Survivors' Story

On Child Abuse

When I was 9 years old, there was a man that used to visit the house. My dad always had friends visiting but he used to be over more than everyone else. He was a family friend, in fact one of my dad's best friends. He's from the Philippines but for the story, we'll call him Yob. I'm not entirely sure what he did for living but the last few years he works/worked in a West London hospital.

Sometimes he would visit with his 2 sons who were much older than I was (more my older brother's age who at the time would have been 14). The sons were nice people and my 2 brothers along with Yob's kids used to play in the playground. During one of the school holidays, he came to the house on his own.

My little brother, who was 7 at the time, was in the bedroom and I was watching television in the living room while my dad and Yob chatted. Dad went into the kitchen to make a cup of tea for all of us. As soon as he did, Yob whispered for me to go over to him. I trusted him and went over. Then he tried to put his hand down my tracksuit bottoms saying, "You're a big boy now, aren't you?"
I pushed his hand away and ran over to my dad in the kitchen. I didn't know what to say and just froze. I was in complete shock he did that. Dad and I went back into the living room together and Yob had the face of fear. I will never forget the look on his face. He knew what he did was disgusting...

Yob didn't return to the house for ages but started to re-appear when he realised I had not told anyone.

Since that day, whenever he'd come to the house I never spoke a word to him or looked in his face. I treated Yob like he was invisible. It was my defence mechanism in order to get on with my life. Deep down there was hurt.

I tried to tell my parents a couple of times but they didn't believe me. My parents were really protective over my brothers and I but Yob was that good of a friend to my parents so they dismissed it.

Years went on and he continued to show up to the house. If the buzzer rang at my house and I knew it was him, I would switch it off. Or if he called the house phone and I picked up and heard his voice, I would put the phone down. Most Monday mornings or afternoons Yob will show up to talk to my dad and eat the food in the kitchen.

In 2005, on a 2 month holiday to New York with ex-girlfriend and forever friend, Jody Burson, I told her what happened to me when I was younger. For the first time I told someone everything that happened and instantly felt a huge weight lifted from my shoulders.

A few days upon our return to London and 14 or so years after Yob tried to molest me, I finally found the courage to report the incident to the police. I told them my story and then the police asked, "Why after all this time you now want to report the incident?" I said it was because I did not want him to get away with what he did any longer. I wanted to let him know I told someone and may be stop him doing it to other kids if he has done already.

The police said that the incident would be kept on record but I wouldn't have a legal case because it was too many years ago and extremely hard to prove.

A few months after I went to the police Yob called up the house phone wanting to talk to my dad. I recognised his voice however he told me a different name because he knew I would put the phone down. After their brief phone conversation dad said he was going out to meet Yob in a coffee shop.

About 20 minutes later dad came back and said to me "I'm sorry for not believing you before and you will never see him in this house again". I felt so happy.

Dad explained that in the coffee shop, Yob was telling my dad how he and his wife went to the police to make a complaint about some people in his area. When Yob said his name at the police station, the police said there was a complaint made against him from me. He got questioned about it and denied to the police what he did to me...

His wife now knows what happened whether she chooses to believe it or not. Although he denied it, dad saw it in his eyes he was lying, and for me to go to the police about it was finally the proof for my parents to believe me.

For years it has scarred me and even to this day I feel so strongly and personally hurt when I hear stories of child abuse. If he could abuse me, he could have easily done it to other children over the years.

I have told this story to a few friends and I realise it is more common than people think it is. I am sharing my story so others will hopefully will not suffer...there is help out there.

Albie Espinola