November 2010 and I find myself reliving very painful memories because of what is in the headlines this week. I find myself literally chocking, unable to breath or think. The flashbacks haunt me in my sleep till this very day.
Let me take you back to 1988, I was 7 yrs old when an uncle from Malawi came to live with us. Those of you who grew up koKasi will know what I talk about when I mention diBack-room. He was my mom’s cousin from Malawi who had come to seek the ‘Gauta’ in Gauteng. He was quite an animated character, full of life and energy, he was playful at the worst of times, he spoke funny (think Chirwali – Mzini wezinsizwa) and I obviously took a liking to this guy because I was the only child in a house full of serious adults. I, as a result, ended up spending a lot of time in the back-room. I remember he had this fascinating ghetto-bluster radio thing that would light up all colors of the rainbow when it was lit.
On one particular day, I was in his room as it was the norm after school. I noticed him massaging his ‘down-there’ with me in the room; in my innocence I giggled (as a little girl would) and let it go. A couple of days later it happened again, but this time he asked me to touch him, it felt all sort of wrong but I did it. This happened often for months. He gave me strict instructions not to tell anybody, he threatened me. I never told a soul. It got worse. One day he took all his clothes off and asked me to touch his manhood. I remember my skinny light skinned small hand on him, this was wrong and I knew it. From that day on this man continued to abuse me at every opportunity he got. The one day he made me sit on top of him, I remember screaming in pain. I really had no idea what was going on or whether what was happening had a name; was this love? It was pain I had never felt before. My innocence had been taken by a trusted adult. Here is the thing right, I thought this was normal. That it happens to everyone but my gutt disagreed, my being knew better, even at that tender age.
A couple of years later he left our home and went to live elsewhere. I carried it with me for a long time. I somehow managed to block it out of my life as with many bad things that happened in my childhood. For many years I never thought about it, it never crossed my mind until one day my mom told me that he had passed away after a long illness. I don’t remember how old I was at this time, but I remember secretly rejoicing that at least I was guaranteed that no-one would ever find out how I allowed myself to be violated by my uncle. A part of me still feels like I allowed it. I remember being particularly jovial at his funeral – a little guilty though but relieved that he would be buried with the shame and anguish I had buried so deep inside me.
Fast forward to 1997, High School in Rustenburg. We had bunked boarding hostel to go out with friends for the weekend. Some boys had come to pick us up to take us to some village about 30minutes away from the school premises. I was with 2 of my girlfriends and these boys, one of which went to our school. The party was lousy, almost hilariously so, but we decided that since we were there we would make the best of it. We danced until our legs couldn’t take it and eventually it was time to sleep. I chose a room in some seedy motel and fell asleep. One of the guys we were with who liked me came in with a gun in his hand. I kept calm and pretended to be sleeping. He took off his pants, my heart started racing. I remember him telling me not to scream as he raped me with a gun in his hand. I remember trying to fight but my body failing me and completely paralyzed by the fear. In my head I was fighting, I was using my legs and hands to fight but the reality is that I just lied there. The memories of my uncle many years before came to poke me in the soul. I remember going numb and the only thing I could feel were the tears streaming down my face, past my temples and into my ears. He finished, and lied there next to me. I stayed awake till the next morning. Walked out of there, found my friends and went back to school. Yet again I never told a soul. I was too scared to tell anyone, especially my parents. On Monday he started telling people I was his girlfriend, it infuriated me yet I still felt too paralyzed to react. This was my fault again. On good days I know better, on bad days the pain is unbearable- but in God I trust.
I read Akona’s story yesterday. Mine is no better than hers, it’s very much like hers. She did it first and I applaud her for it. It inspired me. I am number 2. I pray that there will a number 3, number 4, number 5, number 30, number 10 000. Let’s tell our stories and continue to shout NO. Apparently only 1 in 9 rape cases are reported. If you are one of the 8 –BUA !!! – help some little girl in the same situation. SOMETHING MUST BE DONE!
Your ministry is where your misery has been!
You’re loved
Mmulelantlu More
