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Who are you to tell me who I am? Printable Version PRINTABLE VERSION
by TellUs, Jul 1, 2007
Culture , Human Rights   Short Stories
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On the 7 March 2004 when I was 17 years old I started hating all men. It took one man to make me hate all men. I hated him so much. The only thing I could think of was killing him. On that night I made a promise to myself that I’d never associate myself with any other man. I blamed myself. The thought of him on top of me, unable to defend myself made facing tomorrow impossible. I saw no hope and lost faith. My dreams were shattered, and the freedom to say, I am me was lost.

Kingsley and I were friends, more like a brother and sister. I was on my way from the Forum for the Empowerment of Women (FEW) offices where I attended life skills and computer training when I first met him. He introduced himself as a gay man, but not many people knew about his sexuality, so he said. He warned me not to tell anybody especially his friends because he was not ‘out’ to everyone. We’d spent most of our days together if I was not with my girlfriend or my other friends, and it would feel odd if days passed without seeing each other.

One evening we went out to a ‘club” near his home. It was nice there because then I met some of my friends from high school. I started dancing with other people and was really enjoying myself until suddenly his mood changed. He complained that I was spending too much time with other people. I didn’t want to upset him, and sat with him. It got really late, and had the only key for the house so I insisted on going home.

It was a bit chilly and he wanted to get something warm to wear. We went to his place since it was close by. I went to the outside toilet and I thought he was getting a jacket. He was standing right in front of the toilet. I was shocked to see him. He did not look happy so I asked him what was wrong. He did not reply, he went to his room and I followed him with a hope of finding out. That was the worst mistake I ever made.

I got a bit tense when he started giving me the ‘you make me sick look’. He locked the door. I was really confused he was swearing me and saying how much he hates people who pretend. I then asked him what he was talking about. He was furious with the lesbian life I was living. He said that I should stop taking other people’s girlfriends and that I was beautiful and capable of getting myself a boyfriend. I got angry and started arguing back. He slapped me on the face, and warned me not to shout at him or will regret it. He said: “ Tonight I’m going to change you, and as from now on you are my girlfriend.”

I got angry and told him that I know my rights. I started to leave. He got up holding a screw driver and threatened to stab me if I didn’t co-operate. I became quiet, trying to find a way to calm him down and find a way to leave his place without anyone getting hurt. He ordered me to take off my clothes while he hit me with anything he came across. No matter how hard I cried or how loud I screamed, he told me it won’t help because he was not scared of anyone or anything. He punched me and I thought he was going to kill me if I fought back.

He raped me repeatedly for over an hour. I was quiet with tears streaming down my face. He continued to beat me even though he had succeeded. He kept asking me if I loved him and I when I said no, then the beating got worse. “You go about pretending you are attending classes in Jo-burg while you hook up with your Nigerian boyfriends, and then you come pretending to be something you are not,” he said.

A little after midnight he fell into a deep sleep. I dressed silently and left. I went straight home. I cried the whole night. I couldn’t asleep. My face was bruised. When my family asked what had happened I lied and said I was in a fight with a friend.

His smell was all over my clothes and body, and it felt like he was still with me. I took a bath three times. I called Zanele Muholi; she was the only person I could relate to and someone who’d come up with a way to deal with the mess I’ve put myself through. I took a train and we met in town. We went to People Opposing Women Abuse (POWA) for counseling.

We then went to Medico in Johannesburg for medical examination and treatment. We didn’t get help because there were neither nurses nor doctors on duty and they had no crime kits. They also said that it was not possible for a doctor who is based in Johannesburg to testify in a case originating in Krugersdorp.

They offered me a slice of bread and a pain killer. Muholi organised a car and we drove to Leratong hospital in Kagiso. There was no doctor on duty and no crime kits at the crisis centre. While waiting for a doctor, the police came by to drop the crime kit. They said they were rushing to Margaliseburg to attend to another urgent rape case.

The doctor came after three hours. I was examined and then he took the statement for the medical report. I told him that the guy raped me because I was a lesbian. As soon as he heard this he stopped writing and posed questions regarding my sexuality. He said: “Why are you a lesbian at this age? Do you know that it is against the constitution to make such a decision without the consent of a parent? You are wearing a cross of Christ, did you know that it is an abomination in the eyes of God to be lesbian.”

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