he followed me through dark hallway
into the courtyard where i lived
and when i turned uncomfortable, 
he leered and came close, groping 

i shoved him away, told him to leave
in the language that he spoke
and ran up spiral staircase 
to the safety of my home
fastening main gate behind

telling my husband what happened
i unpacked my bag of groceries
purchased to feed our family
at the local outdoor bazaar

a few minutes later, i turned
and there he was 
in the doorway smirking 
three stories up, darkness behind.

arriving at my cry, my husband
ushered him back the way he came
and some of our neighbours 
joined the fray, indignant 

and later we considered that 
he was perhaps too stoned 
to realise

that my home was not a brothel,
that i was not for sale 
like other unfortunate women 
100 meters up the road

that night i was safe
but women i passed daily 
were absolutely not

i was grateful--  
and discounted this experience
as ‘not as bad’ as theirs
shoving it down, ignoring 

even though for weeks
i startled and turned 
while at my kitchen bench
senses and body remembering

and became hypervigilant 
when leaving my home
at all

it wasn’t until much later
that i learned trauma is trauma 
is trauma

it is never a competition
and someone else’s will always 
be worse……..always

that even smaller events just pushed aside  
can build upon themselves, like stones 
in a fence increasing  

that even mine were valid 
needed to be acknowledged 
(not relived, but recognised) 
in order to begin to heal
	
	--please know and understand 
            that yours are valid too

Photo by Amy Elting on Unsplash