From incest to denial of resources to domestic violence, shelters in Côte d'Ivoire are the last refuges for those whose lives have been shattered by gender-based violence (GBV). Behind the soothing walls of these "Safe Homes," women try to rebuild their lives, far from their tormentors, but never truly far from the aftereffects of their trauma.

The Centre for the Prevention and Assistance to Victims of Violence, Pavvios , located in the commune of Attécoubé, despite what it says, is not a place of transit. It is a refuge, or rather, a sanctuary for recovery. A place where time stands still to allow the healing and reconstruction of broken women, like assembling the pieces of a puzzle.

Let's call her Grace. The 11-year-old princess who dreamed of being Alice in Wonderland saw Fairy Carabosse inflicted with perverted parents. Father, the pastor, and his female partner, inspired by Satan rather than the Bible, turned her into a sexual object. The little girl endured the assaults of the so-called man of God, under the eyes of Mother Pontius Pilate, who washed his hands of it. How many times?

Grace couldn't say, lost in a nightmare that would result in a rounded belly for her immature pelvis. When a visitor to the infernal couple noticed the child's distress, the mother mentioned "painful periods." The poor girl was actually in premature labor.

The pain of the contractions will first make her recount scenes of the incest she regularly endured, and the threat of not flinching at the risk of dying. The birth is painful. The premature baby is placed in an incubator at the Mother-Child Hospital in Bingerville. The child, now monitored by Pavvios, is interned. Every day, she goes to the hospital with the social workers to see the baby. The child will not survive.

Grace, weakened and traumatized, was taken into care for many months, then placed in foster care. Today, she has returned to school and is also smiling at life. The diabolical couple, for their part, have taken to the fields to escape legal action. Ms. Kouadio Félicité, director of the Pavvios center, who tells us about Grace's tragedy, has in her eyes the melancholy of people who rub shoulders with moral misery on a daily basis. Fanta, another survivor, had been brought to the center by friends.

With a black eye, a swollen face, broken ribs, and urinary leaks, she couldn't stand, let alone walk. Her husband, Muhammad Ali, regularly used her like a punching bag, and her body bore the marks of this domestic violence. Fanta didn't want to file a complaint for fear of being stigmatized by her family. The care provided by the center allowed the young thirty-something to walk again. But where does that leave her?

My father ruined my life

On this Wednesday in October 2025, Éléonore, 28, the oldest resident, greets us with a half-smile. Her neat appearance and impassive face betray nothing of the magnitude of what she has experienced. Her story is one of betrayal, a stab in her flesh and soul.

Sexual abuse perpetrated by her own father plunged her life into horror. In 2012, her father brought her from the village to Abidjan. Eléonore was 13 years old and had stars in her eyes in front of the man she saw as her savior. In the village, life was harsh, and the most thankless tasks were reserved for the little orphan. When Father arrived, Eléonore was celebrating.

A joy that would last like fireworks. The day before their arrival in Abidjan, in the darkness of the hut, she suffered the first attack without really believing that it could be her father. Then followed repeated assaults accompanied by "you'll die if you talk"; "they'll put us in prison"; "you'll continue to be bullied in the village...", intimidation and threats that would seal the denunciation and open the way to a decade of abuse. "The day before our arrival in Abidjan, late at night, he came in and closed the door.

It was dark. He undressed me and put his hand over my mouth so I wouldn't scream. I was so surprised at first, then so scared that I couldn't react. The next day, he threatened me not to tell anyone or risk staying in the village where I was already being bullied.

Then he said I would lose my life if I spoke out. It was after this first rape that we arrived in Abidjan. I thought he had had a moment of madness and that it would not happen again. But no, it continued; he continued and continued,” she says, struggling to contain her tears. The denunciation will take place following a scene of jealousy from the libidinous father in the hairdressing salon where Eléonore practices. She finally speaks, freed from the cloak of her silence, of this shame of having been a victim, shame of speaking out and refusal of the publicity and gossip that this “affair” would have aroused.

From his cell, the finally arrested attacker, while denying it, begs her to be gentle with him, promising to offer her a hair salon if she recants. Between curses and false promises, Eléonore manages to trap him thanks to her telephone confessions. She is told that sending her father to prison for such a crime is an excessive punishment. She withdraws her complaint, but justice does its work: the incestuous man, despite the two lawyers he hires for his defense, is sentenced to 20 years in prison. Eléonore, for her part, will be ostracized by the family. Ten years of rape by the man who was supposed to be her protector, that's digging a hole.

It will take more than a year for a college of psychologists and psychiatrists to bring the young woman out of her torpor. In Pavvios, a multidisciplinary team watches over her and protects her. These surrogate fathers and mothers have proven to her, with a wealth of kindness, that there are not only monsters in life, even if forgiveness still remains like a desert mirage for her. When questioned about this possibility, the young woman responds only with a heavy silence, her eyes closed. A silence that speaks volumes more than any cry. Now, Éléonore is training in esthetics. She is learning manicures and pedicures and makeup, but would like to be able to apply makeup to the desecration she suffered. Hoping for rapid integration, and especially hoping to be able to be the sole mistress of her life in the very near future, she applies herself.

Despite the concern of Pavvios staff, she now wishes she could stand on her own two feet. Eléonore, like so many other victims of gender-based violence, embodies resilience, but also the complexity of healing journeys. Pavvios is not an isolated case, or rather, an isolated center. In recent years, the government of Côte d'Ivoire has been deploying others, notably in Bouaké, Korhogo, and, more recently, in Adiaké, where the Maison des Femmes or Safe Home is located.

