Sistah Space Was Created To Save Black Women From Domestic Abuse. 10 Years Later, The Work Feels Just As Urgent

It’s a cruel irony that after nearly 10 years of providing refuge for Black women facing domestic abuse, the charity Sistah Space has been left to pick up its own pieces following a recent burglary.

The brazen violation, which feels deeply personal, raises questions (along with some likely answers) as to the motive behind the crime. Why is it that Sistah Space — a leading domestic abuse charity and the UK’s first specialist refuge for women of African and Caribbean heritage — was the sole target of a burglary within a building that houses 70+ other offices?

“They broke in, they took all of our laptops, they took all of the money from our shop, and they took our keys,” the charity’s CEO & Founder, Ngozi Fulani, tells Refinery29. Fortified by her small team, backed by ambassador FKA Twigs, and enveloped with an abundance of encouragement from the local community, Ngozi and her colleagues have persevered. Though modest in size and despite a catalogue of years-long setbacks, they’ve proudly maintained their resilience and have supported thousands of service users since launching in 2015.

It was the heinous murder of Valerie Forde and her 22-month-old daughter at the hands of Valerie’s ex-partner in 2014 that prompted Ngozi to set up Sistah Space the following year. Six weeks before Valerie’s death, her ex-partner had threatened to burn down their house with everybody inside. However, when Valerie reported this to the police, it was recorded as merely a threat to property, and not a threat to life. 

That same year, 150 women were killed through male violence. This had increased from 143 women in 2013 to 126 women in 2012. Since 2014, there have been 898 victims of femicide in the UK, which the United Nations defines as “an intentional killing with a gender-related motivation” and can stem from “intimate partner violence, sexual harassment and other forms of sexual violence.” Of these, 698 victims were killed by a partner or ex-partner, and more than 9 in 10 were killed by a man.

Since the outset, Sistah Space has campaigned for the implementation of Valerie’s Law  — a call for mandatory cultural competency training for police officers. The charity gathered over 106,000 signatures on a petition, which was enough to get the issue debated in parliament. 

Named after Valerie Forde, whose murder alongside her baby daughter influenced so much of the organisation’s development, the law aims to ensure police understand the “cultural nuances and barriers, colloquialisms, languages and customs that make up the diverse Black community.” That includes recognising how bruises may appear differently on Black skin, understanding colloquial language that might signal danger, and asking the right questions when assessing risk. It also means addressing unconscious bias and rebuilding trust between the police and Black communities — trust that, for many, has long been broken.

Valerie’s Law was the subject of a parliamentary debate on 28 March 2022, with then Minister for Safeguarding, Rachel Maclean, committing to setting up a meeting between Sistah Space, the College of Policing and the National Police Chiefs' Council. “I will facilitate that meeting to take place as soon as diaries can be synchronised, but I hope it will be within a relatively short period,” she said at the time. As yet, no such meeting has taken place. Ngozi tells Refinery29: “About six months ago, we nudged them, and one of the MPs raised it again. They said they were going to get back to us but they didn't. If that isn't a clear response that says Black women's lives don't matter, I don't know what is.”

There’s compelling evidence which supports the need for intersectional training and education as outlined in Valerie’s Law. Research by Victim Support found that 48% of Black and minority ethnic women who experienced domestic violence felt they were treated differently by the police based on their ethnic background. Sistah Space has also found that only 57% of Black female victims of domestic abuse would go to the police.

As Refinery29 previously reported, there is a critical lack of data pertaining to the ethnicity of Britain’s femicide victims. This was highlighted in the 2021 Femicide Census, which revealed that in response to Freedom of Information requests, police forces only provided details relating to ethnicity for 41% of victims. Three of these victims were Black compared to a total of 46 who belonged to one of the five white ethnic groups. 

In stark contrast, Metropolitan Police figures point to a Black femicide crisis in the capital, with nine of the 21 femicide victims in 2022 (43%) being Black women. In 2023, this figure rose considerably when eight of the 13 femicide victims (62%) were Black. Johanita Kossiwa Dogbey was one of the women killed that year. While walking in Stockwell Park, she was the victim of a random attack at the hands of Mohamed Nur, who cut her throat with a makeshift blade. Four months later, 15-year-old Elianne Andam was repeatedly stabbed with a kitchen knife outside a shopping centre in Croydon. Her killer, Hassan Sentamu, had a history of attacking girls. Felecia Cadore was also murdered in 2023 after her ex-boyfriend climbed through her window and stabbed her in a “brutal” attack. She was taken to hospital but died from her injuries five days later.

