At Hands of My ‘Mate’

Pick Me Up! - - FRONT PAGE -

Me­gan Jor­dan, 17, Hert­ford­shire

Glanc­ing in the mir­ror, I ap­plied a coat of mas­cara and some pink lip gloss. A typ­i­cal 16-year-old, I loved do­ing my make-up.

As I pulled my hair into a pony­tail, my mo­bile phone beeped. It was a text from my friend Djos Lombo, 21.

Meet me in an hour, it read. Djos had been dat­ing one of my friends for a few months, of­ten walked me to her house to make sure I got there safely. So sweet!

An hour later, in the early evening, I texted my mum Linda, 52, at work, telling her I was go­ing out.

As usual, Djos was wait­ing down the road for me. But, in­stead of walk­ing to his girl­friend’s as planned, he asked me to walk across the field next to my house.

It was get­ting dark, but pre­sum­ing he just wanted a cig­a­rette, I fol­lowed.

‘Let’s go down here,’ he said, point­ing to a patch of waste­land hid­den from the road­side.

Fol­low­ing the path, he turned to me with a eerie, blank look.

‘Do the po­lice come here?’ he asked. ‘Are there any cam­eras?’ Sud­denly, I felt on edge. ‘Why?’ I gig­gled ner­vously. ‘Are you go­ing to kill me?’

What the hell?

Djos started to laugh.

But some­thing didn’t seem right, so I turned around, started walk­ing quickly back to­wards the en­trance.

Sud­denly, I felt a hand shove me force­fully in the back, and I fell to the ground, land­ing with a thump.

Jump­ing up, I brushed thorns off my jacket. My heart was pound­ing with fear.

What the hell was Djos do­ing? As I went to run, he grabbed me in vi­o­lent bear hug, his grip tight­en­ing around my waist. ‘No!’ I cried, fight­ing back. But then he clamped his hand over my mouth.

‘If you scream, I will kill you,’ he snarled. Pan­ick­ing, I burst into tears. The place was de­serted – there was no-one around who could help me.

Al­though we were only a short dis­tance from my house, we were hid­den from view and too far off to be heard.

Djos dragged me to­wards a sec­tion of se­cluded grass.

Mo­ments later, he un­but­toned my jeans, and thrust his hand into my un­der­wear, grop­ing me.

Then he un­zipped his jeans. And, dis­gust­ingly, he forced me to per­form oral sex.

I wept, hat­ing ev­ery tor­tur­ous sec­ond of it.

When it was over, I strug­gled to my feet and made a run for it. But Djos grabbed my jacket, pulling me back­wards. ‘Please, just stop,’ I sobbed. I’d trusted him, thought he was my friend. But Djos ig­nored my pleas and wrapped his arm tightly around my throat.

A threat

‘You’d bet­ter not tell any­one,’ he hissed into my ear.

Kick­ing, I strug­gled to es­cape, but he squeezed harder.

I was gasp­ing for air when ev­ery­thing went black...

Next thing I knew, I woke up in a bush, wear­ing just

my bra and jeans.

Djos had left me for dead – but I was still alive.

My body throb­bing with pain, I des­per­ately felt for my phone. It was gone, along with my jumper and jacket, but I still had my house keys.

Slowly, I climbed to my feet and stum­bled home.

Shak­ing, it took me sev­eral at­tempts to get my key into the lock.

Only an hour or so had passed since I’d left the house.

In­side, I col­lapsed into a ball on the sofa and sobbed.

An hour later, Mum came home, and was shocked to see the state I was in.

‘What’s wrong?’ she said, ob­vi­ously con­cerned.

As I told her what’d hap­pened, she burst into tears.

‘I should’ve been there to pro­tect you,’ she said, putting her arms around me.

Mum called the po­lice – and, half an hour later, an of­fi­cer ar­rived and took my state­ment. Then I was taken to North Mid­dle­sex Univer­sity Hos­pi­tal for tests and swabs.

At the hos­pi­tal, doc­tors wor­ried I’d suf­fered brain dam­age as I’d been un­con­scious for so long.

My neck was badly bruised and swollen where Djos had stran­gled me.

When they told me I was lucky to have wo­ken up at all, the grim re­al­ity sank in.

He tried to kill me, I re­alised. Luck­ily, tests con­firmed I wasn’t brain damaged.

Head held high

Of­fi­cers hunted Djos, but he’d gone on the run. And I knew I wouldn’t rest easy un­til he’d been caught.

‘I’m scared, Mum,’ I sobbed. Thank­fully, five days later, in Novem­ber last year, of­fi­cers tracked down Djos in Basil­don, Es­sex, where they ar­rested and re­manded him.

Mean­while, I was suf­fer­ing from the af­ter-ef­fects of the at­tack. I barely left the house, and was off school for a month.

I just couldn’t face go­ing out, para­noid I’d be at­tacked again.

My bub­bly per­son­al­ity dis­ap­peared and, in­stead, I be­came a ner­vous wreck. But friends ral­lied around, al­ways vis­it­ing so I wasn’t left alone.

In June, Djos Lombo, 21, ap­peared at St Al­bans Crown Court, charged with rape, at­tempted mur­der, sex­ual as­sault and making a threat to kill.

He de­nied the charges, which meant I had to give ev­i­dence in front of a jury.

I was ter­ri­fied, but I held my head high, de­ter­mined to get jus­tice.

I wanted to show Lombo that, no mat­ter what, I was stronger than him.

Af­ter giv­ing my ev­i­dence, I left the court.

When my case of­fi­cer called me later to give me the ver­dict, I sobbed with re­lief.


Djos Lombo was jailed for 21 years with a five-year ex­tended li­cence.

I still suf­fer night­mares and flash­backs from the at­tack, but I’ve got to move on.

Mum’s been my rock, and she’s help­ing me through.

It’s go­ing to take time, and I’ll never for­get what Lombo did to me.

I thought he was my mate, yet he as­saulted me and left me for dead.

He’s nothing but a mon­ster.

At the hos­pi­tal, doc­tors wor­ried I had brain dam­age

jailed: lombo


i was JUST a Typ­i­cal Teenager

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