DEFENDING THE DEFENDERS : Journalist Tuver Wundi arrested In Kinshasa

 

DRC: Intelligence Services Arrest Journalist Tuver Wundi In Kinshasa

September 1, 2025

Tuver Wundi, JED’s correspondent in Goma and Provincial Director of RTNC, is being held on the premises of the ANR in Kinshasa.

Concerned Journaliste en Danger (JED) reports that its correspondent in Goma and Provincial Director of the national radio and television station is being held by the Agence Nationale des Renseignements (ANR).

According to an official source contacted by JED, he is “being debriefed by the services”.

Tuver Wundi had been in Kinshasa for several weeks, coming from Goma, the capital of North Kivu province, currently occupied by the AFC/M23 rebels.

The organization recalls that in March 2025, after the capture of Goma by the M23 rebels, Tuver Wundi had already been arrested and detained for several days by the AFC M23 intelligence services.

JED regrets this prolonged deprivation of a journalist’s freedom. “The silence surrounding this arrest only fuels the concern of his family, his colleagues and the entire profession”, stresses JED, which is calling for Tuver Wundi’s swift release or, failing that, for transparent communication on the charges against him.

Written by Akilimali Chomachoma

original story link :https://friendsofthecongo.org/drc-intelligence-services-arrest-journalist-tuver-wundi-in-kinshasa/

DEFENDING THE DEFENDERS ; Anisa Ahmed arrested for reporting on worsening Insecurity and robbery by uniformed armed forces

Mogadishu Woman Journalist Arrested and Physically Assaulted After Exposing Armed Robbery by Uniformed Men - SJS

PHOTO: Anisa Ahmed.

MOGADISHU, Somalia – 28 August 2025 – The Somali Journalists Syndicate (SJS) condemns the unlawful arrest and physical assault of woman journalist Anisa Ahmed, who works for the online channel Dalbile TV, by members of the Mogadishu police. Anisa has since been released without charge.

Anisa told SJS that on Tuesday night 26 August, she was contacted by a police commander from Waaberi police station in Mogadishu, where her television has a studio. The officer summoned her in response to an alleged complaint filed by another police commander from Dayniile district. 

On Wednesday morning 27 August, at around 9:30 a.m. local time, when she reported to Waaberi police station, she was held for an hour and her phone was confiscated. Armed men later arrived and forcibly pushed her into a waiting police vehicle. When she tried to ask where she was being taken, two armed officers physically assaulted her, grabbing her by the neck and threatening to strangle her if she resisted.

According to Anisa, she was transferred to Dayniile police station, located on the northwestern side of Mogadishu, where she was interrogated about her recent reports on insecurity and armed robbery. She was locked in a dark cell until nearly 6:00 p.m. local time.

Dalbile TV manager, Mushtaq Qanyare, who is based in the UK, told SJS that Anisa had recently filed two reports highlighting the worsening insecurity in Dayniile district, including incidents where "armed men in government uniforms were robbing civilians". Anisa herself had also been a victim of robbery by government forces. These reports first published on 23 August, seemed to have angered Dayniile district officials, who demanded that Dalbile TV remove them, but the station refused.

While being detained at the Dayniile police station, Anisa said she was shocked to see "dozens of kidnapped civilians” held there, including local shopkeepers subjected to extortion and bribery demands in exchange for their release. Anisa recounted that one young shopowner told her he had been "held for 45 days without charge and that his family had been forced to pay US$ 400 for his release, yet he remained in custody”.

Although Anisa herself was not charged, she remained locked in the police cell for the entire day.

"At one point they photographed me and forced me to sign a police statement, which they claimed was mine. But when I read it, I saw they had inserted false information and fabricated crimes against me. I refused to sign, and they began threatening me,” she told SJS.

Later in the afternoon, a member of the Somali Federal Parliament’s Lower House intervened. The Dayniile police commander, Captain Ahmed Ali Yalahow, who had ordered her arrest told Anisa that he was informed "she belonged to his clan”, which led to her immediate release.

Yalahow did not respond to SJS calls. However, SJS reviewed a statement he posted on his personal Facebook account on 25 August two days after the Dalbile TV’s report. In the post, Captain Yalahow appeared to acknowledge the armed robbery in his district and even urged locals to report such incidents to the police.

