It happened to me. I lay in a pool of blood, with broken ribs and limbs because of my husband, writes Lebo Keswa.
It happened to me. I lay in a pool of blood, with broken ribs and limbs. I dragged myself to the security to get urgent assistance. I was in such pain that screaming was almost 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 jail.
I had lost count of how many times I was coming in for this beating almost like a stray dog. 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, lets hide the untidy) 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 journalist, Nomvula Khalo, and I just felt totally 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 already knew me, and 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. It was an utter rollercoaster, and each time I bought the story of his commitment to change, that it “won’t happen again”.
Apart from the cases I went to withdraw myself, some were made to disappear because of his powerful connections as the 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 saw the light of day.
My husband got away with it.
I am lucky to be the one alive today, because I left - after plucking up the courage to forget about what inconvenience speaking out would cause for his career.
He is no longer alive 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.
I wish that had been round one for me, but it was not. In the previous marriage, my husband, who was an advertising executive, beat me up 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 Albi Modise, a senior government official who witnessed the assault, I wouldn’t have known what happened to me. Apparently holding hands and dancing with the best man triggered his rage of jealousy that couldn’t even wait until the wedding was over.
But something extraordinary happened. A few years after my husband died, 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 even 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 that it was possible that a new approach to “clamping down on corruption”, where cases disappear and witnesses are intimidated, could be found in our justice system. But us women can be complicit by withdrawing cases against criminals. This, too, can be a menace that hinders the prospects to turn the wheel against femicide. Is it possible that we can agree as a society to take firmer action against partners who threaten their loved ones’ lives?
Is it possible that we can outlaw the withdrawal of cases of domestic abuse once they are opened? This will send a firmer 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 UCT and Stellenbosch University, SA has the highest number of women who are killed by their partners.
A woman died every eight hours in SA last year, and of those murdered, 50% were killed by their intimate partners. But the numbers were not the most devastating factor of intimate partner violence (IPV): “The physical, mental and social consequences remain hidden. Cultural and societal norms are highly influential in shaping behaviour in intimate relationships.”
IPV has largely been an area of chronic neglect within the health and social development arenas, and therefore the necessary care is mostly absent from clinical practice, according to Dr Kate Joyner, from Stellenbosch University.
Professor Naeemah Abrahams, the 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 statistics produced by Statistics SA, who reported that for 2014/15, females were 71.3% more likely to experience sexual offences than males, at 28.7%. Households headed by females (61.4%) were more likely to experience murder when compared to male-headed households (38.6%).
SA does not know how many women are in danger of dying at the hands of their partners.
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 are reported and filed.
The dialogue was part of the department’s Human Rights Month commemorations. Women will be encouraged to speak out about abuse at the hands of their partners. It is not surprising that a few weeks ago, Karabo’s partner assaulted her and she made a mistake of going back to him.
Many women do this daily because of economic dependence but, more importantly, societal pressure. It’s commonplace that high-ranking business people of high repute stomach abuse by their spouses whose careers have become more important than their relationship. One of the cases I personally know relates to a couple who have both made it in business, and therefore 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 with each other, concealing the ugly scenes behind closed doors. One wonders how long they will be able to hide this from their daughters.
In our own cabinet, some women ministers carry those scars of being a battered spouse at night. What is worse is to have male ministers who are abusers themselves. So there is little hope for ordinary people like Karabo to lead society.
Until we see people in leadership standing up and admitting to these things, we stand no chance to push 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.
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 news has been full of women who have been killed at 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. #KaraboMokoenaRIP
* Keswa is a businesswoman. She writes in her personal capacity. Follow her on Twitter @lebokeswa
** The views expressed here are not necessarily those of Independent Media.