I Was Sexually Assaulted Abroad And No One Cared
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I Was Sexually Assaulted Abroad And No One Cared

It was supposed to be the greatest year of my life.

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I Was Sexually Assaulted Abroad And No One Cared
Breyauna J Sheldon

Before I even begin, this is very sensitive content for those who are being sexually assaulted and those who have. For legal reasons, I have left names out.

Growing up, my mothers did whatever they could to really make a difference in my life. They had the mindset that I am going to graduate high school, get my degree, travel the world and make an impact on every person I encountered. So, when I was in seventh grade we started to do our research on student exchange organizations. We eventually found one. We reached out and started to get the ball moving.

In 2013, beginning of my freshman year of high school, we started to get every piece of documentation ready for “the best year of my life." This included passports, visas, finances, countless packets about me and my family, etc. It also included the most important piece of the puzzle: a page asking me to choose three places in the world that I wanted to study abroad in. My first choice was France. My second-choice was Belgium. My last choice was Australia. By the end of 2013, I found out that I was going to France. I was so ecstatic I cried for hours. My mom shed a few (actually, a lot) of tears too.

In the earlier months of 2014, we started orientations and the countdown clock. We had a few orientations that were mandatory for those who were studying abroad that year. The orientations were a “survival-guide class." They went over rules, housekeeping while abroad and the many experiences from past youth exchange students. They also gave us a red book. In the red book were letters from recent exchanges students on how they overcame obstacles like homesickness, getting lost in foreign places and how it was the best year they have ever had. I remember reading the letters and just being filled with excitement.

Around March of 2014, I received the first email from my host mother. From that very first email, we grew very close. I felt like I knew her for years. I trusted her. I would Facetime with my host mother and her daughter who was studying abroad in Pennsylvania that year as well. (Luckily, I was able to meet her daughter before I left.) My host mother had planned out trips to travel throughout Europe with me. Our bond was truly unbreakable.

Fast forward to August 25th, 2014. I packed one suitcase devoted to American food and shoes, and one suitcase devoted to clothes. I was finally going to France. I waited three years to be able to do something so life changing and new. I had surgery the month before, so I had to get pushed in a wheelchair through JFK airport in New York, but that didn’t stop me.

We had blue blazers we had to wear in order to determine who is a youth exchange student traveling as well. Thank goodness I saw someone else wearing a blue blazer as well. The girl was in my district in France so she was right down the road from me in the Côte D’Azur. The plane ride was about nine hours. We talked about everything. Boyfriends, girlfriends, friends, you name it. I was so happy to meet her and grow with her. We promised each other to reach out and talk every day. We wanted to become “French” together. This year was about us.

When I arrived in France, I was greeted with open arms by my host father and host mother. I was finally in France. I finally made it out of my hometown. I was finally a foreign exchange student.

I cannot express how much I wanted to explore. I wanted to do so much. When I got to the house that I was calling “home” for a year, jet lag hit me. I went upstairs unpacked, called my mothers in the states to let them know that I was okay and home safe and started to take everything in. I ended up falling asleep.

The next morning jet lag hit me harder that I had thought it would. I slept in to about 3pm in France time. My host mother woke me up with a refreshing drink and asked if I wanted to go with her to the market. In France, everything they eat is fresh. However, we had to walk down the winding mountains of Nice to get there. They had one car, and my host father took that to work.

I didn’t mind because the view was breathtaking. I saw an emerald-teal colored ocean from above, and beautiful buildings. When we returned home my host father wanted to take me to the mall. I’m a female, and I love to shop. I would never pass up the opportunity to go shopping.

After walking around the mall he decided to get me a phone, however it didn't have long distance calling, so I had to go through Facebook to do any type of call back to the states. We stopped at a restaurant along the way for a few drinks. No, not alcoholic drinks either. Lucky for me the restaurant was on the Mediterranean Sea. I was in awe. I sat on the boat ramp and took a deep breath. It was beautiful.

