03/03/2025
On this International Women’s Day, I give my voice to Amiza Bibi. From victim to victor, you are my hero.
Here is her story.
“I am not here to talk about statistics, I am not here to chant slogans or hold banners.
I am here as a person, a sister of yours who has lived through emotional abuse, I have lived through being burnt with a steam iron, I have lived through marital r**e, I have lived through abandonment in my marriage, I have lived through economic abuse by a man who would not contribute to his own children during our marriage, I have lived through being told to not complain, I have lived through being told by my society that me complaining and seeking help made me the lowest form of human
being, I have lived through a life where I was to treat my abuser as if he were God Himself and to fall short meant that I would often be on the end of countless merciless beatings, I have lived through divorce, I have lived through having my in laws be more concerned about their family name and the honour of their son than my safety and well being, after all I was only an Indian woman, and that
made us the lowest of the low, subservient and silent.
I am Amiza Bibi of The Fiji Women’s Self Defence Program.
About two years into my marriage I received my first slap, my mother in law who always thought that I was not worthy of her son, complained that I was not cleaning the house properly. I can still remember him saying “Because of you she is getting on my nerves” the blood in my mouth was new, I was shocked but the taste of blood in my mouth became so common that it became normal and an indicator to me that I had to improve, I had to be better, I have to not be me anymore in the hope that I could go as long as possible without tasting that taste to tell me I had failed at being goodenough. I was a 23 year old mother and already begun to lose my autonomy to Domestic Violence.
He apologized and said it would never happen again, but that too became all too common as the violence escalated.
The beatings were hard and frequent, the pain in my body, my swollen face, my making excuses for why he was still a good man, my being burnt with a steam iron for being late ironing his shirt, my broken teeth…but this was not the worst.The abandonment was hard, the begging him to spend time with his children and I and not go off with his friends and drink alcohol and grog all night and sleep all day. To take his children to the park or just sit at home and watch a movie with us. No instead he only showed interest if he wanted my body and there would be a price to pay if I denied him, for he was a man and therefore had full
rights over me….and still this was not the worst.
I worked as a Ward Assistant at CWM hospital and pay days were hard, he would walk around the supermarket and load the trolley with items but when we reached the checkout line he would pull my pay packet out of his pocket and complain about the prices of things to the pretty young cashier, I didn’t mind because at least he was spending some time with us, and still this was not the worst.
The day after payday my son would ask for snacks that I could never find because he at night would eat all of their snacks and in two days eat the food allocation for the two weeks. Even though he was employed as a Taxi driver, I was the sole provider. Later I learnt that it was due to his ma*****na
habit which later turned into ICE addiction….and still this was not the worst.
I would have to give him money for his drugs, he would steal my ATM card and withdraw my wages to supply his habit. Then when I couldn’t afford to pay the weeks groceries and the babysitter I was again beaten. I remember sitting at work hungry because I was unable to buy my lunch because I was never allowed to keep any of my own money, but it was ok my swollen jaw and bruised body
made eating uncomfortable anyway…and still this was not the worst.
His losing his ability to perform as a man due to drug use was, pardon the pun, hard. I was blamed, I was called fat and ugly, I was told to show gratitude that he was the only person able to endure my ugliness, that my body that had bore two children disgusted him, that he only endured me for the sake of the children, his children not mine, never mine, I was told that I was not worthy of being a
pr******te because no man would pay for a pig, in the Muslim culture this is the worst of insults. I was told not to wear high heels because he was a short man and no woman should be taller than her husband, I started to believe him, that I was hideous and unworthy of love, that I was only a plaything for men’s pleasure….and still this was not the worst.
I fell in love with another man who thought that I was worthy of his time, that made me feel beautiful, worthy and lovable. When I realized I was falling into this trap I went home and begged to stay home, to not go to work because I was afraid of something I didn’t understand or could not control. I was told to keep working, and the inevitable happened I had an affair. Against my nature, against my teachings, against my upbringing I committed the worst act of my life. I must tell it because I am here to be truthful, I must tell it to be transparent, because I must own what the abuse did to me or I am destined to repeat it.
