During the World Aids day, 1st December 2012, I was raped. Then came the why? Why not the police? Well to be completely honest, my family has no tolerance towards blacks. And I knew that my rape, being raped by a black man will make them proud of the continuous behavior they utter.
I was raped in December 2012. It was World Aids day. I was returning from Philanthropy work with 200 families which I organised. I was drained that night. Joined friends for dinner at our usual spot, alcohol was offered, but I was just seeking my bed.
After our meal they asked me to join them at a party. I said I will pop in. I did. I greeted everyone who attended, and went to look for one of our friends. He was in his room, infused with vodka. He wanted sex. I said no. he then pushed me to his bed, removed my pants, raped me until I cried. I constantly begged him to stop. He didn’t. I fought the hardest physical fight in life. The more I fought, the weaker I became.
When he was done, he looked at me and said ‘first you come to Africa and feed us pap, and now look at you, weak.’ He continued stating ‘You South African women are all the same.’ I was getting dressed while tears kept running down my cheeks. I ran out of the room to the garden and threw up. shaking. I rushed to my car, got in and couldn’t link my key. I called my friends whom was inside the house. I wasn’t calm. I remember shouting ‘HE FUCKING RAPED ME’.
I got the car to start eventually. I drove about 500 meters, got out the car, threw up again. My mind chasing. No condom. What if! My then friends arrived, they drove me to my mothers place. I sat in the car, drying my face. I walked into my parents house with a straight face. I asked if I could shower. Mom still asked me, how was your night, my reply ‘It was okay, thank you.’
I got into the shower, I washed myself for almost an hour. For six months thereafter I locked myself up. I didn’t engage with anyone. I had nightmares which basically only got better in 2016. This man that raped me was from South Sudan, a former rebel. I remember the picture I carried around of him, standing in his rebel regalia and a AK47, that I have shown only to Malaika till this day. The two of us were invited for a youth retreat by the Thabo Mbeki Foundation and shared a room.
I broke the news at that retreat. I told my mother a year later, my then friends stopped communication, however kept enjoying the company of my rapist. Men drank double shots of whiskey with him, men I thought were my friends. Women continued to take selfies with him, professional women I looked up to.
Then came the why? Why not the police? Well to be completely honest, my family has no tolerance towards blacks. And I knew that my rape, being raped by a black man will make them proud of the continuous behavior they utter. I will hear ‘I told you so’, ‘you want to befriend blacks, it serves you well’ etc. It would’ve never been seen as just rape. A woman violated. The race of the man would’ve been more noteworthy to them.
A part of me protected, not the man that raped me, but black men in general. I wasn’t going to destroy the black man so the white man can continue, and use me as an example. And I hope someday I can forgive myself for letting a man get away with rape. For not calling out trash.
I was young. Afraid. Alone. Forgive me for this.