Another Karabo waiting to die
IT HAPPENED to me. I lay in a pool of blood, with broken ribs and limbs. I dragged myself to security to get assistance. I was in such pain that screaming was impossible.
He had once beaten me up so badly and left me for dead. In fact, he thought I was dead. I heard him talk to one of his friends on the phone, saying he had killed me and that he couldn’t afford to go to jail.
It wasn’t the first time that I knocked at death’s dark door – I had lost count of how many times I came in for this beating. My husband was accustomed to this.
In those moments when I was subjected to this assault, I could almost vividly hear his mother’s plea, saying: “Ngwanaka a re fitlhe boatla” (my child, let’s hide the untidiness)… What will people say?… Please forgive him… reporting this will destroy his career.”
A friend of his came to visit me in hospital, accompanied by the legendary journalist Nomvula Khalo, and I felt ashamed. And time after time I forgave him. I went to the police station after each beating, sometimes while still wearing the torn clothes and underwear, evidence of the violence I had just experienced, to open a case of assault.
The police station knew me, and knew that in a day or two I would be back to withdraw the very same case I had opened.
This happened at least 10 times over a two-year period. A roller-coaster ride, and each time I bought the story of his commitment to change, that it “won’t happen again”.
Apart from the cases I withdrew myself, some were made to disappear because of his powerful connections as editor-in-chief of a newspaper group. There was no doubt in my mind that he paid top dollar to ensure that those cases never ever saw the light of day
My husband got away with it. I am lucky to be the one alive today, because I left on my own two feet – after plucking up the courage to forget about what inconvenience speaking out would cause for his career.
He is dead today and, truly, I don’t miss him, because even after he was not a part of my life, the trauma of all the humiliating beatings stayed with me for years while he carried on with his precious career.
I wish it was round one for me but it was not. In my previous marriage, my husband, who is an advertising executive, beat me over the head with a bottle at a wedding of a friend where I was maid of honour. He claimed we were attacked.
If it was not for Alby Modise, a senior government official who witnessed the assault, I wouldn’t have known what happened. Apparently, holding hands and dancing with the best man triggered his jealousy that couldn’t even wait until the wedding was over.
But something extraordinary happened. A few years after my husband passed away, I received a strange call from an investigative officer who told me that a magistrate had found a trace of interference with a string of cases of abuse, some pre-dating my marriage. My ex-husband was a common denominator.
A case of defeating the ends of justice was opened and the police wanted to know where they could find him. I told them that he was dead and so it was a case of too little, too late. I couldn’t believe it possible that a new approach to clamping down on corruption, where cases disappear and witnesses get intimidated, can be found in our justice system.
But we women can be complicit by withdrawing cases against criminals. This, too, can be a menace that hinders the prospect of turning the wheel against femicide. Is it possible to encourage women not to fall for superficial considerations over the possible loss of life?
Is it possible we can agree as a society to take a firmer action against partners who threaten loved ones’ lives every time they raise a hand over them?
Is it possible we can outlaw the withdrawal of cases of domestic abuse once opened? This will send a stronger message to abusive partners and end up saving lives that are lost so painfully as in the case of Karabo Mokoena.
According to a report by experts from the universities of Cape Town and Stellenbosch, South Africa has the highest number of women who are killed by their partners. Cultural and social norms are said to be at the centre, and deemed the most extreme consequence of intimate partner violence (IPV).
A woman died every eight hours in South Africa in 2016 and of those murdered, 50% were killed by their intimate partners. But the numbers were not the most devastating factor:
“The physical, mental and social consequences remain hidden. Cultural and societal norms are highly influential in shaping behaviour in intimate relationships; they can protect against violence or support and encourage it.”
This has been my experience. IPV has been an area of chronic neglect within the health and social development arenas, and therefore the necessary care is mostly absent from clinical practice, says Dr Kate Joyner from Stellenbosch University.
Professor Naeemah Abrahams, deputy director at the gender and health unit at the Medical Research Council, also confirms that one in every four women is physically abused by her intimate partner.
The record of violence against women is supported by the Victims of Crime figures from Stats SA, which reported that in 2014/15, females were 71.3% more likely to experience sexual offences than males. Households headed by females (61.4%) were more likely to experience murder compared with male-headed households.
South Africa does not know how many women are in danger of dying at the hands of their partners because they fear speaking out and the justice system has no way of collecting information on gender-based violence.
In early March this year in Durban, the Department of Justice launched a national programme for a dialogue on intimate femicide, which could change the way cases dealing with violence against women were reported and filed.
The dialogue was part of its Human Rights Month commemorations to create an opportunity for abused women to share their experiences, motivate other victims and raise awareness of the high incidence of intimate femicide.
Women will be encouraged to speak out about abuse at the hands of their partners. Having been in that situation more than once, I don’t take lightly the fact that a woman finds herself alone if the entire family support structure puts pressure on her to withdraw the case. It is not surprising that a few weeks ago, Karabo Mokoena’s partner assaulted her and she made a mistake of going back to that abusive relationship.
Many women do this daily because of economic dependence or, more importantly, societal pressure.
Society has to bear the blame for being complicit to the wanton loss of life, either directly or indirectly. Society countenances this conduct in a very cynical way.
It’s commonplace that high-ranking business people stomach abuse by their spouses whose careers have become more important than their relationship. One of the cases I know of relates to a couple who have both made it in business and the reason for the woman to stay is hardly economic.
I am pained when I look at them pretending at social functions to be head over heels (in love) with each other, concealing the ugly scenes behind closed doors. One wonders how long they will be able to hide this from their daughters.