Myriam tried to end her life

Myriam, 20, is at the Women's House. Her frail physique and thin voice bend under the weight of a testimony, or rather a tragedy, that lifts the veil on a part of the perversity of certain men. Abandoned as a child, Myriam, who lived in Benin, found her father via social media in 2022, hoping for a new life in Abidjan. There she found a lustful tormentor. She was 17 at the time. "I was living in Benin, left to my own devices. It was difficult. As an insult, people called me an abandoned child.

I then decided to search social media to find my father who was living in Abidjan. Once I found him, with his consent, I was able to join him fairly quickly. As soon as I arrived here at his house, he started abusing me and threatened to kill me if I reported him,” she recounts her suffering. She continues: “At first, I didn’t really understand what was happening. I had never heard or seen that a father could “go out” with his daughter until I was pregnant with his child.” The horror intensified when she discovered that she no longer saw her periods.

And like a double torture, the father's younger brother gets involved too. Father and uncle pass the ball back and forth on the field of lewdness, with a daughter-niece, stunned by the anger of repeated assaults, as the ball. Her face is ravaged by an ordeal she tried to stop. Thirty minutes of conversation weren't enough for Myriam to empty her bag of bitterness. Each word is wrung from the pain, each tear, a refusal to heal. "My father ruined my life," she says, devastated. The rest of her story is a chronicle of deviant paternal control.

Arrested, her father allegedly ordered his wife to have an abortion from his cell. Thrown out onto the streets, destitute, Myriam tried to end her life. "It was too much for me," she says. The caring attention of the Safe Home she now receives is her only antidote to try to turn this dark part of her life around and forget. The Adiaké Women's House also houses those whose poverty manifested itself in the denial of resources and family abandonment. Anne-Marie, 21, chased out by her parents, became a wanderer and experienced the precariousness of the streets. Her survival was played out in the bus stations of Yopougon where she sold water.

Then a first child was born to an unknown father. Still pregnant and without financial resources, Anne-Marie hung around with her child in her arms and slept under the stars. In September 2025, she was taken off the streets with the one-year-old boy. Barely arrived at the Women's House, she gave birth to her second child and is now fully supported. Housed, fed, and cared for, she takes literacy classes and trains as a nail technician at the center. "I wore the same clothes for a week. But today, you can see for yourself, I'm better," she confides, smiling broadly.

I say thank you to them

The conditions of stay in these centers are strict, as they aim to guarantee security and stability. It is strictly forbidden to own a cell phone, and it is also forbidden to leave without prior authorization. These rules, although restrictive, are accepted as the price to pay for shelter and the opportunity to rebuild one's life.

The testimonies of these survivors are more than individual tragedies. They reveal a social emergency. In these centers, the goal is no longer just to treat physical injuries, but to re-arm these survivors Grace, Éléonore, Myriam, Anne-Marie, Fanta, and many others for life, to give them the tools to transform their status as victims into that of actors of their own destiny. A battle that is only just beginning. Fully supported, the women welcomed in these centers are allowed to have with them a maximum of three companions in misfortune or co-victims.

All of them say they are somewhat relieved from the torment they were in before arriving here. "Before I came here, I was in a pitiful state. Today, I live well and I am satisfied with the conditions of my stay. I don't pay for water, electricity, or food. I thank them," says Anne-Marie, grateful, who hopes that from now on her life and that of her children will take a less bumpy path.

Special Envoy to Adiaké

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1. La Mafa, like a 4-star hotel

The least that can be said is that the Adiaké Women's House (Mafa) is clearly visible. The blue background and white writing sign indicating the name of this reception and support center for victims, survivors, and co-victims of gender-based violence (GBV) is a reflection of its interior: beautiful, sober, and refined.

When you enter, there is a welcome breeze blowing at you, and the colors of pink, mauve, green, blue, red, and yellow with which the infrastructure is painted are arranged to revive hope. The lawn is impeccable and even the trash cans are arranged to contribute to the charm. The entire living environment is shimmering, and the welcome from the director, Ms. Lonfo, and her colleagues is warm.

The high-quality, and still brand new, equipment demonstrates First Lady Dominique Ouattara's interest in the women's cause in general and especially her tireless fight against gender-based violence.

This center, which she created through her Children Of Africa foundation and made available to the State through the Ministry of Women, Family and Children (Mffe), was inaugurated on April 10, 2025. Built on an area of 2 hectares with a panoramic view of the lagoon, in the Atadjé district, the Mafa was created in 2024 with the specificity of its classification as a level 2 integrated reference and transit service center.

This means that it is a structure that offers a full range of health, protection, and support services for GBV survivors and vulnerable children to help them recover and rebuild their lives. In this perspective, Mafa offers holistic care that includes: accommodation, psychosocial, medical, psychological, legal, and judicial support, training and economic empowerment, recreational activities, and finally reintegration or socio-professional integration.

The Mafa has a capacity of one hundred (100) beds including 5 single rooms for survivors with special attention; 14 family rooms with 3 beds; 14 double rooms with 2 beds; and 3 dormitory rooms including 2 with 6 beds and 1 with 12 beds.

The length of stay varies from three weeks (minimum) to six months, renewable once (maximum).

Since its opening, 32 survivors and co-victims have found refuge there, including around twenty (including 5 co-victims) who have been housed; and around ten, including 3 co-victims, who have not been housed but who have benefited from advice or medical assistance.

The specialized rooms for training in sewing, beauty, and hairdressing are equipped with the latest generation of equipment.

For the rest, it is up to all of us to work to raise awareness in the community about the issues facing women and children, and to advocate for policies and practices that support their rights and needs.