It was a strange feeling being part of a mass movement and protest, not just reporting on it from the sidelines.
This time the story was about me, I could not be objective. The story was about my mother, my friends, my colleagues, the women around me who suffer in silence.
The total shutdown march yesterday encompassed the frustration of exhausted women.
As stories of brutal rape and murder that have gripped our communities were read out, many became emotional.
Their tears were for themselves and all of us, having experienced first hand violence perpetrated against women in many forms.
We consoled each other because we understood. And prayed for those who have lost their lives and innocence to this violence.
We were there because, as females, we have to make sure we are not being followed when we walk to our cars, even when it’s not dark.
We have to make sure we cover up, not to entice the countless men we walk by on the way to work. To make sure we are not whistled at, harassed or worse.
We were there because women tolerate harassment in the workplace, and are scared of making a scene, scared of jeopardising our jobs or creating conflict.
It has become second nature to know that you are not safe as a woman. This is not normal. We need to call these abuses out, as loud as we did yesterday.
I love being a woman, but I want to feel safe.
It’s easy to become disillusioned; it’s a feeling I have to fight every day, especially as a journalist, where we are exposed to the worst (and best) of humanity.
But before the disillusionment sets in, remember why we fight this battle.