To Be a Man... or to be a man - 16 Days of Activism

This is Warren's story.   

A bit after my Mother married - with my Father still using vanishing cream - I dreamed him up on a pedestal with all kinds of outlandish excuses to why he was non-existent in my life. That needless to say pissed new daddy off very much.

Now he was a habitual drunk and a mean guy of note, the kind of mean guy, mean guys steer clear of so as not to develop any health issues. He would be on his way home and we could hear the profanities announcing his imminent arrival - and of course what I can only describe as another court session if his profanities weren't in a jovial tone. We we're kind of scared shitless.

With me and my Mom getting knocked about, I was lucky enough to have met a couple of guys who showed me that it wasn't normal or right and got to see what their parents were like. But this wasn't enough.

I grew up into fast becoming an habitual drunk myself (just like step dad) and settled my score with him by checking out my new steel-toe boots against his head - which opened up more problems than the public protector's report on Nkandla did for Zuma.

On realising the path I was on I turned skeptical and depressed and hid it in a veneer of joviality and being the party guy who was the joker and a roughneck if things didn't go my way (which was always the right way in my view).

A failed relationship brought me to a cross road. We all had them, that one person you put your love, faith and trust in. Then they go screw the neighbour's husband. Needless to say I was miffed; I was actually thinking of murdering them, raping his kids and dealing with the fall out. I am eternally grateful I didn't act on my anger.

But that's how much rage I had. I would've bulldozed anyone who thought of standing in my way and I don't mean just beating ‘em up. 

There is one incident I loath to write about because this was the single most "traumatic" experience in my life with myself being the pig in the story.

I was involved with a friend of mine's sister, or that's how it played out in my head. One day while we we're alone I thought I'll be showing her how much I "loved" her  - I really believed I was doing that...to the point I didn't hear or wanted to hear her “no”. Then as I took off her panties believing she would enjoy me if she would just relax, she asked me, "Do you know if you go ahead with this its rape?"

I was punched in the soul. I dressed immediately and all I could come up was a mumbled ‘sorry’ and never returned. That was a place of me being at my worst; almost changing (if not changed) someone's experience with men, love, trust, sense of security, and confidence - irrevocably for the worst.

Our men and boys need to be taught where the line blurs and crosses. Ignorance is not an excuse but it is a dangerous thing for all affected.  We need to look at the family structure and change accordingly. I think much more than just being the financial backbone men have to open up more, work with their partners because they not working for you, plan with them because they shouldn't be taking orders from you. Romance them because you want to be loved and respected. Not feared and obeyed because you instill it.

Buki's Story - 16 Days of Activism

You might have heard about Alexandra Buki Deen. Her story is very similar to what many women have experienced. The only difference is: she survived.

These are exact quotes from Buki Deen’s Twitter feed as she recalled the senseless attack on February 12, 2017.

1. On the 12th of February 2017, I was on my way home from Maponya mall. I got off at Bara taxi rank to connect, around 20:45.

2. When I got off the taxi at KFC, about to cross the road, heading towards the taxi rank; a man came behind me.

3. Grabbed and forced me into his car. He threatened to kill me if I did anything stupid. He drove off with me.

4. While he was driving, he swore at me and told me he was going to rape and kill me. Constantly calling me bitch and a slut.

5. He was holding my wrist while driving, I kept quiet, thinking of a way to get out of this situation. We approached an intersection.

6. There were 2 petrol stations on sight. We headed towards a very dark road, he got comfortable. He let off my wrist to call a friend.

7. He was speaking a foreign language. After the call he turned up the music and started speeding. I looked outside the window, scared af.

8. I said my last prayer, and then God came through. I realised my door was unlocked.

9. At this point, we were driving deeper into this dark road. I looked out the window again and realized he was driving close to the pavement.

10. Jumping out of this car was my only way out. It’s now or never. I tried to open the door but shit! Nanku lomnyango, stuck! He alerted.

