Walking away with nothing

I gave him directions to our home just a few metres from where my last friend had been dropped off but to my dismay he went in the opposite direction. He took out a gun and threatened to kill me if I screamed. I tried to protest but he angrily told me to keep quiet. Instead, he took me to a secluded place and parked the car under a big tree. 

 

Despite my attempts to run away he dragged me out of the car placing his hand on my mouth and forced me to the ground.  He tore off my pants and raped me.  He told me not to tell anyone including my parents or he would kill me and everyone I told.

 

He gave me R20 and directed me to a taxi home. I felt sick by the time I got home, but just told my parents that I had been delayed at the match and had a stomachache. I could see she did not believe me and I felt ashamed of myself.

 

The next day my trail of lies continued. I told my sister that I had fallen on a sharp object, and she gave me painkillers. I eventually healed physically, but mentally I was devastated. I went back to school after three days. Life continued as if everything was normal.

 

I was a Matric student. Three months lapsed, and exam time came. I had started to bulge, and I knew I was pregnant. My mother noticed and took me to the clinic, where a doctor confirmed her fears. My mother, father, aunt and an uncle summoned me to a meeting to enquire who the father was. When I told them I did not know, they became agitated. How was I supposed to know when a stranger raped me?

 

They did not continue interrogating me. I suppose they suspected that I was raped. My family was supportive. I gave birth to a three-month premature baby girl. My sister offered to take my daughter in and raise her on my behalf to give me a chance to pick myself up. 

 

One Sunday, when my daughter was three, a man driving a Mercedes Benz arrived at our house and asked to see me. I went up to him but could not identify him. He then asked me where his child was and I instantly remembered who he was because he had a resemblance with my daughter.

 

I called my brother who took him to my sister’s house. My sister initially resisted letting him see my daughter. After much persuasion from my brother, she gave in.  At that time, I worked as an Accounts Clerk and my future was looking bright.

 

Six months later, he sent his elders to negotiate for lobola. My parents did not want me to marry him but my uncles persuaded them to give him a chance, since I was willing to do the same by then. We got married in 1987 and lived happily until 1990, when everything changed. The first thing he did was force me to resign from work, based on the cultural expectation that women not work. I received my provident funds upon resignation. My husband used it to buy two taxis so he could start a business.

 

I could no longer have children and so my husband threatened to marry two other wives but I took it as a joke. Then the cycle of abuse started.  He bought lots of groceries and then went away from home for almost three months, leaving me locked in the house. He went with all keys to the house and gate. Literally, I was under house arrest!

 

He came back, bought more groceries, and stayed for four days before disappearing again. It became my way of life. In some instances, he would leave me with R4000 to buy anything I wanted despite that he would have left me locked in the house.  Upon his return, he would tell me how stupid I was for not using the money.  His taxi business was booming by then. My life was hell, held prisoner in my own house.

 

In 2001, he came home just after midnight and woke me up demanding a cup of tea. I declined and he became aggressive. He threatened to shoot me to death. I woke up went to the kitchen in tears, plugged the kettle to make tea. Reaching for the cup in the cupboard, for some reason I decided to turn and as I did so, he released the trigger and shot me. Fortunately, the bullet did not go straight into my head but became lodged close to my scalp.

 

I fell unconscious and woke up in hospital four months later. The Metro Police had picked me up in Zuurbekom. I was hospitalised for 13 months, as I had lost my speech and could not walk from severe shock and blood loss. I had to go through speech therapy, counselling and physiotherapy. I then went to a mental institution where I was hospitalised for seven months.

 

My husband came, threatened me and pointed firearms at patients and staff I with who I shared the ward. Instead of protecting me, the hospital discharged me to go back to him.

 

The abuse started again and became worse. For instance, one day he came and told me to climb on the coffee table. He then put his finger in my vagina to check if I had been with any other men.  It was very degrading and embarrassing. After that day I made up my mind, I was going to divorce him.

 

That week when he went to fuel his taxis, I got the chance to run away. Fortunately, my daughter with whom we were now living gave me R36 to use for transport. When he found out that I was missing he went around my relatives’ houses threatening to kill them if they did not disclose my whereabouts. Nobody gave in. 

 

I went ahead with filing for a divorce and succeeded. However, what was painful was that I did not get anything out of our many properties and thirteen taxis we owned. When police accompanied me to fetch my clothes, I could not even get them. He walked away with everything I had worked for. 

 

However, I now live with my daughter and work as a volunteer at People opposed to Women Abuse (POWA) giving court preparation support to women.  My work has been therapeutic as I feel like I am making a difference to other women’s lives that have been through similar experiences. The justice system needs to work for women and it is not doing that right now.