The same happens in the public sector. In our own cabinet, some woman ministers carry those scars of being a minister in the day and a battered spouse at night. What is worse is to have male ministers who are abusers.
The point here is we have not even begun to break the silence on this scourge of abuse when the high echelons of both public and private sectors are quiet in something that affects them directly. This way there is little hope, if any, for ordinary people like Karabo.
Until we see people in these categories of societal leadership standing up and admitting to these things, we stand no chance of pushing back this “new normal”, where women are not safe in their homes. No amount of legislation will achieve the push back.
Society has to wake up now before it’s too late.
Perhaps there is the beginning of a new awareness of IVP and femicide in the country. In the wake of the death of Karabo, the media has been full of women who have been killed over the weekend, in Soweto, in Durban, etc. This has probably been the problem for many years, but it took a Karabo to wake us up and to make this news.
May the soul of #Karabomokoenarip
*Keswa is a businesswoman. She writes in her personal capacity. Follow her on tweeter @lebokeswa “It’s very difficult to be here as a man today.”
These were the opening words of a speaker who took to the podium on Wednesday at the memorial service of slain Soweto woman Karabo Mokoena at the Diepkloof Hall in Zone 3.
He spoke on behalf of the Gauteng Men’s Forum, an organisation he says is focused on socialising boys differently, guiding them away from the seeds of misogyny.
But his words found currency in the behaviour of the men in the congregation on the day, who, for a moment, let go of their trademark swagger and bowed their collective head in shame.
Another speaker, a woman, who was only accessible to the crowd in the overflow over the boom of the sound system, piled it on: the fathers of this nation have not protected our girl children.
“Where are the fathers who can say: ‘This far, and no more’?” she asked.
Details of how Karabo’s body was found in the open veld in Lyndhurst have fed acres of newspaper space and television footage, and elicited a barrage of vitriol against men.
This includes the hashtag #Menaretrash denouncing wanton attacks on women.
Oblivious to the irony of her words, one of her friends recounted how Karabo had always wanted to be famous: “you have achieved it, my friend, you are on the front of every newspaper and television station.”
The essence of what the Mokoenas actually lost with their daughter’s passing came to life through the speeches of those who knew her best, her peers.
As a phrase, the biblical “It is well with my soul” has inspired the lyrics of many a song.
This, those gathered in Diepkloof heard, was Karabo’s trademark saying.
The youngsters who shared her life and knew her well came out resplendent in white T-shirts with these words emblazoned across the front of the garments.
A born-again Christian, we heard, Karabo could belt out a tune and “when she took to the mike there was fire”.
As a tribute to a canary, the singing did not disappoint.
Among others was a hymn called Jehofa Re Tshepile Wena (Jehovah We Trust In You).
The best way to describe its lyricism is to say that God heard it!
“She chose Christ. In choosing Him, she lived it,” the speaker’s voice came thus to those who had no sight of the podium.
“Karabo was a lively person,” the master of ceremonies said, among other accolades.
She was confident, said another friend when it was her turn to speak.
“She wanted to be so many things. She wanted to open a beauty parlour. She wanted to be a TV presenter.”
The packed Diepkloof hall heard that the young woman “loved wholeheartedly”.
And “when she told you she loved you, she meant it”.
In this capacity to love, at just 22, Karabo loved a young man – Sandile Mantsoe, 27.
He is a suspect in the crime.
Her body was discovered on April 29, exposed to the elements, a day after she was reported missing.
Against the tide of emotion at the memorial service, Neo Mohlabane, a friend who spoke with the verve and vigour of what Karabo could have been like to those who did not know her, asked for Mantsoe to be forgiven.
“Forgive Sandile. Pray for him. God can still use people like him. Pray for his family.”
But forgiveness seemed like such a hollow concept at the memory of Kari, as she was affectionately called.
The only positive said about patriarchy on the day, understandably, came from the lips of Mohlabane, who commended the SAPS for a job well done.
Details of Karabo’s Whatsapp conversation with another close friend on days leading up to her murder make for spine-chilling reading.
She was clearly a troubled young woman calling out for help. She confided in the friend that she was “hurting inside”.
Her friends variously referred to her as “my Kim Kardashian” who “spoke with so much grace” and “made an effort when she went out”.
They spoke of her Dior perfume “that she wore all the time” and of her business studies.
Among those in attendance were Gauteng MEC for Education Panyaza Lesufi and Struggle stalwart Andrew Mlangeni who heard firsthand accounts of how a beautiful flower was plucked before it bloomed.
One friend said Karabo had often said had she been Xhosa, her name would have been Nontyatyambo – of the flowers.
“She said she loved the facial expression that came with saying the name.”
When she spoke, people listened, her friends said in her memory. She gave of herself and time freely. She had beautiful dreams.
A young promising life cut short, for nothing.
The only sensible thing to say seemed to be encapsulated in the words of the speaker from the Gauteng Men’s Forum: “We’re sorry, not only to Karabo, but to all the women of South Africa.”
Actor and gender activist Patrick Shai spoke out harshly against women abuse.
“It is not a good time to be a man in South Africa,”
President Jacob Zuma said in Elsies River on Thursday, where a 3-year-old was found murdered, allegedly by someone known to her family.
Sexual violence against women and children has reached crisis levels.
Statistics from the Gender Commission say a woman is killed by her intimate partner every eight hours.
But the biggest lesson from the loss of such a young life is that it shouldn’t have happened, and not in our name.