Alemtsahye Gebrekidan was 10 when her childhood came to an abrupt end. 'I was playing outside and my mum called me inside to the house,' she remembers of the day her world changed forever.
'She said "you're going to marry". I was surprised and I cried but I didn't say anything to them [her parents].' Her wedding, to a boy of 16, took place just two months later.
'A girl who is married as a child is one whose potential will not be fulfilled.'...
'She said "you're going to marry". I was surprised and I cried but I didn't say anything to them [her parents].' Her wedding, to a boy of 16, took place just two months later.
'A girl who is married as a child is one whose potential will not be fulfilled.'...
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| Alemtsahye Gebrekidan |
'My parents and his parents decided [on the marriage],' she adds. 'I didn't choose.'
Before the subject of marriage was raised, Alemtsahye remembers a happy childhood in Ethiopia's northern Tigray province.
'I was in school,' she remembers, 'although I stopped the school when I was married. I do have happy memories of childhood - it was just eat and play.'
All that ended when it was decided she would marry a boy, who until the day of their wedding, she had never met.
'I didn't know him,' she says. 'I was OK when I saw him - he was a child like me. He was upset as well, the same like me... he was 16 years old.'
As Alemtsahye's story reveals, girls aren't the only victims of forced marriages, although as Jacqui Hunt, London Director of campaigning charity Equality Now makes clear, their experience is often far more traumatic.
'Boys do get married young and that is an issue that needs to be addressed,' she explains. 'But the majority of child marriages involve girls.
'Also, boys tend to marry girls same age or younger while girls marry much older men. Boys also aren't taken out of education while girls run the risk of early childbirth and all the complications that brings.'
While Alemtsahye was, at least, given a husband closer to her own age, the wedding meant leaving home, leaving school and beginning life as a traditional Ethiopian wife.
'I was collecting water, wood and cooking for my husband and the days were like that,' she remembers.
'The water was far away and not near to our house. We would go far, then come back and I would cook for my husband.'
By the time she was 13, Alemtsahye, although still a child herself, had a baby son, Tefsalen, now 25, to care for as well.
She remembers the pregnancy and birth as a traumatic time, made worse by the fact that her immature body couldn't cope with the physical demands of carrying a baby.
'When I was pregnant, it was painful and I cried,' she recalls. 'And also when the baby was delivered it was so painful because I was a child.'
But if pregnancy was difficult, motherhood was even tougher and made worse by the fact that in 1989, Ethiopia was in the throes of a vicious civil war.
The conflict, which raged intermittently from 1974 until 1991, eventually left more than 1.4 million dead, among them, Alemtsahye's young husband who was just 19 when he was killed fighting with rebel forces to overthrow Ethiopia's barbarous Marxist dictator, Mengistu Haile Mariam.
'After the baby was born, there was a very bad war, and my husband, they took him, and he was 19 years old and he was dead in the war,' she says, her English slightly halting as she remembers.
'I was a widow at 13 and when [my husband] left me, he left me with a one-year-old baby. It was very hard. Very difficult for me left behind with a baby and still a baby myself.'
And although she hadn't wanted to marry her husband, Alemtsahye says she still feels sad when she thinks of his short life and how little enjoyment he had.
'I feel sorry for him because he did not enjoy his life,' she says. 'He married young and finished in a war that ended his life. When I see his son, I sometimes cry.'
Left alone with only her son, Alemtsahye was left vulnerable and soon fell into the hands of traffickers, tempted by promises of a better life abroad.
Leaving her son with her mother, she travelled to Egypt where she worked as an unpaid domestic servant.
But just two months after arriving, more traffickers appeared - this time promising her a new life in the UK.
'I was smuggled to London by Arab people,' she explains. 'They said: "you are working with us and we will take you to London". They brought me and then they left me here.'
Still just 16-years-old, the former child bride was now an asylum seeker, initially placed with a foster family because of her youth but swiftly moved to a tiny flat of her own.
She went back to school and learned English and now has set up a charity which aims to help former child brides from Ethiopia and is part of Girls Not Brides - a global network of NGOs working to end child marriage.
Her son, now 25, lives in the Ethiopian capital, Addis Ababa, and grew up with his grandparents, only seeing his mother during her occasional visits home.