11. He hit me while I was busy kicking this damn door trying to open it. When I finally opened the door, about to jump he grabbed my hand.

12. At this point I was standing on the “door rail”, he was pulling my arm and I was looking at the roof of his car. I jumped.

13. Because he was still holding on to my arm, the car dragged me for a few seconds. When I opened my eyes I had to get up and RUN!

14. I looked behind me and I saw him make a u-turn. I headed towards a bush, hid there, and covered myself with grass. He passed, I got up.

15. And ran. He made another u-turn, I hid again. Got up and ran. When he made the third u-turn, I was closer to the garage. He parked near me.

16. I ran so fast I couldn’t feel my feet touch the ground. I ran towards a petrol attendant, crying for help. They went to look for him.

17. He was already gone. I was rushed to the nearest hospital. The rest is history. I am just happy to be alive.

Here is the original link: https://twitter.com/blacksnow99/status/862637560195100675?lang=en

#MenAreTrash (Kat's Story) - 16 Days of Activism

This is Kat. This is her daily struggle.

“Last week a guy was staring at me on the train. Less than a metre away and he was the fourth or fifth guy to do so but he was closer than the rest so I asked him if I knew him. I was pretty angry at this point so I explained that he was the last straw but it's early in the morning and I don't want to feel angry so we'll end the conversation with a polite greeting. He proceeded to talk to me again on the station after the train conversation about him making me uncomfortable and I just answered him because I wasn't prepared with a fire back and I was too tired to summon a threat.

Today he sat right in front of me and proceeded to stare again, watching me read. Eventually, I point out that I could see him even though I'm wearing shades and he laughs like my issue was amusing to him. I got off and walk my way. My hair is tied back because men touch me when it's out. It's hot but I'm wearing a loose fitting high collared hoodie with thick pants and no make-up or noticeable brands.

I've gotten used to dressing this way because it gives me a small amount of freedom that others have. I'm enjoying the morning sun and children laughing nearby when I feel a finger tap my shoulder. I turn around expecting to see an old friend but it's the last person I want to see. The creep from the train. I'm not sure what to think because I'm sure he goes the other way and I asked him that, asking if he followed me here and why he's stalking me. His response is that I'm stalking him because I know which way he goes but it's pretty obvious that womxn assess the movements of men to avoid these situations.

I don't know what to say. This guy followed me and now he's asking for a formal introduction. I told him that I'm not interested and that he needs to leave me alone. Can't he see that I'm freaked the fuck out? He seems confused and I decide to show some empathy and explain what's happening.

I identify a traumatic experience that most people who travel have endured and then I explain with some difficulty that every time a man catcalls, follows me or touches me I experience that feeling from things that have happened to me before. He asks how I deal with it and I say that every day travelling and walking in the street is torture, I just try not to hear or see them. Then at a crossing he asks me which way I'm going. I said that there's no way I would tell him that and when I asked if he understood why it's not advisable to hit on womxn I'm the street he defended lonely men. When I explained that coloured men harass me every day and he triggered me, he defended his demographic saying that it's obvious that coloured men are attracted to me because I am coloured i.e. this excuses sexual harassment. I shouldn't be surprised, I've experienced this vileness from strange men all the time. As I'm trying to explain trauma in a different way, he interrupts me and asks for my number.

I told him to fuck off and walked away. He walked off but them changed direction after seeing mine. I slowed down, inching my way down the road to create distance.

Last week Friday I nearly got into a physical fight with another coloured guy on the train who became aggressive and started threatening me after I repeatedly asked him to leave me alone. That same day an elderly coloured man caressed my arm and asked me to stay on the train with him. The reason I didn't fight them is because I know that bystanders would defend them and hurt me instead.

So, I don't know what to do anymore. Earphones and sunglasses don't work in this area. Probably makes me more of a target. When I talk about and point out rape culture in coloured families and communities people get defensive, aggressive and resort to gaslighting. No-one backs you up, the nice guys go quiet.

