True Story – Grizelda Grootboom

Grizelda Grootboom, 38, was trapped in a life of sex slavery, drugs and abuse for more than 20 years, but fought her way out to become an author and activist

Igrew up in Woodstock, Cape Town with my dad and his family, until the then government started with forced removals. My dad and I were evicted from our house in the late ’80s. My mother, on the other hand, was living her own life and I didn’t know her until much later. At some point, my dad and I were homeless. So, we lived on the streets, or moved from shelter to shelter. Sometimes, he’d leave me alone for weeks on end, and then we’d reconnect again somewhere on the streets. For the longest time, that was the only life I knew.

I was eight years old when I found out that my mother lived at Site C in Khayelitsha with her husband and two sons. That household was violent, and before I knew it, I became their cook and cleaner. I’d run away and return to the streets, but end up going back to my mom’s, only to be beaten up. I’d even stopped going to school because of the colossal responsibilities I had at home. Then everything was taken away from me when I was raped, alongside three other girls. Four big boys took turns raping us. What’s strange is that the first girl who was assaulted didn’t scream, and we looked on, waiting. When we did try to scream, they slapped us. I got back home after that ordeal, and found my mother drunk, waiting with a sjambok. In between the lashes, she kept asking why I hadn’t fetched the water from the communal tap and cooked dinner. That was

my cue to leave my mother’s house.

I was rarely in school after leaving Khayelitsha. I moved from one shelter to another, or slept under a bridge with my friends. Once, the police took me to the Ons Plek Projects shelter, where I ended up staying, on and off, for most of my teen years. We had school lessons from foreign tutors who volunteered their services – they taught us how to read and write. While I was shuffling between different shelters, I went to Laerskool Jan Van Riebeeck on Kloof Street. I was 15, but there was too much stigma attached to my age, so that didn’t work out.

My dad was killed on the streets when I was about 17. I then joined the

26 Constitutions Gang as a survival tactic because I was homeless. There used to be a shelter next to District 6 that would sometimes take us in. When I turned 18, the shelter told me they couldn’t keep me anymore, saying I’d be a negative influence on other kids. So, back to the bridge I went.

While still in school, I met a friend who came from a wealthy family and had a drug problem. Whenever she’d come to visit me under the bridge, I’d tell my gang leaders that she had rich friends who could hook us up with cars. The plan was to steal car radios to make money. When she mentioned that she was moving to Joburg, I decided to tag along because Cape Town had become too hard for me. To make enough money for a train ticket to Joburg, I stood by a traffic light and offered men blowjobs. When I eventually arrived in Joburg, I called my friend to come collect me from the train station, but her body language was off-ish. She was in the company of a guy friend, who drove us to Yeoville. She showed me to my room — which was rather empty — then left me to take a nap, while she went to get food. That was the last I saw of her.

The next thing I remember was being woken up by a kick on my stomach. I thought the house was getting robbed. It later dawned on me that I was being undressed by three men, and felt a needle stab me behind the knee, which numbed my lower body. I thought to myself, ‘I’d be okay if they kill me, because life isn’t worth the pain’. After that, clients started coming to the house to have sex with me. My pimp got me hooked on various drugs, and one random night, I got kicked out and another girl replaced me. I didn’t think to find help because I was so hooked on drugs, and when you’re on the streets, that becomes your last resort. Because I roamed and lived on the streets, I’d get arrested, and be placed in jail cells with men. In order for you to get out, you’d have to give the officers blowjobs. That’s actually where my mistrust for the justice system began. I soon became a ‘Berea girl’, using prostitution to stay alive and feed my drug habit.

SEX SLAVERY

While living in Berea, I had a pimp who’d take me to places around the country, or sell me to other pimps or madams. This was my life from when I was about 18 until I turned 26. Sometimes, I’d work as an in-house prostitute, or be cast in porn movies. When I was 26, I was moved to Port Elizabeth, where I worked for a new madam and later fell pregnant with my baby girl, Summer. I continued working, oblivious to the fact that I was carrying a baby inside me. When news of my pregnancy was confirmed, the madam wouldn’t let me have an abortion because I had clients to service. At six months, though, I was forced to terminate the pregnancy. I was given sponges to stop the bleeding, and ordered back to work two hours after the operation. I refused. The madam’s husband beat me up, and instead of taking me to a local hospital, they drove me to a Joburg one. There was a lady who would go around the hospital, praying for the sick. She wrote me a recommendation to go to rehab, which became yet another challenge – I was 27, with no ID. And that became my turning point. This lady helped me find a place to live at a shelter called Home of Hope.

MY EXIT

My new chapter was no walk in the park. My old pimp always knew where to find me. He started using me to smuggle drugs. During the day I could do as I pleased – I’d go to soup kitchens or clinics to help out, but at night I had to deliver drugs. This carried on until I was 30. I became an active member at a very famous church in Randburg, and even joined their call centre. One of the pastors actually asked me to drop off drugs for him in Cape Town. I took that as a sign to leave. I now live with my mother and my son in Khayelitsha. I gave her all the money I had, and that marked the beginning of me writing my debut book, Exit! I wrote it to help fight the battle against child prostitution and drug addiction. I’m currently busy with my Grade 11 studies, and I’m looking forward to completing my matric so I can go study human rights law in Canada, where I’ve been offered a scholarship. My mother needs healing, too. We have reflected on our experiences, but we don’t know each other’s full stories yet.

I was 27, with no ID. I realised that I didn’t even know my name. And that became my turning point.