I listened to my heartbeat as it started beating fast, thought of a man on top of me, maybe two; three or even five men taking turns in raping me because ‘I deserve it.’ Laying there with the sun hitting directly on my face I wondered if dead people could feel the sun. I wondered if Duduzile Zozo could feel the sun blazing on her.
Imagining a bottle being pushed into my vagina just to prove a point that I too can get fucked by a man and enjoy it, or maybe a toilet brush like they did to Duduzile. Feeling all the pain from each of their thrust inside me. I started weeping but my eyes had no tears because the paroxysm was deeply rooted. This body of mine became exposed beyond measures, passerby saw my nakedness and all of them were dismayed by the sight of me. I could feel the pain in their hearts as they watched my body being used as a subject of hate crime.
I started thinking of how Sizakele Sigasa and Salome Masooa were brutally murdered at Meadowlands in 2007 July 7th which marked the 777 campaign against hate crimes in South Africa.
My heart started pounding with sadness when I remembered how Eudy Simelane was brutally murdered in Kwa-thema, Springs in 2008 and I thought of Noxolo Nogwaza who was also brutally murdered not far from households in Tsakane, Springs in 2011.
Being there and thinking of all these hate crimes and ‘corrective rapes’ made me think of my own mother, of how our parents have to go through tragedies just because we are homosexuals.
At that moment I realised why most of our parents don’t approve of us being homosexuals because that automatically puts us at risk. Our families live in fear of us getting raped and killed. I feel the pain of every mother and father that let their homosexual kids walk out the door everyday with the hope they will come back in one piece. I hear every mother’s prayer asking God to save us from this homosexuality that has put us at risk.
Today I had to take a walk in my mother’s shoes, in Duduzile mother’s shoes and felt every needle that pieced their skin every time they hear on the radio that another homosexual was killed when their own child is nowhere to be found.
Now I understand when my mother says “ubeka impilo yakho engcupheni.”
I fully understand when our parents find it difficult to accept who we are because this world is so cruel.
Everyone present at this shoot is an LGBTI person and here they are seeing what could be the next case of a hate crime victim. It downed on me that indeed hate crimes leaves all families depressed and wondering what their child did to deserve such brutality.
I saw a picture of my mother crying out to God asking him why my child!
Crying “ngomntanani” that time I am denuded.
Suddenly I felt my entire being stupor to another world. My heart sank deep into a depression mode when I remembered all the hate crime victims I know off, all the women who have been killed by their partners and all the women and children that get raped every 6 mins in this country. Who will be next?
My body could actually be found in the fields because some men hated the woman that I am, because a man decided he has more power and he could take my life away from me.
Our justice system continues to fail us as women living in this country. My soul is crying out to the creator to bring solutions to this problem. On this day rape continues to escalate and the safety of women is still a dream for many of us who live in the townships.
*Scripted on 19th July 2013, 6 days after Duduzile’s funeral.
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2013 June 4: My Only Man