Several months had passed before I decided to report the last time. I had five fractures to my face. The injuries had healed but I’ve got pictures which I took myself on my mobile phone. I sent them to my friend so he wouldn’t find them. The photographs, together with the medical certificate, were enough.
Almost a year had passed since my mother died. She had divorced my father because he was violent, but she died of a heart disease. That’s why I was living with my father.
It was dark. I learned that I could walk into the town centre to get something to eat and clean clothes but I always went back to the railway station. After a while I was arrested there and locked up. My father came and got me and took me back to Minya but I ran away again. I went back to the railway station and the boys and girls there. I was better off there.
I don’t know what the future holds.
When he was drunk and angry, he beat me. I called the police, who said they’d come when I was dead.
I went on reporting him. Once he was fined 70 dollars because he’d almost strangled me.
The problem was always that he’s partially sighted, although I’m convinced he’s faking it. But no-one believed me, that I could be the victim. I mean, he was disabled!