Hello from Berlin :)

Avid followers might have noticed that instead of one blog a week, its been one a fortnight this month, which can only give you a clue as to the kind of month its been…

Leaving Amsterdam two days late and still arriving here a day ahead of schedule is not a achievement I’m planning to repeat but of course I’m chuffed that I made here safe and on time, and it’s all thanks to Ariel, for stepping in to drive Yvonne and keep my on the road. Still, this last walk has honestly been the toughest so far, but like I’ve mention before, nobody ever said the Road to Change was going to be easy…

It took three days, in insane heat, to reach the German border. I’ll always have fond memories of walking across the Netherlands. Not least because the kind cycle paths that meant I never once had to compete with traffic but also the vast flatness of that county is something I know I’ll miss more each day as the walk become gradually all ‘up-hill’ from here on in.

In the past few months, a pattern began to emerge. A week of walking through countryside, alone with my thoughts, then a crazy busy week in a whole new city meeting hundreds of people – survivors, politicians, press and organisations. While walking, I rarely encountered much to relate in a blog that was relevant to Child Sexual Abuse. The Amsterdam/Berlin walk has been quite different. I found myself wandering into a number of unique incidents that where entirely related to the mission, I had begun to assume all of these encounters where reserved for when I reach the big city.

For example, just before leaving Holland, we stopped at a McDonalds to make the most of their unlimited wifi, once you reach Germany even McDonalds only allow you an hour of ‘Gratis Wifee’. Ariel and I arrived a 7am, an hour before it even opened, so we sat drinking coffee in Yvonne while a wee McDonalds worker meticulously emptied every bin in the car park around us. Eventually we got talking and Ariel explained the Road to Change logo on Yvonne’s nose. He seemed genuinely interested and told us about his big family back in Ghana, five kids of his own and four, who were his brothers. He is actually minister and sends what money he makes back over to support them. Recently, a child in his village had been invited by a local man to watch TV in his house. The ten-year-old boy, not having a TV at home, was only too happy to accept the offer. The boy was raped and although everyone in the community knew about it, it seemed nothing was going to be done. Sadly, typical but this kind soul, working here of minimum wage, thousands of miles away from his own kids and the community he cares about, worked extra shits to send back 200 euro to pay the police there to arrest the man. He then had to send another 250 to pay a newspaper to just cover the story. A gentleman in the original sense of the word, I was astounded by the compassion and commitment this man has towards the protection of children. Working all hours, emptying bins and cleaning windows to have a chance of making a difference to the lives of children on the other side of the globe. Ariel, Dr King, exchanged contact info with him and has decided to help him establish his own foundation and even invited him to address the UN. This way he can begin to gain the kind of support he needs and deserves to maintain the crucial impact he is having on the lives of one small community back home. As we’ve seen, one small change, one honest voice is all it takes to begin a much bigger movement. I was humbled to meet this man, and it was a stark reminder never to make assumptions about the guy who empties the bins in McDonalds. This man is a true hero.

With all this fresh in my thoughts, I kept my eyes and my mind open as I walked on, and it didn’t take long before another unforgettable instant emerged from an otherwise banal walking day. Near the border, I was walking along trying to imagine life a village in Ghana when I looked ahead and realised that I was about to pass a group of bored looking teenagers. Great…I’m proud of my kilt, and the mission I’m currently on, but I do appreciate that to these kids I am just a man walking through their home town in a skirt. Earphones in and music blaring, I could still hear their laughs and shouts as I marched passed but being from Glasgow, it takes more than a few wee heckling neds to unsettle me, so instead I stopped and turned around. I could already see that they weren’t quite expecting that…My pockets are always filled with flyers, showing my entire route across the continent and a few hard facts about the grim reality of child sexual abuse in Europe nowadays. Their wide grins dropped as I walk back over to them and handed out a few flyers. They changed instantly, and suddenly seemed amazed that they were now talking to a guy who had walked all the way from London and had made sure their wee town was not missed out on a 10,000 mile route around the whole of Europe. Turns out they were actually all nice wee guys and they began genuinely congratulating me on my achievement so far, bless them. They understood the walking part but then when I explained the reason behind the walk they looked entirely unsure about what to make of it. Mostly they just nodded and patted me on the back but one boy at the back fell silent.