The next day when I woke up my host mother was not in the house. I wanted to take a dip in the pool at the house. As I was changing into my suit, my host father walked in. He demanded that I kiss him because I was staying at his home for free. He then grabbed my face and forced his tongue down my throat. In fear, I screamed. He walked down the stairs and acted like nothing happen. I remember the smells--his breath, his expensive cologne, his skin against mine. It is something I will never forget--those smells linger in my nose to this day.

My mother raised me to be a very outspoken individual. If something was wrong I would tell someone. It was around one or two in the morning in New Jersey and about 11 in the afternoon in France. I immediately contacted my youth exchange counselor that I trusted, in fear for my safety, and explained what happened. She woke up and called every single person she could to get me out of that house.

I didn't want to tell my host mother. She was someone I loved. I didn't want to break her heart. So when she got home, I told my host mother that something happened in my family and I needed to go home. After, my youth exchange counselor advised me to tell her what had happen. Through google translate, I did that. I explained that I was sexually assaulted by her husband.

She took the phone, and looked at me with disgust. She was crying and screaming me in French. She said that I was a stupid American girl telling lies. She said that her husband could go to prison. It was at that time when the French youth exchange counselor walked upstairs…with my host father. My host parents kept screaming at me. The counselor acted like I was a piece of trash that could be thrown away and forgotten about.

A few hours passed and I was still in the house. I told them many times I did not feel safe. They all ignored me. By 6pm I was out of the house. I was brought to a hotel in Nice where I sat in an empty hotel room with nothing but my IPad and passport.

A few hours passed until I heard a knock at the door. There were about seven youth exchange directors, including the man who assaulted me. With hell in his eyes he stared at me, silent.

They all entered the room. I told them I didn't want him to be around. Of course, they didn't listen. I then called my youth exchange counselor back in the states so she could hear every piece of information being said.

After explaining what happened, without hesitation, they said the words “He is a man, he is French, it is what we do.” My mouth hit the floor. I was not aware that French men usually stick their tongues down a fifteen-year-old girl's throat as a form of payment.

My youth exchange counselor was livid. She said “NO! That is not appropriate!” I sat and cried. I didn’t know why God, or whoever is up there, would let this happen to me

There was one woman who saw me, a girl in a new place, struggling with a traumatic experience. She hugged me like a mother would hug her newborn baby. She walked me out of the room and asked if I needed a drink. I said yes; I hadn't eaten or drank anything since I woke up. While sitting at a table in the hotel, the governor of the district told me to grab my things and hand my passport to him. I found myself doing exactly what they were telling me to do. My host father walked out and called me a “bitch” then spit at me and left. At this point, it was about six hours since I had spoken to my mother.

Soon after, I found myself in the back seat of a car heading into the desolate mountains of south France. I did not know where I was, or the people I was with. In that moment, I was truly terrified. It was like I was living in the Taken movie. I had no idea where they were taking me or who was going to be there, and if I was going to be safe.

I stared at each street light we passed. We then arrived to a house. I got out of the car slowly. It had countless rooms and antiques. An the old governor of my district in France and his wife sat at the round table to eat. I asked to eat and told them I hadn't eaten since the sun came up. She handed me one piece of thinly sliced ham. I asked the couple for the WIFI password or to use the phone to call my mother and tell her I am still breathing. I was told to go upstairs and go to sleep.

The husband wanted to give me the password but the woman would not allow him to give me the password. The husband persuaded her to allow me to send someone back in the states an email. Trembling, I typed out an email. The woman would not let me send the email. She typed in the email address. She had to press the send button as well. When I was finished typing, she told me to move and go back to bed. I was grateful that she allowed me to send an email, so I listened. I scurried to the bedroom and locked the door behind me.

I struggled to fall asleep. Eventually, I did. In the morning, I heard a knock, I awoke and was greeted. It was the woman. She asked me if I was ready to start my day and I said yes. I ran to my clothes and got dressed. It was not long after that until I found myself at a police station.