After her release, Anisa wrote about her ordeal on Facebook, but she said she was pressured to remove it, which she did. She told SJS that the Dayniile police commander, Captain Yalahow, had contacted her family, who then pressured her to take it down for her own safety.

"We strongly condemn the unlawful arrest and assault of our colleague Anisa Ahmed. Such blatant abuse of power by the police against a young woman journalist is unacceptable and must not go unpunished. We demand full accountability for those responsible for this unlawful detention and physical assault,” said SJS Secretary General, Abdalle Mumin.

"Instead of addressing the real problems of insecurity and the armed robbery, the authorities in Mogadishu are targeting the messengers who dare to expose the truth. The ongoing threats and intimidation against independent journalists show that speaking out about the harrowing ordeal the Mogadishu population is enduring has become extremely dangerous—not only for journalists but also for ordinary citizens. When press freedom no longer exists, the public’s right to know dies,” Mr. Mumin adds.

original story link- https://hornobserver.com/articles/3469/Mogadishu-Woman-Journalist-Arrested-and-Physically-Assaulted-After-Exposing-Armed-Robbery-by-Uniformed-Men-SJS 

DEFENDING THE DEFENDERS: STRUGGLES OF UN MARRIED FEMALE JOURNALISTS IN AFAR, ETHIOPIA

By Nankwanga Eunice Kasirye

The Silent Struggles of an Unmarried Female Journalist in Afar, Ethiopia

Rihana Abdela, 27, is a news anchor and reporter at the Afar Mass Media Agency in Ethiopia. In her four years of work, she has faced persistent marginalization and discrimination, both within her newsroom and from the wider society.

She explains that women in Ethiopia are often second-guessed, and for female journalists, the skepticism is even deeper. Society views women as less capable, and this results in discriminatory assignments, missed opportunities, and exclusion from key decisions.

Rihana’s situation is compounded by her marital status. At 27, she is unmarried-considered a cultural misfit in a community where girls are expected to marry as early as 16. Instead, she devotes herself to caring for her ailing parents. Yet this choice leaves her underpaid, overlooked, and constantly subjected to stigma.

In Afar culture, marriage is seen as a woman’s shield. A husband is believed to protect a woman’s dignity, while unmarried women are treated as vulnerable, unprotected, and “available.” Rehan says this exposes her to multiple forms of abuse, psychological, social, financial, and at times physical-because “no one will stand up for an unmarried woman.” she clarifies

This  cultural bias seeps into her workplace as well. She recalls countless times when her abilities were dismissed  with the cutting phase "she cant do it"  at work, Rihana shares, the first attack always begin with silent resentments, the whispers , assumptions and open disrespect "because i am un married they consider me to be available for anything" she says 

Despite her dedication and hard work, her pleas for recognition and fair pay have gone unanswered, she says each time she raises the issue, the same excuse is given, "We don't have the budget"

For Rehan, protecting women journalists is not only about safety at work but also about challenging deep-rooted cultural biases that leave unmarried women dangerously exposed.

“We should strengthen ourselves physically, mentally, and professionally—through education and knowledge. Violence and intimidation may surround us, but with strength and unity, we can endure and push for change.” Rihana affirms 

For now, Rehaba continues her work as a reporter and anchor in Afar, her voice steady but her environment tense with risk. Her story is a painful reminder that for many women journalists in Africa, the fight for truth is also a fight for survival.

She also  calls for coordinated efforts to strengthen women’s rights in Ethiopia, including widespread public sensitization, workplace reforms, and strict enforcement of laws with accountability mechanisms.

 

 

 

COMPASSION AND EMPATHY: THE ANTIDOTE TO NORMALIZED VIOLENCE

By Nankwanga Eunice Kasirye

what kind of society do we want to be-one that breeds cruelty, or one that 

nurtures peace?

Compassion and empathy are not just virtues; they are the foundation of peaceful co-existence and a humane society. When one person chooses to show compassion, it spreads, touching others, inspiring them to carry it forward, and creating a ripple effect of humanity. Sadly, the reverse is equally true: when violence is accepted, tolerated, or even celebrated, it quickly spreads until it defines an entire community.

