My Life in South Africa

South Africa is like no other place on earth that I have lived or visited. Since that amounts to over thirty countries in Europe, the Middle East, Africa, the Caribbean, North and South America, I would say that my experiences are quite significant. In any country where I have lived, I have managed to know the people, making long-term connections, and bond with the culture. I did this by walking the streets, knocking on doors, and greeting people.  Not so in South Africa, there are gates. You must ring the gate to announce who you are. You see, South Africa, at least where I live, in the Western Cape, is a prison state. Everyone lives behind bars, usually with dogs, and security.

To enter most shops, you must buzz to be allowed entry. Every day, there are reports have people held up and robbed in their businesses, so I understand their carefulness. Worcester is known as the Tik, or crack, capital of South Africa and has the leading number of gangs. This seemingly small insignificant town boasts such cold-blood killings that they have made national and international headlines.

So, I walk down the street with mace in my hand because it is common for someone to merely stroll up with a knife and demand your cellphone or anything of value you have. One of my friends was attacked while walking with her son. She had to plead for both of their lives. A typical day in Worcester.

You see, within the the colored community in particular,  most young men are still angry and embittered about the legacy of apartheid. They  are now involved in gangsterism and feel that they are owed something, so they have no qualms about taking it. Just this week, in the supermarket where I shop, a man hid in a lady’s car trunk with the intent of entering her safe zone. You see, once she opened the gate to her house by her remote, locked it, entered her garage and closed it as well by remote, he, with his knife at the ready, would come out, force her into the house, maybe even kill her, and take everything.  But luckily, someone saw him enter the car’s trunk. However, this scenario actually happens every day in South Africa.

This is the world I inhabit. A place where a young girl is subject to attempted rape by a boy of eleven. A place where young men rape, murder, and then pull out the girl’s womb, where a man  sets his girlfriend on fire and she dies from her wounds, where schoolmates kill  a girl and then drink her blood. A place of violence directed every day towards girl children and women, and my friends, it has all but wearied my soul.

The young girl who was almost raped was one of my students.  She is only eleven years, and as she waited to be picked up for dance rehearsal with me, she was lured behind a building and attacked.  It was premeditated. One classmate lured her behind the house, while a second boy waited for her. So, these male children have already mastered the art of finding and hurting females at the tender age of ten and eleven.

I have not even begun to talk about the rampant corruption, greed, and dishonesty in this place. The corruption would make Al Capone blush. But what hurts my heart the most is the constant barrage of abuse and pain leveled at girls and women in this country. It is unconscionable. Nearly every day, some horrific act of violence is broadcasted on the news, and people seemingly are unfazed by it. They continue drinking Rooibos tea and eating biltong.

I feel I am only one person fighting an uphill battle. Yes, there are decent, caring people in South Africa, but I have yet to meet any who are willing in this city to really fight for girls. Plenty talk. I have met none who walk. The kind of suffering that is happening here will take an army of committed people to fight, not one lone American woman. The South African decent men, women, and children must become infuriated at this base behavior, and rise up against it. - A Wounded Warrior,
MJ