Sadly this man was already married and I had no idea. When my abuser found out, I was taken to my parent’s home and beaten in front of my father who could not stop it. I was told to return to work and say that the other man r**ed me. I couldn’t do that, I called up my family and left his house that day never to return I was a 30 year old, mother of two who betrayed her abuser and showed him no
gratitude and a divorcee, in the Indian community I had just committed social su***de.
I was the villain, not the man who abused me, the circumstances were never taken into
consideration…and still this was not the worst.
After leaving me, he attempted to r**e me, he threatened me with death, he went to complain to the hospital that I was stealing, I was cleared of all charges, when that failed he wrote to the Ministry of Health in order to get me fired. He would find out my shifts and send me photos of the places he was, saying he was going to tell management I was a pr******te. He began a smear campaign against me telling my co workers that I was selling myself on my days off. He was always asking me for s*x, that if I just had s*x with him that I would return because and I quote “I am the only one with the guts to sleep with you and have children”, He would follow me in the hospital transport, he would be waiting at the bus stop in the morning just to see that I was not with another man. He threatened my mother with death, he threatened to kill me, kill my children and then kill himself, he vowed to make sure no one would ever marry me because he would tell them stories about me, and of course his mother, who thought I was unworthy championed his cause, he would call my parents and tell them that I was with groups of men in hotels and drinking in nightclubs…when my parents came to check, I was always at work. I had to give my daughter up because I couldn’t afford to keep them both and he has not, till date paid a single cent for either of them…he was still running after me, not bad for a person he said was not worth a pig…and still this was not the worst.
The worst was that I learnt to hate, I hated him yes, for a while now I am indifferent, I wouldn’t
waste my breath to say his name. I learnt to hate myself, I learnt to think of myself as being unworthy and unlovable, that I was lowly and dirty, that I was never a good wife, that I deserved what I got, that I was never going to find happiness, the conversations I would have inside of my own head were ones of fear and doubt…and my soul was tortured, this was the worst. I was 31, single mother of one, divorcee and still a victim of Domestic Abuse.
My conclusion is a brighter tale. One day in the hospital I looked up to see a man in Muslim garb with a big beard. The difference was he was heavily tattooed and was not Indian. Three days later he appeared on my Facebook as a suggested friend. I added him and we began chatting. It was Ramadhan, by EID he had spoken to my parents about marriage, he would visit my family for dinners and sit with me in view of my parents until 9pm. He showed me an honour that I had never
experienced. After much negotiation we were married.
A second wave of abuse began, random
Indian men would say that I just didn’t have the right Indian guy in my bed, and that Indian man was obviously them but I was just a dumb woman so I didn’t understand, that I was a traitor to my race, that my parents didn’t raise me right….because you know we Indian women belong to Indian men.
The women were worse, they said all I wanted was s*x, I was a w***e who couldn’t find a nice Indian boy that it was because I was a divorcee that’s why I couldn’t find a nice Indian boy that’s why I had to slum it with the JAATI… I stepped away that day from being an Indian woman, and just started to be me.
I wore a face veil in Islamic fashion, because I had remarried and that was what my abuser had said, if I remarried he would run me over with his taxi. I hid, I asked my husband to stay home, I never left the house, I never went anywhere without my husband, he even had to come and stand with me in the various court cases I was fighting against my abuser. I am still very afraid, but I get a little more
courageous every day.
My husband is the Founder of the Fiji Women’s Self Defence Program and a senior martial arts instructor. I said I wanted to run it and he began training me. It shows not all men are abusers, that you take help from anyone who offers it, help is far better then the emotional and physical abuse.
This is how I healed, I learn to help women define themselves, to learn where help is, to learn how to stop the beatings, to learn to define themselves to learn to be free.
I myself will be free, truly free, at the first class I teach.
I will have completed my training in six months, then I will be knocking on a few doors because believe me this is the program we have been looking for. It is not a solution, but it will help immensely.
Well I am 33, a decade later from that first slap, I have both my children with me, I am happily married, I am more powerful, more fit, more confident then I have ever been, I am pursuing a modelling career and I am speaking at this year’s International Women’s Day in front of all you beautiful people as an activist for change.
My life changed the day my husband told me
“You do not get to choose the circumstances of your life, you do choose if it breaks you”
I now have a mantra, I say it a 100 times a day, a belief that I am programming into myself.
I AM AMIZA BIBI, I AM UNBREAKABLE!!!”
