beat me with his belt and throw me out of the house. Other times, he would grab me by the hair, throw me on the floor, get on top of me and choke me.
The men took advantage of our desperation and ignorance, using us for their pleasure and paying nearly nothing.
In the past two decades, we could dream. We could become doctors, college instructors, business owners. We could drive, compete in sports, represent our country in parliament. Now, that is all gone.
A chokoraa like me cannot report a rape case and have it followed up, like people with stable homes. Where do you even start when you do not know the person who assaulted you?
Batons, sticks, electrical cables, and whips pummeled my thighs, back, shoulder, and face. The blows broke my right hand. My mouth oozed blood, and bruises covered my body. When I begged for my release, they just beat me harder.