Nightmare of abuse: ‘He stole my childhood’

Today marks the beginning of the 16 Days of Activism against Gender-Based Violence campaign in South Africa. Sadly, countless women and children suffer daily from abuse and violence. Some seek help and receive support, however, many cases either go unreported or the victims never find justice. *Sibongile from KwaZulu-Natal knows this pain all too well. She shares her nightmare at the hands of the man who was supposed to protect her with Health For Mzansi journalist, Vateka Halile.

Heart-wrenching childhood

When I was between seven and eight years old, my mother met a man and we moved in with him.

From the day my mother met that man, I have felt nothing except sadness and lack of pleasant memories.

I wasn’t allowed to have friends and was always at home, feeling sad and miserable. The man would follow me everywhere, touch me, and then act like nothing happened. I was so scared of him, and even my school friends started noticing something was wrong, but I was too afraid to tell anyone.

When I was about 12, I tried to run away to my biological father. He took me to live with my grandmother for a few years, but eventually with life’s situations, I had to go back to my mother’s home.

I joined drama classes and became close with other students and the economics teacher, and eventually, I opened up to her about my living situation.

My teacher drove me home and asked my mother to get into the car. After she left, I was left alone with my mother, who said, “We don’t share our family issues with strangers. What happens in this house stays here.”

I felt crushed.

My teacher informed me that she had discussed my situation with my mother and advised her not to leave me with that man because I wasn’t safe.

However, the situation at home escalated into a nightmare; he began molesting me and threatened to kill me if I told anyone.

Silenced by fear

It was a Friday night in 1999, 25 September, and I was 16 years old. My mother had to attend a funeral over the weekend. I was left to watch after my younger sister, even though my stepfather was present.

That night, he knocked on my door, which I had locked. He walked me into his room and turned on the radio and television at maximum volume.

He raped me while holding his gun to the side. He said that if I told anyone, he would kill me.

Who was I going to tell, and who was going to save me?

I sought comfort from a neighbour friend, someone I wasn’t allowed to be close to. I confided in her, and she suggested numbing my pain with alcohol. That was the start of my drinking journey.

The next evening, my aunt (my mother’s sister) came to visit. She noticed I seemed off and asked, “Are you okay?”

I quickly replied yes, but she pressed on, “You don’t look fine to me. Are you sure?” I insisted I was fine, fearing for my life and the safety of my loved ones.

Breaking free: Caregiver finds hope after abuse

That weekend, I wanted to escape, but the thought of leaving my baby sister with this man terrified me.

Finally, my male friend from drama class offered to come get me. When he arrived, I was with the girl next door, but things took a turn for the worse. My stepfather came home from work.

He said, “What did I say about friends to you? Let me get my gun and kill you right now.” He went to his room, and I ran to the nearest forest.

Eventually, it got quiet, and I ran to the main road. It was dark, and I thought the car was still far away when suddenly, it hit me – thankfully, it wasn’t a serious crash.

I shared my story and the driver said, “We’re going to the police station so you can file a case.” We did, and I was placed with social workers.

My mother, who was supposed to come back after three days, hadn’t returned the whole week.

No justice

My mother was contacted to come and get me. She took me back to her partner. From that moment, my living situation got worse.

At 4 a.m., he kicked down the door and began to beat me, using anything he could find – buckets, his hands, belts – until around 10 a.m.

I was bleeding from my ears and nostrils when the neighbour stepped in. She firmly said, “I know she isn’t yours, but if you have to take a life, take mine instead.” I believe she saved my life, as he was threatening to end my life.

Eventually, my stepfather was taken into custody.

My mother blamed me for everything that had happened.

Days before the court hearing, a group of men dressed in black leather showed up at our home. They made it clear that if I wanted to stay safe, I had to say exactly what they wanted me to in court.

They instructed me to claim that he had never hurt me and that I had falsely accused him because he wasn’t my biological father.

As I repeated the statements I had been told, the judge kept asking, “Are you sure? Is there anything else I need to know?” I assured him that there was nothing more to share.

I lost friends after the court case; they wanted to know why I changed my story. I was too scared to tell them.

16 Days of Activism: Dealing with abuse

The aftermath

After my mother passed away in 2014, I finally found the courage to move out. This was the beginning of my journey towards independence and freedom, yet I still struggled with extreme anger towards men.

In my search for connection, I dated again and became pregnant, welcoming a beautiful baby girl into my life. As I embraced motherhood, memories of my past haunted me, and I constantly worried about how to protect her from men – especially those I might date.

Years later, when my stepfather died, the news stirred something deep within me. I smashed glasses, plates, and anything else I could find in the house. I’m not entirely sure why I reacted that way, but I needed to release my anger. Perhaps it was because I was still holding onto resentment toward him.

I don’t think I’ve fully healed; I’m just surviving and living in fear, especially now that I have kids of my own.

Yet, I strive to break this cycle and create a safe environment for my children, determined to ensure they never experience the pain I endured. Healing is a journey, and while the scars remain, I am committed to moving forward and reclaiming my life.

*Not her real name* to protect her and her children from victimisation. The story has been shortened.