Anon :
Anon is from South Africa. She grew up watching her father beat her mother and went on to live in abusive relationships herself, for many years. After finally fighting back against her second husband, she realized she didn’t want the kind of power he had wielded over her. She left him and sought help with substance abuse recovery. Both she and her mother are content to be on their own now, free from abuse.
I never quite understood why my mother stayed, until I stood in her shoes. As a little girl, I always seemed to end up under the table on Thursday nights, crying. Mom would drag me out and say, “you’ll bring bad luck.” On Friday night, the drinking and fighting would happen, and of course I thought it was my fault.
I fell pregnant at 15 years of age. I started using birth control pills after my daughter was born. When my boyfriend found out, he threw them down the toilet and raped me. It didn’t just happen once, but a few times, and I got pregnant again. My marriage ended after 11 years, and I swore not to get involved with an abuser ever again.
My second marriage took place only a couple of months later. At first, it was sheer bliss. Then I started saying things about his drinking habits. On the night of September 11th 2001, I experienced his first violent act. He accused me of having sex with his friend, pushed me down on the bed, and checked my panties. He pushed me into the bathtub.
I must have knocked my head, but the shock made me numb to the pain. It went on and on. He pushed me over the couch and jumped on top of me. And then he pulled me up by my arm and swung me against the wall. I sagged down to the floor and just sat next to
an open door, but I was too scared to get up and run. And I even wondered if it was my fault.
Only a month later, I experienced his second violent act. This time, he added a public dimension by tackling me in front of our gate. I ran inside and he followed me, threw me on the bed, and choked me. Then he hit me in the jaw with his fist. As the pain exploded in my head, my whole world shrunk to a pinprick.
I was ready for his third violent act. He was choking me, and I pulled the drawer from the pedestal and hit him hard. I proceeded to break as many pieces of furniture as I could. When he was down, I felt powerful. But the next morning, I had more clarity and felt I
didn’t want his kind of power. I joined Al-anon soon afterwards and started my road to recovery. I learned that an ability to support myself financially is crucial to my well-being. And that none of his violence was
my fault. Four years later, I’m alone and happy - most of the time. My mom is alone too.
We talk sometimes, about the past and the future.
Anon :
Anon is from South Africa. She grew up watching her father beat her mother and went on to live in abusive relationships herself, for many years. After finally fighting back against her second husband, she realized she didn’t want the kind of power he had wielded over her. She left him and sought help with substance abuse recovery. Both she and her mother are content to be on their own now, free from abuse.
I never quite understood why my mother stayed, until I stood in her shoes. As a little girl, I always seemed to end up under the table on Thursday nights, crying. Mom would drag me out and say, “you’ll bring bad luck.” On Friday night, the drinking and fighting would happen, and of course I thought it was my fault.
I fell pregnant at 15 years of age. I started using birth control pills after my daughter was born. When my boyfriend found out, he threw them down the toilet and raped me. It didn’t just happen once, but a few times, and I got pregnant again. My marriage ended after 11 years, and I swore not to get involved with an abuser ever again.
My second marriage took place only a couple of months later. At first, it was sheer bliss. Then I started saying things about his drinking habits. On the night of September 11th 2001, I experienced his first violent act. He accused me of having sex with his friend, pushed me down on the bed, and checked my panties. He pushed me into the bathtub.
I must have knocked my head, but the shock made me numb to the pain. It went on and on. He pushed me over the couch and jumped on top of me. And then he pulled me up by my arm and swung me against the wall. I sagged down to the floor and just sat next to
an open door, but I was too scared to get up and run. And I even wondered if it was my fault.
Only a month later, I experienced his second violent act. This time, he added a public dimension by tackling me in front of our gate. I ran inside and he followed me, threw me on the bed, and choked me. Then he hit me in the jaw with his fist. As the pain exploded in my head, my whole world shrunk to a pinprick.
I was ready for his third violent act. He was choking me, and I pulled the drawer from the pedestal and hit him hard. I proceeded to break as many pieces of furniture as I could. When he was down, I felt powerful. But the next morning, I had more clarity and felt I
didn’t want his kind of power. I joined Al-anon soon afterwards and started my road to recovery. I learned that an ability to support myself financially is crucial to my well-being. And that none of his violence was
my fault. Four years later, I’m alone and happy - most of the time. My mom is alone too.
We talk sometimes, about the past and the future.
Morapedi
Morapedi is a young South African man who mourns the loss of his sister-in-law and regrets he was unable to protect her from his older brother, who abused and beat her.
Eventually, Morapedi’s brother began sleeping around and infected the sisterin-law with HIV, which led to her death. Morapedi is eager to continue his education so he can make a contribution to ending men’s violence against women.
She was young and full of life. She had just graduated from the University of the North West.
The worst day was when she agreed to marry my selfish, arrogant brother.
He was 17 years older than her. After they married, the three of us lived outside of Johannesburg, in Rustenburg where my brother was working.
At first, things were great. He was a caring and loving husband. Coming home early from work and helping with household stuff. But after a few months, he changed.
He was coming home late, expecting to find everything in place. I covered for her, because she was a good person.
But still he would beat her and force himself onto her. Worst of all, he started seeing other young girls. She hung on because our culture taught her never to disobey or challenge him.
Our culture says, “Obey your man at all times. Never talk back or question how he comes and goes.”
By then, I was preparing to register at a college.
She was my friend, the closest I have ever had.
She believed in me, and she gave me money every month so I could survive there.
In 2004 she was diagnosed HIV positive. Still he continued to beat her over and over, with no remorse. He expected her to have dinner on the table each night, even when she grew weaker and weaker. She passed away in December of that year. So young and with so
much potential. She had a whole bright future ahead.
I want to share this story with everyone. People don’t like to talk about it, but I believe that sexual and domestic violence and HIV/AIDS are everyone’s business.
Who doesn’t know someone who has faced these things?
She died four years ago, but I still ask myself, “How can women, who are the beautiful soul of our nation, also be the nation’s victims?
Have we learned so little from the struggle our country went through?”
Our culture also says, “I am … because of others.”