My Autobiography: Mays
Content Warning: This testimony contains accounts of violence, sexual abuse, and trauma that may be distressing to readers.
My name is Mays, I am thirty years old, a transgender woman from Tunisia.
My Childhood
Since my childhood, I felt different. The body I was born into did not represent who I truly was. I searched for myself in small details: in women’s clothing, in lipstick, in a gentle laugh I wished could be feminine. But the society around me saw only a mistake that needed punishment.
I grew up in a conservative family. When I was ten years old, my childhood was stolen from me for the first time through rape by my cousin. I went to my family crying, seeking a safe embrace, but all I found was beating and humiliation. My small body became a battlefield for violence, and in their eyes, I became “the shame.” They shaved my hair, forced me to change my voice and the way I walked, making me someone other than myself.
First Violations
At the age of eleven, my mother caught me secretly wearing lipstick. That red color was my secret world, my small window of freedom. But she punished me brutally, rubbing chili pepper on my lips, and ordered my brother to throw me into the street. I left as a small, weak, broken child, with no home.
I found a shelter for children, but even there I did not find safety. I was raped by the staff and had to escape again. I found myself on the streets, hungry, cold, and humiliated. I went to school in torn clothes, my classmates mocked me, and teachers punished me.
Survival and Exclusion
At fifteen, a man thirty years older than me exploited me. He gave me little food and money in exchange for my body, and I had no choice. When my brother discovered me with this man, we were both beaten and locked in the stable next to a donkey, after they shaved my hair again.
There was no place for me in my home. I escaped and joined friends from the LGBTQ+ community, who, despite their poverty and social exclusion, gave me a sense of belonging. But we could only survive by selling our bodies and working in nightclubs to pay rent and continue our education.
Legal Persecution
One day, the police stopped us outside a nightclub. We were accused of “violating public morals,” and a new nightmare began: harassment, blackmail, filming videos, and rape. Then we were thrown into prison. There, I was no longer human. I became a “doll” whose body was raped, beaten, and humiliated.
Prison guards encouraged inmates to assault us, and when I screamed and resisted, I was punished with solitary confinement, gang rape, filming, and food deprivation.
Education and Resilience
I left prison exhausted, but I clung to one dream: to study engineering. I hid behind a male appearance and completed my studies, eventually graduating. That moment of graduation was a small victory amid a sea of defeats. But my joy was short-lived.
I was arrested again and sentenced to three more years. There, I was subjected to brutal torture with a chemical
Continued Torture
I was subjected to brutal torture with a chemical substance on my genitalia, leaving me disfigured and addicted to morphine.
Exile and Survival
I emerged from prison broken, addicted, sick, and psychologically scarred. Yet, I did not give up. With the help of a dear person, I fled to Turkey, where I began physical and psychological treatment. I underwent cosmetic surgeries to hide my features, fearing my family and the police.
My family showed no mercy even from afar: they announced my death publicly, built a grave with my name, and deprived me of inheritance.
My Ongoing Journey
Today, I live in exile. No homeland, no family, no inheritance. But I live, and I tell my story. My story is not just about a painful past—it is a testimony to the injustice faced by transgender people in Tunisia.
I am still here, despite everything.