A disturbing video circulating from Busoga, eastern Uganda, captures this dark reality. In it, a woman is seen assaulting a man with a sugarcane. Instead of intervening to stop the fight, the crowd cheers for retaliation. The man pins the woman down, strikes her with a stone on the head, and continues beating her with a stick as the crowd applauds. Even as the woman tries to escape-weak and disoriented-people, especially men, encourage the man to chase her down and even provided an extra stick. He does, catching her and beating her unconscious. From what is heard in the video, the two are parents fighting over their child.

This horrifying incident reflects a bigger problem: a society that normalizes violence. When violence becomes entertainment, when onlookers clap instead of intervene, when mothers defend sons who assault their wives, we lose our collective moral authority to call out abuse. Violence becomes culture.

We have seen this pattern repeatedly. In one recent high-profile case, a Ugandan celebrity was accused of assaulting his wife. Shockingly, his own mother publicly defended him. Only when the wife fought back-running him over with a car—did the narrative shift. These are not isolated cases; they are the fruits of a society where compassion and empathy have been eroded, replaced by a cycle of abuse passed down through generations.

If we do not break this cycle, more lives will be lost, more families destroyed, and more communities poisoned by normalized cruelty. Compassion and empathy must be restored—not as abstract ideals but as practical, lived values. Every individual has a choice: to cheer on violence or to stand for humanity.Children grow up watching such violence, absorbing it as if it were normal. But the consequences are devastating. If, in a moment of rage, the mother was to die, the same crowd that cheered the man on would quickly turn around and label him a murderer. Society would then isolate not only him but everyone connected to him. The children would lose both parents-one to death and the other to prison-eft to carry the scars of trauma for the rest of their lives. That is the true legacy of violence: broken families, wounded children, and a cycle of pain that never ends.

 

DEFENDING THE DEFENDERS: FEMALE JOURNALISTS DROWNING IN A CYCLE OF ABUSE

By Nankwanga Eunice Kasirye 

Sexual Harassment, Unpaid Work, and Denied Maternity Leave: The Silent Burden of Female Journalists in Upcountry Newsrooms in Uganda

This is the story of Susan Achola, a Ugandan radio journalist whose career exposes the grim reality of sexual harassment, denial of maternity leave, exploitation, and unpaid labour in the country’s media industry.

Susan Achola, in one of the Radio studios in Lira

When you switch on your radio to catch the morning news, you rarely think about the voice behind the microphone, her struggles, her sacrifices, or the silent battles she is forced to fight. For many female journalists in Uganda, the studio is not just a workplace- it is a battlefield. Behind the powerful words they use to defend the rights of others lies a haunting irony—they themselves are denied their own rights.

When Susan got her first newsroom job at a leading radio station in Lira City, she was excited. But her dream soon collided with the harsh realities of being a woman in journalism 

Sexual Harassment in the Newsroom

“In a newsroom of 14 male reporters, I was the only woman. During editorial meetings, every male colleague volunteered to be assigned to the field with me. At first, I thought it was kindness—but it was a trap. They would deliberately delay the assignments so that we returned late to the newsroom, using that time to pressure me into sexual advances,” Susan recalls.

Turning them down meant going back to the editor with no story. When she complained, she was withdrawn from fieldwork and restricted to desk assignments and walk-in stories. But the harassment did not stop, it came from colleagues, supervisors, and even news sources.

In 2022, during an interview for a News Editor role in Pader, a radio manager bluntly told Susan: “If you spend the night with me, your employment will be secured.” Susan walked away from that job even she qualified for the job .

Eight Years of Work Without Pay

“My passion was to give rural communities a voice. I joined several local radio stations across Northern Uganda, believing I was making an impact. But I was repeatedly employed without contracts, making me vulnerable to exploitation,” she laments.

At one radio station in Kitgum, she worked for two years, paid only once, in the first month and never got any pay for the entire 23 months. The manager told her she had to find paid for advertisers if she wanted to earn a salary. After two years, she decided to quit, only to face the same pattern at other radio stations. Across five different radio stations, none paid her consistently beyond three months.

Usually the verbal promised monthly radio  pay for an anchor who doubles as a news editor, does not go beyond Ugx  300,000 (three hundred thousand shillings)  a liitle lower that $100, reporters are paid per a story between ugx  500-7000 (five thound & seven thousand uganda shillings)  an equivalent of slightely  below $2, which is  also never paid consistently 

Denied Maternity Leave

Uganda’s Constitution (Article 40) guarantees every person fair, safe, and healthy working conditions. The Employment Act, 2006 (Section 56) grants female employees 60 working days (90 calendar days) of fully paid maternity leave.