His mates didn’t notice but his wide eyes and static panic told me what I’m sure he’s never ever told anyone before, not even any of his friends here, who were still standing around smiling in the park where they probably go most nights. Where he probably goes to escape whatever it is that had given him that now distant expression. That sadness that his mates unknowingly help him to forget about for a few hours. I would never ask anyone if they’ve been abused but often you don’t actually need to ask.

It was as if this one kid was terrified that I would acknowledge his unique reaction, of course I wouldn’t. My heart broke a little though, as in his eyes I remembered everything. The nightmare that was my teenage years. Spending every second trying to feel and appear normal, when really I had no idea what or who I was, on top of that, there was the constant covering up for my uncle. Making up random excuses for where we’d been, why I was back so late, why I was still hungry when apparently he’d taken me out for chips. I remembered standing around parks or shops with my mates, all cracking jokes about gays and bragging about how many girls we’d been with, while the whole time being somewhere else in my head. Trying not to remember my uncle’s warm mouth from the night before. Knowing that if the lads had any idea that I had had more sex than all of them put together, just with my uncle, they’d never laugh with me the same way ever again. I didn’t want to lose them, my friends, but I knew I would, if they knew. I needed them. Although they had no clue about any of it, they could sometimes make me laugh for real. I was like a facade. I became an expert liar, and I never let anything show, what I was truly thinking, remembering, hoping for or going through. I kept it locked down, miles from the surface and painted over it with a perfect smile and a cheeky laugh.

So what now? Standing in a park with a group of teens and I know one of them needs help. How can I help, really? Keep walking? Keep talking to newspapers and just hope that this kid gets brave enough one day soon to tell someone what has or is happening to him? Even with all my contacts and determination to effect some kind of change, in that moment, chatting to these kids, aware that one was somewhere else in his head, I felt completely powerless. I decided to make something clear. I told them that in every country, I meet organisations who can help. I said slowly, without directing it at any particular one of them and as casually as I could manage, that if they ever meet anyone who they think could use that kind of help they can email me from the website on the flyer and they can find that help as discreetly as they want. No one needs to know. The guys all nodded and wished me luck. That boy nodded too.

So again, on I walked. Checking my email regularly ever since, but so far nothing…

Walking walking walking….

Walking through Germany is different again. The entire country seems to be made up of wee hamlets, all around 900 years old according to their wee plaques, populated by no more than 100 people. Tiny, yet each seems to have its own crest and flag. Heritage seems important here. I must have passed five street festivals in a week. Harvest time I guess. In France the corn was up to my shin, in Belgium it was up to my waste but now it’s all been gather in. The vast golden fields are already ploughed again, all I see now is miles of mud. I’ve done more walking through fields in this country than any other. The further away from the Dutch border I got, the less I found cycle paths. Not a problem in other countries but here they have a sign that literally means ‘Go as fast as you want’. When I see that, I have to get as far away from the side of the road as possible. It’s not just on the Autobahns, tiny wee country roads a mile long connecting two sleepy wee villages will still have lorries screaming past at 100mpr.

It was fun being with Ariel though. She has an effortless positivity that I thrive on, and when you consider the reality of living in van it really helps to have a natural sunny disposition. Every three days we run out of water. Every 2 days we run out of electricity and every fourish days, we need to empty the chemical toilet. All these things are ok when parked in a campsite but I only stop in a campsite on a monday, when rest my body and I seek out wifi to catch up on email. For six days a week, I get up around 5am and walk between 40 and 60km (25 to 40 miles) Usually finishing before dark. As I walk, I try to coordinate events and meetings in the cities I’m approaching but also in the other 27 countries I’ll be arriving in soon enough. Ariel was exceptional at arranging local press interviews while I walked, so I was front page of several newspapers as I made my way across the country. As well as all this, I try to remain present on Facebook and Twitter (so you guys know I’m ok…) but I need signal to use my phone, which wasn’t always possible here, I need power for the phone to be on anyway, which again wasn’t always the case. It’s been a galvanising experience…

