TOKOLOSHE CRADLE: From Trauma to Triumph: How I Overcame the Pain of Rape and Found Strength

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[1]

From the moment I landed at Jomo Kenyatta International airport (JKIA), I knew I was in my rapist’s home turf. Although Kenya was also my home turf, it did not hold the same level of protection for me as it did for my rapist. My rapist was safe here. He couldn’t be tried here; he had family and associates here, who probably knew about this. I am certain that the little prick, bragged about deflowering me. I’m sure in his sick, twisted head he values that act like he would an international award. I know what you’re thinking; you’re thinking I also had the above support system. Some of my family and friends also lived here, but they only served as a metaphoric support system. In order for them to offer their support, they would need to know what happened to me, which they didn’t. So like Edmund Burke said: “The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men should do nothing.” In this case, the only thing necessary for him to triumph was for me to say nothing!

That said, six years down the line the irony present itself. Now when I land at JKIA and walk around my country, I strut around with the pride of a mother. I gave birth to my renaissance and expelled my pain. Now with every step I take and every move I make, I exude greatness and embrace the endless possibilities ahead of me. The irony is, the louder I roar, the smaller your influence becomes!

I’m no longer afraid of being the wretch of the earth; rather I choose to be the flame that enlightens the masses!

There’s a powerful serenity that is engraved in most people’s familial home; the serenity is not intertwined in the structure of the house but in the enchantment of familial warmth, protection and support. A home is a home because of the memories made in it, and my familial home was founded in all the above; and above all this house was structurally sound to withhold any attack from my rapist and his supporters.  Herein lies my safe place, my true safe haven.

As I walked around the day after my arrival, 10th June 2009, I felt debilitating grieve. It was the first time I really felt the loss of my father. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve felt that the loss from the moment he took his last breath on this earth, but I never, ever, let myself really grieve. I mean really grieve! But that moment as I stared at our old family portrait in the living room, I couldn’t help but wonder if my life would have been different if he was still alive. I couldn’t help but wonder if his presence would have prevented my rape. I mean maybe I’d have chosen a different path, a different and safer country to study in, or better yet, I’d have known better and therefore never trusted my rapist or let him into my dome room. For the very first time in my life, I really resented my father for leaving me and I really hated my Lord from taking him away from me. At that very moment I missed the warmth and protection of my father more than ever; that was the very moment that I understood what it meant to be surrounded by people and feel very alone. I cannot emphasize this enough, any traumatic event that is not dealt with gives the victim an unexplainable amount of pain that leads to irrational fears and isolation. The more you isolate yourself the further away you get from reality.

…

My reality had become one of irrational phobias, hyper tension and hibernation. My room and familial home was the only place where I sort of felt safe. Unfortunately, I’m using the word safe very loosely. The first night I spent in my own bed, right opposite my mum’s room and right next to my sister’s room, was the best night of my life. I may not have slept for eight hours or even six hours straight, but for the first time in months, I had, had real deep sleep. No nightmare, well one, but it wasn’t that scary; very mildly horrific. According to sleep specialist, deep sleep stage is the stage where the body repairs and regrows tissues, builds bone and muscle, and strengthens the immune system. So clearly, deep sleep is a very important part of sleep. The next few mornings I felt so fresh and energetic. Unfortunately, this was very short lived, as the next week; I started having night visit from tokoloshe, at least I thought it was tokoloshe[2].

Every night I went to my room, I watched any and all series that could cuddle me to sleep, but this time instead of being able to clear my head from everything and forget about my issues, all I could see were these dark, evil beings in my presence and I could feel them as they attempted to come closer towards me. It’s like being encircled by iniquity. A malevolent energy that surrounds you during your darkest time and ignites all your senses on fire.

My Tokoloshe resembled my rapist to a tee. He had his dark chocolate complexion, with dark black spots and pimples all over his forehead, and this perverted smug look in his eyes. People say that eyes are the window of the soul. Well this soul, was pure evil.  Peeking into his eyes was like looking into the soul of the devil itself. In addition, every time tokoloshe was around my sense of smell was heighten. The whole room was reeking of expensive cologne that was meant to epitomize wealth and intense masculinity, but instead it felt like tokoloshe was overcompensating for something. I no longer laid in the comfort of my laptop, I now cuddled with my own version of Tokoloshe.