For Susan, maternity leave has been nothing but a dream.

“In 2014, after my first child, I was called back to work barely one month after delivery. I quit. In 2019, when I had my second baby, I requested maternity leave. Two weeks later, I received a letter saying I was only eligible for half pay and must resume work immediately. I had no choice but to take my new-born to the studio, placing her under the table while I hosted the morning show or read the news bulletin,” she recalls with pain.

Even after a C-section delivery in 2024, Susan received phone calls from the radio staff while she was still in hospital. She admits she has never enjoyed her maternity leave in full.

This cycle of harassment, denial of rights, and financial exploitation forces many women out of the profession. Some young women postpone or deny themselves motherhood. Others quit journalism altogether.

Besides enduring harassment and years of unpaid work without contracts, Susan says she has also been sidelined from leadership positions—even when she qualified.

A Call for Intervention

Susan’s story is not isolated. Across Uganda, female journalists, especially in rural and semi-urban stations, where systemic abuse and violations of labour rights are evident.

It is time for:

• Media owners to comply with the Employment Act and issue contracts.
• Government regulators to enforce labour protections for journalists.
• Parliament and policymakers to strengthen monitoring of compliance with the law.
• Civil society and press associations to create safe reporting channels for sexual harassment in the media.

Susan’s Last Word

“Do I regret being a journalist? No. But I wish things were different. Journalism is a noble profession—it should not strip us of our dignity as women, as workers, and as mothers.”ism.

IN THE SHADOWS OF PROJECTS: MOTHERS SCRATCH SURVIVAL IN KABALE QUARRIES

 By Nankwanga Eunice Kasirye

To be a mother is to surrender your original self and live entirely for others. The moment God chooses you to co-create life, your rebirth begins…not once, but as many times as the lives you deliver. With each child, a woman’s old version fades... desires, dreams, her name…leaving only what is needed for the survival of the new.

Motherhood begins by losing. You lose your body to pregnancy, your cravings to nausea, your comfort to gaining or losing weight, and your rest to anxiety. You lose the luxury of self, because every breath, every bite, every plan begins to revolve around protecting someone else.

But it doesn’t stop at birth.

You deliver the baby into the world regardless of the pain, the bleeding, the fear. And just when the world celebrates a new life, the mother begins a new journey of quiet sacrifice. Breastfeeding, nursing, calming cries in the night, and surrendering her voice for the sake of peace. She compromises. She tolerates. She accepts what she once would have fiercely rejected just because the one she birthed must thrive.

In many African communities, this sacred responsibility isn’t written in policy documents or parenting manuals. It is passed down through blood, duty, and cultural knowing. Here, in the places untouched by boardroom tables, motherhood is the only governance that works.

Teddy Karahandi, 74, is one such mother. She has given birth and been reborn-many times. Today, she lives with ten people under her roof: her son, his wife, and their children. She’s not just the matriarch; she is the provider, caretaker, and hope-holder. She limps through the dust of a stone quarry in Kabale Municipality, western Uganda—crushing rocks beside her grandchildren to buy food and pay school fees.

Her daughter-in-law crushes stones beside her. Her son, meanwhile, disappears. “He works once in a while, and when he earns, he drinks,” Teddy says. So, she steps in. She has to. At 74, she becomes a mother again…for the children and grandchildren she now raises. Every cough, every scrape, every tear-she absorbs them like a sponge. Her clothes are coated in dust, her body bent from injury, her spirit quietly enduring.

In this dusty quarry, motherhood wears no crown but scars.

Faustine Kyomugisha, 65, has already lost a finger to the quarry, she accidentally hit her finger with a hummer while scratching survival from the quarry. Her body is frail, her lungs weak, yet every morning, she still picks up her hammer and joins the line of women crushing stones. “I have no garden, and no one to help me,” she says. “So I must work.” Even when her body screams no, her motherhood says yes. Because in her world, to stop is to let your reborns starve.

On average, one earns about 20,000 shillings a week- less than ten dollars. Yet with that, they must feed families, pay school fees, and cover medical needs. The health risks are everywhere…dust, infections, malaria, injuries, and poor sanitation, but still, the mothers show up each day, because they have nowhere else to go, and nothing else to rely on.