I'm tired. I'm tired of fighting these men. I'm tired of reasoning with them. I'm tired of their existence. I'm tired of mine. Travelling via taxi and train and exhausting my anxiety for so many years. Having to hide it every day because people with cars say you're just playing the victim and this is South Africa and you should be more vigilant.

Because of course we're not vigilant, feeling like we'll be attacked every morning and afternoon, every working day of the year.

#menaretrash "

-Kat, Cape Town

Beat It! - 16 Days Of Activism

My high school Afrikaans teacher gave us an interesting lesson one day that I have carried with me ever since. The book we were reading contained an abusive husband. Mrs. Brown said something along the lines of “If he lays his hands on you let him. But tonight when he goes to bed you warm yourself a large pot of oil and once its lekker warm, you pour it over his manhood.” Tsek!

It wasn’t part of the curriculum and what you do afterwards is up to you. But it would definitely guarantee that he won’t dare lay a finger on you again. And we were tog all taught that boys don’t hit girls from a young age.

In South Africa, a woman is killed by her intimate partner every 4 to 8 hours depending who you ask. This is the most leading cause of death among South African females. The femicide rate is 4 times the global average.  Up to 40% of pregnant women are physically abused.

In the midst of 16 Days of Activism, our 2017 idols runner up Mthokozisi Ndaba is accused of assaulting a woman over a bottle of vodka that didn't even belong to him. I’m not saying that he is guilty or that he assaulted anyone but what pissed me off is what he said in his press release when he eventually came out of hiding.

 “...We do not know what issues she may be dealing with…”

 Insinuating that the woman has issues and chose to falsely accuse him of assault because she couldn’t deal with her emotional woes.

And how many females can say that a man has said that about or directly to them?

‘dai’s n mal ding man’

‘jy’s siek in jou kop in’

‘Dai goose is befok’

I’ve had those things said to me because I wouldn’t allow my cousin’s friends to call me names and taunt me. I’ve heard those things because I stood up for myself. I’ve heard those things in relationships and in conversations from one bra to another.

He’s being accused of something and she must be crazy.

The very woman that you have driven in sane with your bullshit has now turned ‘crazy’ because she isn’t putting up your kak any longer and has turned sterk gevriet.

While my dysfunctional relationship didn’t require a pot of hot oil I wasn’t going to stand being called ‘mal’ every time I pointed out something that required addressing. I wasn’t going to deal with the silent treatment because he didn’t feel like talking about issues in our relationship. I sure as hell wasn’t going to allow our daughter to witness constant bickering and fighting between two parents who clearly weren’t getting along anymore.

I don’t want to call it ‘abuse’ because our fights were almost mutual. I was never a battered woman. I never walked around with physical scars - besides a busted lip on one occasion. I defended myself, with whatever was closest. But let’s face it.

Our first physical fight happened when I was 3 months pregnant. He only stopped because I screamed and started crying so I could grab the broomstick.  I was still pregnant when I received that broken lip. Which he tried to sooth with glycerine afterwards while telling me it was my fault. Giving “Botter deur jou bek smee” a new meaning. The argument was about cleaning the damn room. I was a single mother before I had even given birth – in a relationship. Weekends were about lamming and suiping with brasse and then sleeping when he got back to where he left his pregnant girlfriend to do house work.  And the fights would ensue because he wanted to tiep and I wouldn’t let him.

There were occasions where my parents had to intervene because my daughter would be left traumatised.  We’d have fights in the middle of the night. After three years I had decided that I wanted out – so I got out.  But even after four years of singlehood I wasn’t allowed to move on when he threatened suicide and cut up my clothes when I found someone new. Even after all the women he has been with, all the dick pics he has sent and females who have insulted me because I was the mother of his child, he still felt I belonged to him.

Luckily my story is different because three years later I am free. For some women the abuse is constant. For some women the abuse ends in death. Women like Mananki  Annah Boys, Nicola Pienaar, Karabo Mokoena and Aviwe Jam Jam whose husbands and boyfriends took ‘ownership’ and subsequently their lives.