TW: Sexual Harassment, Indecent Assault

“Boy, you will regret denying me access to you, mark my words!”

Usually, a light laugh would follow Mr. Smith’s every sentence but, for the first time, his smile vanished and was replaced by something far darker. I searched his eyes in dire hope that he was joking, and in that moment, I realized how deeply I was entangled in a situation I couldn’t easily escape.

Faculty-student harassment in academia is pervasive, with approximately 25% of students having experienced harassment in academic settings. It is often built on the authority gap between professors and students, leaving those affected in a painful silence, unable to speak out due to the power dynamics at play. This is a system where respect for lecturers is absolute, professors are in a significant position of power, and students have few avenues for recourse. But what happens when this power is weaponised?

In this blog I share my journey through medical school in a large African country in which I endured a nightmarish lesson in navigating unwanted advances, the misuse of academic power, and the emotional trauma that followed. As I will share, the harassment affected not only my experience in the classroom, but my mental health, personal relationships, and my drive to succeed. 

The calm before the storm

Pursuing a medical degree in Africa is no small feat, especially with frequent academic strikes, understaffed departments, and a rigid hierarchy where respect for lecturers is absolute. Still, I entered my first year with determination and, despite early struggles, managed to finish with high grades. This success, and the pride of my family and friends, motivated me to work even harder.

Going into my second year, the higher workload was challenging, but I stayed ahead by forming study groups with friends and putting in long hours. Mr Smith*, the Head of Department, was one of the few lecturers who made the lectures easily absorbable, and I admired his dedication. He was extra supportive to bright students, and I made it my goal to work extra hard in class. It was common knowledge that getting respected by a professor tends to earn a student great advantages – like job recommendations – later in life. Having put in the effort, his pride in my performance became obvious, especially as I scored high on quizzes and actively engaged in his classes. I enjoyed his praise and positive feedback, and I valued the trust he placed in me, even receiving extra materials to aid my studies. But just as I settled into the rhythm of academic life, his supportive mentorship began to shift in troubling ways.

The harassment begins

At the end of a particular class, Mr. Smith had told me to feel free to reach out to him if I needed clarity about any issues. Of course, I only planned to reach out if I genuinely needed such assistance, and did not want to receive any unfair advantage in my studies. And so far, things had been going great. He would give me some extra lessons, and materials to help me study better after classes. I was really grateful. I had studious friends and a lecturer who was willing to see me soar with flying colours. I felt blessed and more motivated than ever. What could go wrong? 

As time went on, things started to become uncomfortable. One day, after yet another class, I had to return the teaching materials to Mr Smith’s office. I took the key from Mr Smith, and headed to the office. After I had safely deposited the equipment, I left and was about to lock the office door when Mr. Smith came in. I handed over the key to him and made to leave, but he held my hand for a few seconds and said to me with a smile: “You complement all that brain with just beauty that is just as intense. I love it.” I kept mute for a while, out of shock. Mr. Smith was always known to joke around, so I just laughed it off, thanked him awkwardly and left. What did he mean? I was confused and had no idea how to respond.

Other instances that had me confused were the times he would occasionally send suggestive stickers via an online messaging platform. Again, I was terribly confused. For all I knew, Mr. Smith was a straight, happily-married man with children. His recent actions just didn’t add up.

Things began to get increasingly bizarre from there. During classes, as he taught, his gaze would last a second longer on me than it should. Sometimes, when he asked questions, and I signaled to answer, he as well as other students would pay attention as I answered. But this time it wasn’t a look of pride or satisfaction, it was something else; a subtle glint that danced in his eyes. It was getting really uncomfortable, and it was beginning to hinder me from grasping all the knowledge I normally would during class. So, I decided to speak to him and try to understand what was going on. 

Trying to voice my concerns

One day, after we had just finished a quiz, I gathered the scripts and took them to the department. After I had submitted them in his office, I asked to have a word with him, and he asked me to sit. I spoke carefully, bringing up the disconcerting issue of his recent actions. 

After listening to my words carefully, he contorted his face to form that ever-creepy smile and said: “We could always have a little fun, you and I.” Just as I was about to speak, it began raining, and heavily. I had no means of getting home in the downpour, and he sensed my concern. “Why don’t I drop you off? Where do you stay?” he said, snapping me out of my dilemma. 

I was already so uncomfortable around him, and I didn’t want a scenario where we would be together in a private space. I thought for a while and barely managed to agree, because I didn’t have any other option seeing as I didn’t own a car or any other means of transport.