And then there is Tukamushabe Catherine, only 21. She cradles her new-born on one side and balances a hammer on the other. Her one-year-old toddles nearby, breathing the same dust she does. “I had dreams,” she says softly. “I wanted to return to school after P.7, but my mother handed me a hammer and said—this is life now.”
She cried for three days.

She is a new mother, barely out of girlhood herself. Yet the expectations of motherhood rushed in like a storm. Now, like her mother before her, she has become both protector and provider in a quarry that kill dreams with every stone.

These women live the purest form of motherhood. Not the kind adorned with hashtags or celebrated with brunch on Mother's Day, no! but the kind written in the soil, the dust, the fatigue, and the fierce love that never leaves. They are reborn with every child, and yet never fully seen.

In development circles, we speak of climate change, environmental degradation, and economic vulnerability…but what do those concepts mean to mothers like Teddy, Faustine, and Catherine? They’re not invited into boardrooms. They’re not asked for their opinion. Yet they live the cost of every failed policy, every half-implemented project.

Their quarries, once forests, are now scarred earth. The rivers they once fetched from now run shallow. Their children cough from dust while policy briefs discuss “sustainability.” They are used as case studies but never consulted as authorities.

When these mothers wear out, they are quietly buried. No grave stones. No legacy reports. Just a pit in the ground covered with red earth. Rain comes, washes the earth away-wild stones take their place. The woman, the mother, the backbone-forgotten.

Some die choking in traditional kitchens, inhaling smoke as they cook for the lives they helped create. Others collapse in fields or quarries from disease, exhaustion, and broken bones. Their deaths are not accidents-they are the final price of a life poured into others as they ware out, never recovering their original old self.

So when we speak of Reality to Boardroom, we must ask...whose reality? Because in  African communities, such as Kabale, where these mothers live, there are no chairs around polished tables, PowerPoints neither consultations.

There is only motherhood…unpaid, unseen, engraved into the definition of life.

If development wants to matter in communities such as Kabale quarries, it must begin with dust-covered hands, cracked feet, and the quiet strength of mothers  who were reborn too many times-yet never given time to heal.

DEFENDING THE DEFENDERS: A RITUAL TRAP DISGUISED AS MARRIAGE

 

I Married a Ritualist: Joy’s Survival from a Scam Disguised as Love

By Nankwanga Eunice Kasirye 

Just like any other young girl fresh from college, Joy (pseudo) was vibrant, ambitious, and full of dreams. With her journalism diploma in hand, she had a mental checklist of what life should look like next: a good job, a loving husband, children, and a beautiful family. She knew exactly the kind of man she wanted—professional, respectable, someone she would d proudly introduce to her parents

Joy is the firstborn in her family, raised by Buganda cultured parents who believed deeply in marriage and all the traditions that came with it. So when she landed a job at a media house straight out of school, her life felt like it was falling perfectly into place. Amidst the busy life of a young journalist chasing stories, she held tightly to her dream of finding the right man.

Then she met him.

A tall, well-groomed, soft-spoken man—a medical doctor. The perfect picture of the man she had always dreamed of. They fell in love quickly. Everything seemed right. He was educated, polite, and ambitious. When he proposed that they make it official, Joy didn’t hesitate.

He told her his family lived abroad—his mother and sister were in the United States. That explained why she couldn’t meet them in person. But in Uganda, telling people that your fiancé’s family lives overseas often earns admiration, so Joy embraced that detail with pride. His mother and sister called her once in a while via WhatsApp, and sometimes he would hand over the phone so she could speak to them.

The traditional marriage was set. He brought a few friends and distant relatives to meet Joy’s family. Her father loved him instantly. “He was humble, handsome, and carried good genes,” Joy remembers. “I felt so lucky to have him.”

Soon after the ceremony, Joy conceived. She gave birth to a bouncing baby boy. Their life together felt full. Joy was busy, reporting on women and children’s stories—particularly around domestic violence and abuse. The job came with risks, and soon, the strange calls started.

First, they were threats from anonymous people warning her to stop covering certain stories. Then came blackmail with requests for money to stop the harassment. Her husband always stepped in, called back, and made the problems disappear. He told her not to worry.

But the calls didn’t stop. They escalated. Men claiming to be security officers said they were watching her. They knew where she was at every moment. It scared her. Her husband urged her to cut off old friends, warning that jealousy might be the root of the problem. Maybe someone from work was behind it all, he said.

