Don’t Call Me a Victim

By TOMMY HALVORSEN

The May evening was as warm as usual in Uganda’s capital, Kampala. It was past 10 PM when Gloria Kankuda got into her metallic gray Suzuki, heading home to her neighborhood of Kabowa.

The day had been filled with meetings and tasks. With her in the car was a friend who would be staying over. Their conversation flowed as smoothly as the evening traffic—until they turned onto her street and approached the gate to her home.

Dimly lit by streetlights, they noticed a stranger dressed in a red plaid flannel shirt with an open jacket over it.

"Is it normal for people to be lurking around here this late?" her friend wondered. Gloria shrugged. She was rarely out at this hour. The time was just past 10:30 PM. It was Thursday, May 21, 2009.

The car moved slowly as they neared the gate, where the guard would soon let them in. Then, suddenly, the car door was yanked open. The unknown man in the flannel shirt grabbed Gloria’s arm and tried to pull her out. She resisted, screaming as loud as she could. Then, all at once, she felt something being poured over her.

Gloria thought it was a robbery attempt, that the attacker wanted to make her unconscious with whatever substance he had. She couldn’t see what it was, but she felt a sharp sting, tiny jolts of pain spreading across her skin. Just before the security guard and shocked neighbors rushed over, the attacker fled.

Inside the Suzuki, a thick cloud of smoke had formed. It was impossible to see clearly, but Gloria managed to crawl out. The neighbors, still unaware of what had happened, decided to take her to a nearby clinic.

By the time they arrived, Gloria was wearing only her underwear—everything else had been burned away. They still didn’t realize it was acid, but the nurses quickly understood that they were dealing with something beyond their capacity.

Gloria was transferred to Kampala International Hospital. She remained conscious, sitting still during the transport. Adrenaline dulled the pain somewhat.

At the hospital, Dr. Ben Khingi was on night duty. He now had another terrified woman before him. Unlike the others, he immediately understood what had happened—she had been attacked with acid.

Before they reached the shower, he ordered buckets of cold water to be poured over Gloria. As the water touched her skin, it was like an explosion of pain beyond anything she could have imagined. Her terrified screams echoed through the hospital corridors. She thought of her son, Aaron, and the child she was carrying. Three months pregnant. Then, she lost consciousness.

She remembers waking to a man’s voice near her ear, asking if he could cut her hair. Gloria strained to respond and gave a weak nod. "I had long, beautiful hair back then," the 38-year-old says.

A soft smile crosses her face. Her left eye still functions; the right one is lifeless. It couldn't be saved, and she later received a prosthetic eye. The fact that she can see at all is thanks to Dr. Khingi.

As part of her treatment, he started a saline drip for her eyes to prevent them from drying out. Due to a staff shortage, one of Gloria’s family members was assigned to administer drops throughout the night. Every five to six seconds, a drop fell into eyes longing for sleep. The saline drops saved her left eye.

The first days in the hospital were spent cleaning her wounds. After four days, when she was transferred to Mulago Hospital, Uganda’s largest medical facility, she thought the worst was over. But the real suffering was just beginning.

At Mulago, doctors cut away as much dead skin as possible—going deep, but not so much that it caused excessive bleeding. The treatment was even more complicated because of her pregnancy. It was uncertain if the baby would survive.

Five days later, Gloria was flown to Cape Town for treatment by specialists unavailable in Uganda. The trip was made possible by financial contributions from her family and support from the government. She wouldn’t return home for more than two years.

"It was a difficult time," Gloria says, having lost count of the surgeries. "The pain from my injuries was unbearable, and on top of that, I longed for my son." She never saw him once during those two years.

Seeing herself in the mirror for the first time after the attack didn’t help. About two weeks after that fateful night in Kampala, two nurses helped her into the bathroom. When Gloria lifted her gaze to the oval mirror above the sink, she saw a face she didn’t recognize—covered in wounds and yellowish-white patches.

"My life as I knew it is over," she thought. "How do I even begin to explain this?"

The 38-year-old lifts her arm from the table, rests her chin in her palm, and looks at us. "That moment in front of the mirror was when reality truly hit me. I saw a different person, and I didn’t like what I saw."

With acid attacks, the full extent of the damage becomes visible over time, as scars settle in. Like many other survivors, Gloria could have had significantly less scarring if she had been put under running water sooner.

The best "medicine" after an acid attack, Khingi explains, is to get under a shower as quickly as possible. With at least 20 minutes of running cold water immediately afterward, Gloria’s injuries could have been minimal.

For her, the time after the attack was filled with dark, depressive thoughts. The turning point in accepting her new appearance came through conversations with a physical therapist in Cape Town.

"She became a friend who comforted and encouraged me. Slowly, my perspective changed. I had a son waiting for me, and I was about to give birth. The attack hadn’t killed me or my baby. Gradually, I began seeing myself as a survivor instead of a victim."

Five months into her stay in South Africa, Gloria gave birth successfully. "I named her Miracle," she says with a warm smile.

Gloria had been warned before the attack. Weeks earlier, an unknown man had called, saying a woman had asked him to carry out an "acid hit." He had refused and now wanted to warn her. She didn’t take it seriously, assuming it was a mistake or a joke.

"I never imagined I could be attacked like this—I had no enemies," she says.

The investigation pointed to a woman, and Gloria now believes the motive was jealousy. The suspect was arrested, but since Gloria was undergoing treatment abroad and couldn’t appear in court, the case was dropped, and the woman was released.

Dr. Khingi confirms this. "Acid attacks almost always happen after dark, leaving the victim as the only witness. If they are unable to testify due to treatment, cases are quickly dismissed."

Only about half of attackers are ever identified, even fewer are prosecuted, and only a handful are convicted. "The fact that perpetrators walk free is an added burden for survivors, fueling fear and frustration with the justice system," Khingi explains.

Gloria still carries that fear. "Sometimes, I worry about my children and myself. If someone has done this once, you wonder if they could do it again."

She pauses before continuing. "She’s still out there. Free. That fear never fully disappears."

"Are you angry? Bitter?"

"No, today I am at peace. It’s best for me not to hold onto anger. My faith has helped me—I have forgiven her," Gloria says.

Today, she runs her own foundation, helping other acid attack survivors financially, materially, and emotionally. "I want to give people the strength to carry their scars—the physical ones and the hidden ones—so they can rejoin society."

As she speaks, her voice is steady, filled with determination.

Don’t call me a victim. I am a survivor.