In 2024, police chiefs officially classed violence against women and girls (VAWG) as a national threat, finding that at least 1 in every 12 women will be a victim of VAWG per year. And while it’s not possible to pinpoint a definitive cause, there are some proven signifiers which can help us better understand the reasons why men harm women. The Council of Europe identifies the four factors associated with gender-based violence as: cultural (patriarchal and sexist views legitimising violence); legal (women fearing backlash if they take legal action); economic (a lack of financial resources making women more vulnerable to violence); and political (the underrepresentation of women in power). As it relates to intimate partner violence, the World Health Organization cites low education, child maltreatment or exposure to violence in the family, and attitudes accepting of violence and gender inequality as some of the primary causes.

At a time when hatred of women has become increasingly pervasive, the underlying threat of VAWG feels ever more present. And with "red pill" and "manosphere" ideologies now mainstream online, it’s simply not possible to stem the deluge of harmful rhetoric that permeates the minds of boys and men on a daily basis. While exposure to toxic talking points isn’t a guaranteed through line to acts of violence, who’s to say that theoretical misogyny couldn’t lead to something more tangible? 

Femicide is often the culmination of prolonged domestic abuse, stalking or coercive control by a romantic partner. And though it was the catalyst for the inception of Sistah Space, the charity supports women who’ve suffered domestic abuse and violence from a multitude of perpetrators, including those with familial ties.  

Refinery29 spoke to Sarah*, a former service user who was introduced to Ngozi through a mutual acquaintance in 2016. She explains: “I was experiencing abuse with my family, and fortunately for me, I knew somebody who knew of Ngozi. She told me, ‘There's a lady who normally asks people if they need help, and it's possible you could speak to her’.”

At the time, Sarah was unaware that she was the victim of domestic abuse. “Because it was with family, I just saw it as a normal thing that I was going through. It was after speaking to Ngozi that I got the information about what abuse is. I assumed that abuse would be yourself and your partner having issues, and abuse coming from your partner. When Ngozi asked what my situation was, I explained everything to her and she said,  ‘Do you know you're going through abuse?’ I was like ‘Oh no, this is just my family’.

“My children and I were destitute, and I was focused on looking for help in terms of shelter. The most important thing that happened for me when it came to Sistah Space is that Ngozi asked me, ‘What do you need right now?’. I didn't have the slightest clue because everywhere I'd gone prior, they’d told me what I needed to do and where I needed to go.”

Ngozi detailed the steps Sarah would need to take in order to secure safe accommodation. She also accompanied her to appointments and provided support with issues relating to Sarah’s immigration status. “It wasn't just Ngozi saying ‘You need to do this and you need to do that’. She did all of those things with me. She would book appointments and she would actually go to those appointments with me. She didn't leave me on my own. I had never experienced anything like that with any other organisation.”

Sarah was eventually able to build a new life — an achievement for which she gives Sistah Space a huge amount of credit. Once she was on firmer footing, she would go on to devote years to the organisation as a volunteer. “It didn't just come down to what I needed, it also came down to what I could give back, which is very important. I saw for myself what it was like for people to give up their time freely, without expecting anything back, which taught me to do the same.”

Sarah’s testimony serves as an impassioned endorsement which no doubt captures the sentiments of the countless women who have engaged with Sistah Space over the past decade. As a charity built to support and uplift Black women specifically, it shoulders a colossal responsibility for the people it serves and for the unique challenges they face. “We have to recognise the different cultures, the different countries, the different traditions, and the different Black women that are in the UK,” says Ngozi. 

“The level of service that we offer has to really fluctuate according to who's standing in front of us. And a lot of the women who come to us have no recourse to public funds, which means that we have to give them everything from underwear to bedspreads. So we rely on our communities, and we rely on donations. Our shop is not a charity shop, it's a shop that is a charity, which means we don't accept pre-loved items or second-hand goods. Just because someone's gone through domestic abuse, sexual abuse or rape, that doesn't mean that they should be left with what other people no longer need. In fact, it's more important that they get something new, because you need that to feel valued.”

Steadfast in her plight to see Valeri’s Law realised, Ngozi’s commitment to her advocacy has endured. This is despite the lack of funding to provide an optimal service for those most in need. “We’ve pointed out that [Valerie’s Law] has to be a ‘for us, by us’ training. Because there are no policemen, especially white men, who can speak on behalf of Black women. We try to tell people about the importance of Valerie’s Law because we can advise and can save lives. Yet, we are invisible in plain sight. How does that age-old saying go? If you don't have a seat at the table, it's probably because you're on the menu.”