Joy began isolating herself. The calls were too accurate—they knew everything. She stopped receiving calls from family and friends. Even those who used to visit now avoided her. The silence was deafening. Her only companions became her husband and her ever-online mother-in-law, checking in daily from “abroad.”

She started doubting everyone at work. She shrank her world down to just her husband and child. And then, just as she was adjusting to that new, lonely life, her husband suggested they do a church wedding. He said people were jealous of their happiness it should  not be made so public. Joy agreed. She would do anything to make their marriage work.

But before they could even finalize the wedding plans, her husband disappeared.

A stranger called using his phone. He said the doctor had been kidnapped. Unless Joy paid a ransom, her husband would be killed. Her mother-in-law called her, panicked. The kidnappers said the ordeal was punishment for something Joy had done. She was thrown into a state of panic.

This time, there was no one to lean on. The man who had always stepped in to "fix things" was now the one in danger. The kidnappers later claimed to be working for her husband’s bitter ex-girlfriend, who wasn’t ready to let go. She accused Joy of stealing her man and trying to seal it with a church wedding.

Joy sent money. Her mother-in-law, coordinating everything from abroad, claimed to be in contact with “security.” Eventually, her husband was released. But Joy never recovered. She was mentally exhausted, emotionally drained, and physically worn down. She lost appetite, focus, weight. Work became a blur.

Just as she was trying to pull herself together, the phone rang again.

This time, it wasn’t threats. It was an arrest warrant. She was being accused of murder—of killing the same ex-girlfriend. Evidence was “pointing directly” at her. Joy broke down completely. She attempted suicide—twice.

Then one day, her father saw her reading the news on TV. He noticed something was terribly off. Her face looked hollow. Her eyes looked lost. He called her brother and asked him to check on her.

When her brother came to visit and listened closely to everything Joy was going through, he decided to quietly take her phone and kept it for a day, just to break the cycle.

Later that evening, when Joy got home, her husband seemed unusually anxious. He asked why she hadn’t been answering his calls all day. She calmly replied that she had misplaced her phone during her busy schedule and hadn’t had it with her.

But then he said something that stopped her in her tracks—he mentioned the exact location of her phone.

Joy was stunned.

When she later asked her brother if the husband had called, he shook his head. No calls had come from the husband’s number. Only the same unknown, threatening numbers that had been haunting her for months.

That’s when it began to sink in.

That’s when it hit her. Everything had been staged. All the terror—the threats, the fake kidnappings, the murder accusations—they had all come from him.

She remembered how every time she thought of reporting to police, a call would immediately come warning her not to. She had always believed it was some outside force. But now, it was clear: he was the force.

Still, Joy tried to forgive. She wanted to believe it was all a misunderstanding. Her mother-in-law, always calm, always online, encouraged her to focus on rebuilding the trust.

Then, the final blow.

One day, her husband dozed off on the couch. Joy wanted some small change to buy items from the nearby shop. She quietly picked his wallet—and froze.

Inside were skeletons of birds. Pieces of reptiles. Tied pieces of bark cloth. Pieces of clothes cut from her different nickers bound together in a knot with the rest of the items.

She trembled.

She didn’t know what to say, how to react. Fear engulfed her. She was living with a complete  stranger, that she was sure …

Then, just days later, her “mother-in-law” called on WhatsApp, saying she couldn’t reach her son and wanted to talk to him through Joy’s phone. He was asleep in the bedroom and joy preparing a meal in the kitchen. Joy took the phone to him. They talked.

When he returned the phone, he went back to the bedroom. Just a few moments later, a WhatsApp message came in.

It was from the same woman. She had forgotten she had used Joy’s phone. The message was full of instructions to her “son” about how to conduct a ritual—using Joy and their child.

That’s when it became clear.

The woman wasn't his mother. She was a witchdoctor. There were no relatives abroad. There was no family in America. The man Joy had called her husband was not who he said he was. The marriage, the love, the dreams—they had all been part of a ritual scheme. All the friends and distant relative he had gone with for traditional marraige  were fakes, people hired for that particular function-

Joy didn’t scream. She didn’t fight. She packed her bags. She took her son.

And she left.

That was five years ago.

She never looked back.

Joy still becomes anxious while telling her story-she is yet to gain complete  healing- that road to healing is rough as well