I didn’t grow up with my father.  I have never seen him, nor do I know him.  My mother divorced my father when I was very young and married another man who was a Muslim.  I stayed with them in a polygamous family for about ten years, passing through hardships, mockery, and psychological torture.  When this man died, we were chased away from that family by his wife and sons.  Since my biological father had also died with no home, my mother took me, and we lived in her mother’s house.  My two eldest sisters had prematurely married, and my only brother was living with our stepbrother