'It was so hard, very difficult,' she says frankly. 'I was thinking how to bring him to live with me [in London] but I can't bring him now because he's in his 20s. I tried last year and they said no.'
'I would say to girls, don't marry. Enjoy your childhood and go to school - learn. For me, I feel my childhood was robbed. I missed my education - I ended up empty - with nothing! I learned everything in London.'
Before the subject of marriage was raised, Alemtsahye remembers a happy childhood in Ethiopia's northern Tigray province.
'I was in school,' she remembers, 'although I stopped the school when I was married. I do have happy memories of childhood - it was just eat and play.'
All that ended when it was decided she would marry a boy, who until the day of their wedding, she had never met.
'I didn't know him,' she says. 'I was OK when I saw him - he was a child like me. He was upset as well, the same like me... he was 16 years old.'
As Alemtsahye's story reveals, girls aren't the only victims of forced marriages, although as Jacqui Hunt, London Director of campaigning charity Equality Now makes clear, their experience is often far more traumatic.
'Boys do get married young and that is an issue that needs to be addressed,' she explains. 'But the majority of child marriages involve girls.
'Also, boys tend to marry girls same age or younger while girls marry much older men. Boys also aren't taken out of education while girls run the risk of early childbirth and all the complications that brings.'
While Alemtsahye was, at least, given a husband closer to her own age, the wedding meant leaving home, leaving school and beginning life as a traditional Ethiopian wife.
'I was collecting water, wood and cooking for my husband and the days were like that,' she remembers.
'The water was far away and not near to our house. We would go far, then come back and I would cook for my husband.'
By the time she was 13, Alemtsahye, although still a child herself, had a baby son, Tefsalen, now 25, to care for as well.
She remembers the pregnancy and birth as a traumatic time, made worse by the fact that her immature body couldn't cope with the physical demands of carrying a baby.
'When I was pregnant, it was painful and I cried,' she recalls. 'And also when the baby was delivered it was so painful because I was a child.'
But if pregnancy was difficult, motherhood was even tougher and made worse by the fact that in 1989, Ethiopia was in the throes of a vicious civil war.
The conflict, which raged intermittently from 1974 until 1991, eventually left more than 1.4 million dead, among them, Alemtsahye's young husband who was just 19 when he was killed fighting with rebel forces to overthrow Ethiopia's barbarous Marxist dictator, Mengistu Haile Mariam.
'After the baby was born, there was a very bad war, and my husband, they took him, and he was 19 years old and he was dead in the war,' she says, her English slightly halting as she remembers.
'I was a widow at 13 and when [my husband] left me, he left me with a one-year-old baby. It was very hard. Very difficult for me left behind with a baby and still a baby myself.'
And although she hadn't wanted to marry her husband, Alemtsahye says she still feels sad when she thinks of his short life and how little enjoyment he had.
'I feel sorry for him because he did not enjoy his life,' she says. 'He married young and finished in a war that ended his life. When I see his son, I sometimes cry.'
Left alone with only her son, Alemtsahye was left vulnerable and soon fell into the hands of traffickers, tempted by promises of a better life abroad.
Leaving her son with her mother, she travelled to Egypt where she worked as an unpaid domestic servant.
But just two months after arriving, more traffickers appeared - this time promising her a new life in the UK.
'I was smuggled to London by Arab people,' she explains. 'They said: "you are working with us and we will take you to London". They brought me and then they left me here.'
Still just 16-years-old, the former child bride was now an asylum seeker, initially placed with a foster family because of her youth but swiftly moved to a tiny flat of her own.
She went back to school and learned English and now has set up a charity which aims to help former child brides from Ethiopia and is part of Girls Not Brides - a global network of NGOs working to end child marriage.
Her son, now 25, lives in the Ethiopian capital, Addis Ababa, and grew up with his grandparents, only seeing his mother during her occasional visits home.
'It was so hard, very difficult,' she says frankly. 'I was thinking how to bring him to live with me [in London] but I can't bring him now because he's in his 20s. I tried last year and they said no.'
'I would say to girls, don't marry. Enjoy your childhood and go to school - learn. For me, I feel my childhood was robbed. I missed my education - I ended up empty - with nothing! I learned everything in London.'
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