On the way home, I pondered on what he had said earlier in the office. I attempted to steer the conversation toward addressing his inappropriate behavior in a respectful manner, hoping to convey my discomfort without escalating the situation, but before I could speak up, he rubbed my thigh, saying “Why don’t you follow me home?”

Again, I was shocked. I immediately tensed at his touch and readily rejected his offer, explaining that I had a prior commitment and needed to leave straight away. A hurt look flashed across his face for second before he spoke: “You’re home. You can leave.” he said, the usual warmth gone from his voice. I looked out the window and saw that I was indeed home. I quickly thanked him and exited the car. After that, my mind was all over the place. What began as unsettling interactions soon snowballed into an unbearable challenge.

Facing the repercussions

As the weeks went by, studying became increasingly difficult. Since the incident when I refused to go home with him, Mr Smith had halted any additional lessons with me, and would score me lower than I deserved in my quizzes, even when I was sure I did perform well. I tried to clear my head to study, but I couldn’t. The stress began to manifest in ways I hadn’t expected – I found myself waking up in the middle of the night, my mind racing with paranoia and dread about what lay ahead. I became plagued by recurring migraines, and simple tasks like focusing on lecture notes felt exhausting.

The isolation made it worse; every time I thought of speaking to someone about it, fear held me back. Mr. Smith was very respected in the institution, and if there’s one thing academic leaders would not tolerate, it was disrespect. Reporting him felt futile and dangerous; I had seen what happened to students who spoke up against authority. A fellow student had once reported a well-regarded professor’s inappropriate conduct only to face suspension on charges of defamation. In a system where lecturers wielded unchecked authority, I knew my story would likely be dismissed, and I would pay a similar price.

These constant thoughts weighed on me, gnawing at my sense of worth and leaving me in a perpetual state of anxiety. Studying was no longer just about excelling academically – it felt like a desperate fight to hold onto my future. I felt alone, torn between the need to succeed and the shadow his presence cast over my life. Each day became a mental struggle, but I kept telling myself to persevere. Yet, as my grades began slipping and exams approached, the mental exhaustion and pressure to perform were weighing me down more than gravity itself. Still, I tried to focus on the objective – graduating from medical school – and I made a plan to limit or avoid any encounter with him.

Another attempted assault

Soon after this, one of my other lecturers approached me after class and informed me that Mr Smith needed to meet with me to discuss academic issues. I tried to find a way to evade this encounter, but to no avail. I thought of asking another student who was a course representative, but she was away at the time. I mustered courage and went to the department. I entered his office and was immediately asked to sit. Once I settled, he got up and went to lock the door. I instinctively shifted in my seat, my heart beating at a thousand miles an hour. I felt a hand on my shoulder and then he told me to relax.

“Are you ready now?” he asked, with a sinister smile. I was confused at first until he advanced towards me, his erection clearly visible beneath his clothes. I immediately got up and desperately told him I could not do this. He stared at me for a long while before saying: “Boy, you will regret denying access to me, mark my words! Leave my office!” I left his office in utter shock. 

Then the first exam came at the end of the year. Despite feeling overwhelmed with stress and anxiety, I tried my best to write it well. Sadly, when the results were released a few weeks later it was clear that I had failed. This plunged me into devastation. My family was disappointed, and I was left behind as my friends advanced to the next level of studies. I blamed myself. I wondered if I could have avoided this or if the outcome would have been different, if I acted differently at some point. I was torn apart. 

The next year came, and I felt terribly unmotivated and unhappy, knowing that I would have to face Mr Smith in classes again. To my good fortune, however, Mr. Smith was on leave for the year, and this meant that I was able to focus on my studies. Thankfully I performed fairly well in the next examinations, but not with the distinction I had envisioned. 

Conclusion

My experience of navigating sexual harassment at my university highlights the urgent need for structural changes in our educational institutions. Without clear, protected pathways for students to report harassment, the power imbalance between lecturers and students will continue to harm lives and futures. To formally speak up, what would have helped me and countless others is the presence of clear, accessible, and student-centered reporting mechanisms. This means establishing independent, well-funded committees free from the influence of academic staff, alongside awareness campaigns to educate students about their rights.

Additionally, there must be accountability structures that ensure lecturers face consequences for inappropriate behaviour. These measures could foster a safer and more equitable academic environment, empowering students to report harassment without fear of victimization or academic retaliation.

For those of us who have endured these struggles, the journey is a reminder of the importance of mental health support, open dialogue, and accountability within academic environments. By speaking out, I hope to inspire reforms that protect students and foster a culture of respect, where authority is used to empower rather than oppress. 

*Mr Smith is a pseudonym used throughout this blog post

This blog is kindly sponsored by G-Research