The day had only just begun. My host father gave his statement to the police. I was taken outside to talk to the kind woman who hugged me the night before. She advised me that before she took me back inside the station to get the law involved, I could write down that I just made everything up and I wanted to go home. I thought long and hard. I knew I had to get back home so I did it. Except I made sure they knew I did not lie about my assault. On a piece of old notebook paper, I wrote “I made everything up because I missed my father and boyfriend." I did not have a boyfriend but a girlfriend, and I did not speak to my father in almost a year. I wrote that specifically so those in the youth exchange would know the truth.

When I walked into the police station, the officer told me I had a phone call. It was someone who spoke English, and someone who was frantic and concerned about my well-being. Finally! Here is how the conversation went.

Anne: “Breyauna?”

Me: “Hello?!”

Anne: “Are you safe?”

Me: “I am at a police station, they are all surrounding me, including my attacker.”

Anne: “Please put an officer on the phone.”

I did just that. I did not hear the conversation between the two. The officer hands the phone to me, and then officer walked my attacker out of the police station.

Anne: “We are getting you on the next flight out. Your mother could not track you down, we have been in contact for hours. I called every single police station to find you. I am so sorry.”

After, she told me to give the phone to a youth exchange counselor so she could have a conversation with them. And again, Anne made sure I was safe.

We hung up the phone and without hesitation jumped in the car. We went back to my host parent’s house and grabbed my things. The whole time my host parents were cussing and spitting at me. We then headed back to the hotel where I was to stay until the flight back to the United States in the morning.

When I got back to the hotel I needed a shower. I opened up my bag to find the food that I had brought over emptied out into my clothes. I had food and toiletries leaking all over my brand-new clothes and shoes. At this point I was just at my breaking point. I laid in my bed and cried. I didn't even care at that point. It didn't faze me after the torturous interrogations.

The next morning, I was taken to the airport. As soon as I got through security, I prayed. I never pray. I am not religious at all. I just need to talk to someone.

When I landed in New York. I ran to get my bags. Once I got them I ran out of the gate. I saw my mother. We ran to each other and cried. I shut myself off from everyone, including my girlfriend Lauren, for about a week. I didn’t know what to say. It was finally over. I felt defeated. I spent years planning for something that was taken away from me. More questions were going through my head. “What if I never screamed, how far was he going to go?”

If it was not for my mother and Anne Marie of the US Consulate in Nice, France, I wouldn’t have been able to be found or come home. I owe my life to both of them.

So how did being assaulted change my life? When I returned home to the US I had my mom sign me out of high school. I enrolled in college at 15. I learned how to be an adult. I learned how things can change in the blink of an eye. I learned who my real friends were. I learned how much I really loved Lauren. She was there for me through it all. I learned that no matter how many times life knocks you down, you just have to pick yourself up, dust yourself off and never look back. Horrible things happen every single day, and I had to learn how to overcome those things.

The biggest thing I learned and I live by still to this day is that there is ALWAYS light at the end of a dark tunnel. I was sexually assaulted in France, and yes, I was a victim. Not anymore.

I am a Survivor.

As far as my attacker goes, no police charges or investigations were conducted. He was not allowed to have contact in any way with youth exchange students. However, he still tried to make connections with them. I know because I talked to the youth exchange students. According to some of the members of the youth exchange agency I was involved with, they decided to include sexual assault in the new youth exchange student orientations. I have been unfriended on Facebook with many of the members of my youth exchange organization members. I have tried to reach out, however my phone calls and messages have been denied. I was pushed to the side and labeled as someone not to associate with due to the fact that I was supposed to be reimbursed for damages done to my belongings, and my mother and I knew nothing was happening to the man in France that took advantage of me.

If you or someone you know is being sexually assaulted or was sexually assaulted. Please, speak up. Call the National Sexual Assault Hotline at 1-800-656-4673. Someone on the other line will help you through this.

Not a day goes by where I do not think about the Anne Marie, who was the angel sent down from above to save me. Thank you, Anne Marie.

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This article has not been reviewed by Odyssey HQ and solely reflects the ideas and opinions of the creator.
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