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In September 2000 my daughter was nearly 13 and had just started secondary school. She had always got on well with other children and worked hard. But after a couple of months things began to change. She started wearing lots of make-up. The school was a stone's throw away, but friends began calling for her as early as 7.30am. Next my older daughter spotted her hanging about in the local park with some lads from school who introduced the girls they befriended to older boys and men. I was very alarmed. Then she started missing certain lessons, sometimes whole days.
When she started disappearing overnight, I trawled the streets looking for her. I had no control over her. Sometimes she would say she was going to have an early night, then she'd turn on the shower and climb out the bathroom window. Once when she disappeared, I went through the park looking for her and asked a teenage boy if he'd seen her. I was horrified when he said, "Yes, all the prostitutes hang out by the bowling green."
I confronted my daughter. "That's not true," she said. "Those boys are my boyfriends."
As far as she was concerned, she was doing what she wanted to do and I was hindering her. Money didn't seem to be changing hands, but the girls were getting drink and drugs and mobile phones. The men flattered them into believing they loved them as part of a process of grooming them to have sex with lots of different men, some in their 30s and 40s. People ask me why I use the word "grooming" rather than referring to them as paedophiles, but most of these men haven't been convicted.
I felt as if my daughter was sliding away from me and I'd never be able to get her back. Every minute of every day became a nightmare. I couldn't eat, sleep or function properly, and I could see no way back. Every time she disappeared, I thought I'd never see her alive again. If a girl is over 13, she has to be the complainant in a case of sexual assault. Because this was happening outside the house, there was nothing I could do. The worst thing, as a mother, was not being able to prevent my daughter from being abused.
At the end of 2001, a year after her first disappearance, I put her into care. She didn't want to go, but I could no longer cope. My lowest point was the first time I visited her. Seeing her and having to walk away was unbearable. Everything exploded while she was in care, and I had a breakdown.
My nephew killed himself unexpectedly during this time. My daughter and I attended the funeral, and were both extremely upset. Afterwards, I took my daughter firmly by the shoulders and said to her, "You'll never know how many times I thought I'd be going to your funeral."
Then I walked away. She seemed to turn some sort of corner that day, and so did I. She started to realise what she was doing to herself and I could see for the first time that she needed me. I think I had to feel as low as it was possible to feel before I found the strength to fight what was happening to her and other girls.
I started campaigning with Ann Cryer, the MP for Keighley, for a change in the law to make hearsay evidence admissible in grooming cases, a change we secured last year. I'm proud of what I achieved and my daughter is proud of me, too.
After two years in care, she came back to live with me, went back to college, got qualifications. At times she feels down about what happened to her, which she now recognises as abuse. Last year Channel 4 made a programme about the grooming issue in this area and, although some white men were involved, the BNP hijacked it as a race issue: Asians exploiting white girls. I was furious because this is not a race issue.
The men live locally and we see them from time to time. They call my daughter names, and me, too, if I'm with her. I say to them, "I'm not frightened of any of you." My daughter calls out, "I've moved on with my life and it's a shame you can't move on with yours." Our relationship is better than it has ever been. We talk to each other and if she goes out with friends, she leaves a note on the fridge telling me where she's gone and when she'll be back. It's fantastic to get those notes.
Β· Do you have a story to tell? Email: experience@theguardian.com
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When Edna lost her parents, she thought her uncle would be her new father when she went to live with him but she has now seen that he is a devil in disguise.
Shortly after the burial of my parents, my uncle who is my father's younger brother decided to adopt me and take me to live with his family in Lagos.
He promised our family that he will put me through school and take care of me just like my own parents would. I was happy because apart from having someone to fill the vacuum created by my parents, I would be leaving the village where I had lived all my life.
But the whole story changed when I got to my uncle's house and it dawned on me that there was no plan for me to go to school as I became practically their maid.
I would wake up as early as 4 am to clean the house, cook for the family, bathe the younger children and prepare them for school. As early as 7 am, without any breakfast, I would go round hawking things for my uncle's wife.
I would be starved the whole day till I get back in the evening and continue with the chores. I Always cried myself to sleep and wondered how I was going to develop with the way I was being treated.
I was living this debased life till I turned 14 when my own uncle raped me when the wife and children traveled to her hometown for holidays. He took away my virginity in the most callous manner and warned me never to tell anyone or he would kill me.
I was so afraid of him that I kept quiet, not knowing I had given him the ammunition to continue with the sexual harassment because he continued raping me whenever he had the opportunity.
I could not tell anyone and most night, would go to sleep expecting him to come and molest me and he often did. Six months after he first raped me, I became pregnant and he arranged with a friend of his and aborted the baby.
The sexual assaults continued and my uncle even added a new dimension to it as he would bring his friends to also defile me. At times, I would put up a feeble fight but he would beat me to submission.
The day I tried to tell his wife what her husband and friends were doing to me, she beat me up mercilessly, saying I wanted to tarnish her husband's image and bite the finger that fed me.
I remember when we traveled home for a celebration and I told one of my uncles tha
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