It’s not all stress though. When approaching a wee forrest last week, I was surprised to see Yvonne parked up ahead of me in the quiet lay-by, miles from civilisation. As I got closer, I realised it wasn’t Yvonne, just a very similar van but this one had a lady in it, who I quickly realised was waving at me to ‘drop in…’ I smiled at her and kept walking, then saw another similar van not too far ahead. In fact, I counted seven in total in the small stretch of forrest road. These cheap mobile-homes must be ideal for the type of business those ladies are in, and then I realised what people in those areas might be assuming we’re up to in Yvonne, parked at the side of random quiet roads every night…Great…That night we stopped in a quiet street of a bigger town but it wasn’t too long before we got a knock at the door from a hopeful ‘customer’. He’d seen Ariel (Dr King) through the window but hadn’t seen me, already lying up in my own bunk out of sight. The guy knocked again and began scratching the door in a creepy way, that I imagine he probably thought sounded seductive. Panicked, Ariel whispered ‘What do we do?’ but slightly amused by the scenario, I just put on my deepest Glasgow voice and said ‘What?!’ as loud as possible. This was all it took for the guy to run, probably thinking this Van was ‘taken’…

After Amsterdam, where sex is sold so openly, it was bizarre to witness the strange underworld after only a few days walking, where similar encounters take place so covertly.

So, it was with great relief that I finally staggered into Berlin. Ariel parked Yvonne at a campsite on the outskirts and walked with me the last few hours into the centre. I was so grateful she had been able and willing to drive Yvonne for nearly three weeks but as she is an incredibly busy lady, the next morning she was gone.

I’m quite comfortable on my own but Yvonne’s back tyre blew out as Ariel drove her into the campsite, which means although I’ve paid to be here, I’m 30 yards from the electricity that I so need…I have until Thursday to get the tyre fixed, get my laundry done, get everything charged up and secure a new driver to follow me to Copenhagen.

Still, I’m not entirely alone, the British Embassy here have been wonderful. When I reached their building on Friday morning, I was officially welcomed to Berlin by Simon Gallagher, Councellor & Head of EU & Economic Section. They also arranged national press interviews and a photoshoot with the Great British Mini that’s been touring German hotspots all year. I’m getting used to talking to press. I am very open about being a survivor and of course advocate for ‘Stopping the Silence’ around child sexual abuse, but when one journalist asked me to explain ‘what exactly did your uncle do to you?’ I suddenly felt very uncomfortable talking about it. I realised, though, it was a fair question, and for anyone who genuinely has no experience of abuse it can help to give the grim details. So, in a beautiful press room of the German British Embassy, with a journalist, a photographer and staff from the Embassy itself, I talked blatantly though the ‘highlights’ of my experiences of being a stripped and molested repeatedly throughout my childhood. I got the definite sense that he quickly regretted asking me the question but still, no one burst into flames. It’s ok to talk about it. That is essentially what I’m here for…

The Embassy have also kindly arranged a free physio session and are trying to get me into speak to the Germany Minister of Families. I’ve walked 450miles in 16 days and so can’t wait to get pummelled by a professional, and the current legal situation regarding survivors rights here in Germany leaves me with a lot of questions, so I’m really hopeful the Embassy are able to pull off that short meeting while I’m here.

Germany actually announced reforms of the ‘Statute of Limitations’ last month. Unlike the wonderful people I met in Luxembourg, who cannot press charges against their offender because the victims are older than 28, here survivors can now report child sexual abuse up until they reach 51. It’s an improvement but really, I don’t see why they didn’t simply abolish the limit rather than extended it. Age restrictions seem so arbitrary. I hope I can discuss the issue with Minister of Families to better understand the reasons for their specific reforms rather than just removing it.

All in all, I am liking Berlin. It feels very like a European NYC. I have two potential drivers who’d like to follow me in Yvonne to Copenhagen, so once I’ve sorted this flat tyre I’ll be meeting up with them. We have a spare tyre attached under back axel but even the guy who sold us Yvonne can’t explain how to unhook it. Ah well…I’ll get there.

Now I’ve written this blog, I need to head into town to find a starbuck so I can post it. If any company would like to support the Road to Change, we could maybe one day get a dongle and make life a whole lot easier.

Anyhoo…

Thanks for reading.

Matty x

Made it to the main newspaper in Berlin and was top story on their website this weekend :)