I want you to close your eyes, and for a few seconds recollect the fear you used to feel when you were a child and you believed there monsters in your room. I want you to focus intently on the fear, don’t rationalize it, just let it engulf you completely. Now imagine your lying in bed, surrounded by all your favourite toys, your blankie and night light. Your bed is surrounded by these figures that only have an upper body and float around the room, like a white feather would float towards the sun. All these figures look like the person you fear most, and everywhere you turn you see them. The light night light that was left on for you to keep away evil becomes your worst enemy; because instead of scaring those evil figures away it illuminates their vice a million times over. It’s an evil that cannot be described accurately but you can definitely feel it, in core part of your being. Now, imagine feeling that way every day of your life. That’s how a rape victim feels. A rape victim has an innate fear that convinces them that they will never escape their rapist, or the shame they feel, or ever overcome their pain. A rape sees their rapists everywhere they go. He’s in their home, car, office, supermarket, and church; all because his image is tattooed into their mind’s eye. A place where you can neither physically get to, nor  erase. It’s like your stalker is using your own body against you.

…

Looking back now and looking how far I have come. I can only cite my recovery to my God, family, friends and an awesome medical team.

I will keep saying this to yah. If you know anyone that has been raped or if you yourself have been raped, please seek help and find the courage to speak out. Silence only protects him and creates a ridiculous amount of fear and shame in your soul; and you are not the one who should be ashamed it your rapist. THEY ARE THE ONES IN THE WRONG NOT YOU!!

Lastly, please follow my blog  and share my blog post. By following my blog, you get regular updates sent to you via email, and by sharing my posts we raise awareness and BREAK THE SILENCE!

[1] https://giordanopoloni.wordpress.com/- image of tokoloshe

[2] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tikoloshe

 

 

©misbeloved/mwk

 

[Maryanne Kamunya] and [misbeloved], [2014]. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to [Maryanne Kamunya] and [misbeloved] with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Filed Under: My Memoir as Rape Victim and Survivor Tagged With: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Awake, The Tormentor Part 2! Explore the story of survival after trauma, dealing with depression, and finding hope through faith and support.

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Woman victim behind glass

(copyrights huffingtonpost-cpap-ptsd-nightmares)

 

Awake was just another state of enslaving myself.

The brain can either be a powerful ally or foe. In my case, it was a foe.  Unfortunately, I couldn’t find rest while sleeping, because that’s when I replayed of my rape. The less I slept, the more fatigued I was and the more intense my delusion and paranoia became; and the further away my tripolar opposites became. The only thing that could help me was having peace of mind, but peace meant the beginning of my renaissance, and a renaissance is impossible without death. Death and birth are classic oxymoron, they both relay on each other and they both contradict each other. This chapter marks the inauguration of my insanity and depression!

Depression is defined as: “an illness that can serious impair all aspects of a person life, including personal relationships, performances at work and personal enjoyment of leisure activities.”(Lundbeck)

Depression gets complicated to detect and diagnose, because every single person will have a different set of symptoms and react to the presence of these symptoms differently[1]. In my opinion, the above definition of depression is too simplistic and doesn’t serve this disease justice. I’ve struggled with depression since 2009 and I can tell you, it can alter everything you hold dear in life. It kills every ounce of hope you ever possessed. Ithemba liyaphilisa (Hope causes one to live). A person deprived of hope, is a walking corpse, thus I describe depression as lifelessness. It’s not a death without resurrection, as its curable, but as long depression exists, you’re lifeless. My depression was a lifeless addiction to morbid darkness.

