The first thing I noticed was that he was old, he had a receding hairline and he dressed like one of my uncles (Picture: Payzee Malika)
When I was 16, I was a typical teenager growing up in South London.
I hoarded pop star posters of Britney Spears and Westlife to stick inside my wardrobe doors; I really enjoyed school and collected Goosebumps books.
But, unlike most of my teenage peers, I was also being forced into marriage.
I was born in Kurdistan in Iraq, just like my parents. We moved to the UK in 1999 and my Kurdish family was far from perfect.
We had the usual family dramas – you can only imagine the chaos of being the second youngest of five girls and sharing one bathroom. But on top of that, my parents were quite strict and there was a lot we weren’t allowed to do.
We couldn’t wear ‘western’ clothing – like short sleeve tops, skirts or shorts – talk to boys or socialise with friends outside of school. It felt like it was almost impossible to make our own choices.
One of those choices was who and when I was going to marry, even though my parents themselves did not have a forced marriage.
In England and Wales, the legal age for marriage is 18 – however, at the time, children could marry at 16 with parental consent.
Completely out of the blue, my parents sat me down on my bed and told me that a 30-year-old man had approached my dad about marrying me. They knew him through extended family and friends.
I just remember sitting in my room listening, while staring at my school books. The moment I found out my parents wanted me to get married, I was confused. I kept wondering what I had done wrong to make my parents want to marry me off to a complete stranger.
I was sad and felt so hopeless. I also didn’t have much of a say in the matter soI all I said was, ‘If that is what you want then ok’.
That was the day my childhood vanished right before my eyes.
A week or two later, I met George* in my parents’ living room. I sat on the sofa next to my mum while he sat on another sofa with my dad.
I was told by my parents beforehand that I should only say hello and be respectful but not speak after that. So I sat and listened to my parents and him discussing me and what a good girl I was. They then sent me out of the room and spoke amongst themselves.
The first thing I noticed was that he was old; he had a receding hairline and he dressed like one of my uncles. I remember feeling scared about not knowing what my life was going to be like with this man.
After this one meeting, the adults decided on the wedding date a few weeks later.
At the time, I had just started my first year of college and I told my friends at the time, as well as my teachers, but no one said anything to me. I felt like people thought it was normal, which I think internally normalised it for me – even though it didn’t feel right.
The next few weeks were such a blur and arrangements for the wedding were happening every day. Even though my parents tried to rope me into the planning process, I didn’t want to be involved and I found it so tedious – what 16-year-old enjoys going around picking furniture?
My parents would encourage me to choose jewellery for example, but I didn’t want to. My future husband would also come to my parents’ home sometimes, but it was weird. I didn’t look at him as my future husband and for the most part, I didn’t want him around.
At the same time, I was juggling my first year of college. I wanted to get stuck in to this new chapter, but instead of socialising with my new friends I was getting married.
On the day of my wedding, I felt nothing but dread. My dress was chosen for me and I was dolled up in layers of make-up to marry a stranger in front of family members and people I didn’t really know.
Yet no one even questioned what was going on. Surely someone could see this was wrong?
I felt sick and confused all day during the wedding ceremony and reception. I didn’t understand why all of these people were celebrating what was happening. Couldn’t they see I was so unhappy with what was going on? I felt betrayed by everyone there.
Nothing could prepare me for what was to come next. On a cold winter night, the wedding party concluded and for the first time ever I was alone with my husband. This was also the first night I had moved into his house, after never having seen it before.
I can only describe this night and following nights as gut-wrenching. No one should have to go through an experience like it. Although it made no sense to me, I tried my best to get through. I went into autopilot mode and just tried to survive.
Every day I woke up wishing my life was different (Picture: Payzee Malika)
I was still going to college, but every so often my husband would decide I couldn’t go anymore – sometimes for weeks at a time.
I was expected to cook, clean, look after the home and be his wife while he showed me off to his friends when they came over.
Life was so hard and I felt so alone. My husband wanted to start a family and I actually fell pregnant a few months into the marriage.
I was terrified of having his child because I knew it meant that I would be stuck with him forever so I told my nurse that I just wanted the baby gone and she referred me to get an abortion.
When I told my husband and my family that I was having an abortion, they tried to demand I have the baby and said that it would help me love my husband. I threatened that I wouldn’t be a good mum and that I would abandon the child, so they had no choice but to let me go through with the abortion.
Every day I woke up wishing my life was different. I just wanted to be like all my friends at college, not married with responsibilities of being a wife.
My marriage lasted just under two years.
I finally got a divorce when my sister Banaz was murdered in a so-called ‘honour’ killing. When I lost my sister, my husband would make threats that the same thing would happen to me. I knew then that I had to get out.
One day, I went to my parents and demanded that I wanted a divorce. My parents tried to persuade me to go back to my husband but I insisted. I have never seen him again since.
Just like me, my sister had been coerced into marriage as a 17-year-old child. Banaz had had enough of the abuse in her marriage so she reported it to the police with photos of her injuries.
She went to live with my parents, but this was not taken lightly by the wider family and community. There was gossip about her, name calling, shaming and people called her disrespectful for leaving her marriage.
The last few months of her life escalated very quickly. She had fallen in love with someone else and was beginning to find happiness, until her life was cut short by those who deemed this as ‘shameful’ and ‘dishonourable’.
I first found out my sister was missing in January when I walked into my parents’ home and the police knocked on the door. They arrested my father that night.
My dad, uncle and two cousins were eventually jailed for life after being found guilty of murder.
Three months later, the police found her body buried in a suitcase in a Birmingham garden. It was the worst moment of my entire life – I felt like I was on fire. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t believe it and it’s still so hard to believe.
My parents didn’t really speak about my sister’s death. It was always the big elephant in the room, still is. To this day they have never expressed their regret of forcing me or my sister into our marriages.
I spent the month of 18th birthday trying to learn how to divorce my husband and also organise my sister’s funeral. I got divorced the month I turned 18.
Life now is an ongoing challenge. There is a lot to live with and a lot of trauma to unpack but I am trying my best to turn these painful experiences into activism.
On the one hand, I was finally free from my husband but on the other I had just lost my best friend – my sweet sister Banaz.
The NGO I now work with (IKWRO) were at the forefront of my sister’s murder trial and campaigned for justice all those years ago. When I started speaking up about my experiences, I reached out to them and said I wanted to support their work.
IKWRO are dedicated to supporting MENA – Middle Eastern and North African -women and girls in the UK at risk of ‘honour’ based abuse, child marriage, forced marriage and FGM.
The legal age of marriage in England and Wales has been raised from 16 to 18, and adults could be jailed for facilitating underage marriages.
The bill, introduced in June 2021, was passed in parliament on April 26, 2022, without opposition and will receive Royal Assent later this week meaning it will become law from then.
As for me, my relationships with my family are a work in progress. Every day is another day of trying to make the most of the relationships I have left – mostly with my siblings.
I have one sister in witness protection whom I haven’t seen for 16 years and I try my best to have a healthy relationship with my other sisters. My other sisters were not forced to marry – they are in love marriages.
It is really difficult to have a relationship with any of my family members and have it be ‘normal’ like before. After all that is happened my relationships are constant working progress.
I often wonder how different life could have been if our lives were not hijacked by child marriage and that’s why I fight every day, so girls like me and my sister Banaz are safe from this.
*Name has been changed.
Do you have story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing james.besanvalle@metro.co.uk.