After the EASOC meeting, I didn’t leave my room for about two weeks. The more I isolated myself, the more paranoid I got. In an effort to assist me to study and get out of my room, Vuyo enlisted me to go to the computer lab. I think she was hoping that a change of environment plus the vision of other students getting on with their assignments would inspire me to do the same. Honestly, it took everything I had to get out of bed and look sensible enough to hide my secret. Unfortunately, this meant getting into the shower and engaging in the cleansing ritual. For an equivalent of two weeks or so, I had not taken a shower, brushed my teeth or washed my face. I was dead inside and had no intention of appearing any different. Anyway, due to the high regard I have for Vuyo, I gathered all my strength and energy and prepared myself for the task ahead. Now I’m sure you’re wondering why I didn’t seek additional medical assistance. Well, as far as I was concerned, I was fine. I was taking my trauma in stride, acting gracefully and appropriately in front of my peers and doing my best to survive. Besides, the number one concern was who was going to believe me? So rather than incur the added burden of rejection, I decided to bare my cross alone!

Secondly, I knew for a fact I wasn’t depressed, because depression was not in my vocabulary. It was a word that described insane people. Those filthy individuals I saw as a child roaming the streets aimlessly with natty dreadlocks, tattered coal covered clothing and frantically singing or speaking to themselves. THAT WAS NOT ME! THAT WAS DEFINITELY NOT ME! Hahahahahaha. Believe me; the wit behind this utterance was going to reveal itself soon, very, very soon.

So as Vuyo and I trekked our way from middle to upper campus, we spoke and laughed. About what you ask? I genuinely do not recall. I honestly, do not think I was paying enough attention to adequately engage, let alone remember that conversation, my main role in this production, was to play a convincing Maryanne.

However, I recall how precious the crisp fresh air was to me, how gorgeous the ruby field appeared and how interesting my fellow students looked as we passed them by. They looked so care free; they had perfect complexions and wrinkle free faces. Their smiles were bright and brilliant white. These individuals fascinated me, because they represented the me I had lost!

Upon arrival to the lab, my biggest fear of being gawked at was realised. People knew, they could read the writing on my forehead and were taking the piss out of me. My heart began to race faster than the Hennessey Venom. My nerves were palpitating like they were engrossed in a marathon race with Paul Tergat and my body had the shakes like this was its penultimate mission in life. So in an attempt to capture some ounce of control and support from my fellow human being, I asked Vuyo:

“why the hell people are staring at me?”

 And of course I couldn’t whisper my question, I had to ask piercingly. Vuyo laughed and said:

“It’s because you’re singing at full volume. You broke into song the minute we touched down in the computer lab. You’ve been passionately singing a gospel song and smiling wildly!”

I was utterly shocked and devastated. My glass ceiling was shattered! I could see tiny fragments of my sanity lying on the floor for everyone to see. My gig was up. The curtains had come down and everyone was on their feet, giving me a standing ovation.

“Wooohoooo! She’s done it; she’s unmasked the phantom of her sanity. Bravo! Bravo!”

…

After my last performance, you can imagine that my next appearances were few and far apart. I only left my room to buy groceries, mind you, I don’t know why I bothered, I rarely ate let alone cooked. I also only left to try and salvage my grades for the semester, but honestly there was no hope, I had not done any assignments after my rape and quite honestly the more I tried to think analytically, the more my insanity would appear. In addition, when I tried to seek advice from one of the student advisor about the possibility of erasing this semester from my academic record to save my average, her response was:

“Maryanne, this university has rules that everyone has to abide by. The university is not here to bend rules for you and work around your problems. Yes, it’s sad that you got raped but it’s your responsibility to fulfil your end of the deal and for us to do the same!”

So I gave up trying on the academic frontier. Eventually my fatigue and my nightmares took a hold of me and I remained in a state of essential unconsciousness until the day of my disappearance.

…

It’s the 9th of June, the day I’m departing back to my homeland. My flight to Johannesburg is at 10:50am, which means I have to be at the airport by 9:50am. Alas, I woke up to a startling sound of a man’s voice at the end of the line. My phones ringtone echoed in the mist of my nightmare. Death had become somewhat of a recurring comfort in my dreams, so when my phone rang that morning, for a few seconds, it just bounce me back and forth into a limbo with my consciousness and unconsciousness. After about five seconds, I answered the phone like a lethargic robot and got the proverbial slap in the face from my male cab driver. He was informing me that he was on his way, and would be at my residence in twenty to thirty minutes. I leapt into action and got ready. Until this day, I have no idea how I did it, but I finished packing the remainder of my stuff and showered in under thirty minutes…

The drive to the airport and the first flight was uneventful. When I arrived at Johannesburg I was worn-out and it showed. So I found a safe and quiet place to sit and wait to board my flight. The idea was to try and relax and mentally prepare myself for being at home. Home was no longer my safe haven; it was the country I shared with my rapist. Regrettably, my brain had other plans, other than relaxation. I started panicking about my suitcase and trying to remember whether I needed to check my bags in again, then I thought they had left my luggage behind. I stood up so quickly and started rushing around to the other side of the airport. Then half way there, I realised I had checked my bags in straight to Nairobi. So I ran back to international departures, found an isolated and safe place to sit. But before I could relax I was running again going to check on my luggage. I played this cat and mouse game until I completely burnt myself out. I had nothing else to give. I slouched back into the bench and shut out the rest of the world. I was unable to hear, smell or feel anything. I was numb and happy. While I dimed down my senses, I missed the fact that a random male person had come to sit next to me, and I missed the boarding call for my flight. Thank the Lord for that stranger, because he not only helped by pulling me back to reality, he helped me check in and clear immigrations. I didn’t know it then, but my God in heaven was certainly looking out for me and had never forsaken me. He had been infront me all the way and was anointing my steps throughout my trauma.

The Lord is faithful and his love endures always!

In hindsight, I really wish I had been honest with my family, close friends and doctor about my struggles because they would have reminded me of God’s love and kept me anchored to reality!

I need you reading this to remember, Joy will always come in the morning and God is always there for you. All you have to do is trust him and ask him to comfort you. Recovery from any trauma, is difficult and long but believe me, it’s possible. You just need the right therapist, support group and doctor. God loves you! God loves you and WILL NEVER FORESACK YOU.

This song has gotten me through difficult times, hope it does the same for you.

Uyangithanda

 

[1] For further information on depression, visit, www.lundbeck.com.

©misbeloved/mwk

 

[Maryanne Kamunya] and [misbeloved], [2014]. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to [Maryanne Kamunya] and [misbeloved] with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Filed Under: My Memoir as Rape Victim and Survivor Tagged With: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Awake, The Tormentor! A Survivor’s Story of Coping with Trauma and Healing After Rape

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(copyrights huffingtonpost-cpap-ptsd-nightmares)

(copyrights huffingtonpost-cpap-ptsd-nightmares)

Awake, The Tormentor! is inspired by the agony I experienced and sometimes still experience when im awake. In the previous post I wrote about my treaty with denial, this was part of the first stage of my’ healing’/ coping process. Denial was my first line of defence. It was a response to the state of being awake, I’ve written in the past how sleep was a difficult/ an impossible task after being raped, well, being awake was its own form of torture!

Awake, the Tormentor, won the battle because he managed to separate my soul, spirit and body from each other. He intertwined them into opposing whirlpools, corrupted and convinced them to work as tripolar opposites. In the rare occasions I left my dungeon, whether to go to Vuyo’s room, the grocery store, upper campus or wherever, I left as three forms. My empty shell of a body, walked along side my spirit and soul; and they existed as phantoms. To the naked spectators I seemed whole and conventional, but in actual fact, the being before them was a corpse, with the affliction of my rapist gestating in my womb! My rapist had many abettors and Awake had joined his employ!

I hadn’t left my dungeon for over two weeks and to be honest, if I had it my way I would have stayed in there forever. The level of torture in there was alpine. It was the very territory where I had been violated but it was also the only place where I could protect myself from further violation. My room in Woolsack was both my cage, and my deserted island away from testosterone annexation. Salvation was very limited, so any source I attained had to be held onto. The irony of this situation was the very person that could save and heal me, I hid from! I was certain that God had deserted me, the minute he let someone assault me. Not to mention, I had always thought of God as male, so asking me to trust another male, especially, the very male being that had created such a monster as my rapist, was really overstepping all bounds of my logical centre. Unfortunately for me, no woman can be island; just because I suffered a traumatic event didn’t mean that the world had stopped spinning. So duty called and I had to attend an East African Society meeting (EASOC). The problem was, the organizing committee, also know as the Comm, had 5 guys in it. These guys had become like family, we laughed and made inner jokes together, we also went through ridiculous challenges and came out on top. These guys had taught me how to relax and take life as it came, as they would say, ‘its never that serious!’ Unfortunately for me, it had become that serious and nothing could save me from my demons….

It had been over two weeks since I had seen the EASOC comm, but I was dreading it. It’s almost as though I was carrying my rape as a cross, where my audience, was the one and only male race. My judge and jury were male and from the African continent, where patriarchy was hailed because it uplifted their sexist beliefs and culture. I only had three females as my potential allies, but we were up against a couple hundred men (as the EASOC meeting was held in male residence in UCT, known as Kopano). The problem was I was too afraid to confess my rape, so I bore my cross alone. As I walked to Kopano from Woolsack, my spirit and soul phantoms secured my alleyway. Each time a male walked passed me, I envisioned my soul and spirit being entrapped and that male charging towards me like a Springbok player at the ruby world cup finals. My fate seemed sealed and my body was failing to cope with reality. My heart was pulsating harder than the African drum, my legs had become stiffer than Table Mountain and my chest had tightened into a ball of fire. I was gasping for air and my ear drums felt like they had exploded. My gasps were so loud and hard. It felt like a Rwandan gorilla was banging on my chest and trying to reclaim his territory. I tried to seat down but my knees wouldn’t bend, and I’d be out in the open without any camouflage, so I ran! I ran to the entrance of Woolsack and hide myself in a little corner and tried to calm myself down. I began to count out loud but it sounded like a radio comm had reacted with a cellphone and I all I wanted was for it to stop. I need you to stop, I said. I commanded my heart, chest, legs, and tears to stop but they wouldn’t heed my call, so I retreated to my sad position and let the panic attack pass, on its own. The bright side was, I was late, so they wouldn’t be any time to hug anyone,

“YAY! I thought, NO PHYSICAL CONTACT WITH THE BOYS!!”

My attack finally stopped and I began my journey again. Same formation, spirit and soul led the way and my corpse followed. I arrived at Kopano and tried to write my details in the sign in book. My hands were numb and so was the rest of my body. I couldn’t take my eyes off the guy giving me instructions. I honestly wanted to shit my pants.

“ALL AROUND ME WERE MALES!!! ALL MALES!! RUN BITCH! RUN!! NO WAIT, WE HAVE TO FACE OUR DEMONS SOMETIMES, STAY STRONG MARYANNE KAMUNYA, STAY STRONG!!”

These are words I told myself. Unfortunately,  my heart started palpitating again so I wrote my details down as quickly and neatly as I could and blended into the wall and walked away. Throughout my ‘normal’ absence at Kopano my mind’s eye, soul and spirit held my cover! As I approached the meeting room, I noticed the boys hanging out outside, I quickly looked around and couldn’t see any of my allies.

SHIT!!! I CANT DO THIS, THEY WILL ATTACK ME!

Suddenly it dawned on me, all my male friends had now become a thing of the past; men WERE NOT to be trusted, especially Kenyan men. I propelled myself forward as my soul and spirit were urging me to turn back. The irony of this whole situation was, as I was shuddersome of being around the boys, they seemed happy to see me. So one after the other they hugged me and throughout those hugs I checked out and escaped my body completely.

If they were to have me, they would have the empty shell that they called my body but they would never break or have my spirit again!

This dear brothers and sisters is what rape does to a victim, it alienates us from the ones we love and turns our minds against us!

©misbeloved/mwk

 

[Maryanne Kamunya] and [misbeloved], [2014]. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to [Maryanne Kamunya] and [misbeloved] with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

 

Filed Under: My Memoir as Rape Victim and Survivor Tagged With: , , , , , , , , ,

MY RAPE PART TWO

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consent2

Please find the first part of my rape here: http://amandlaawethu.org/misbeloved/memoirs-of-a-rape-victim-my-rape/

Part Two of my rape

Despite my inability to hold back my tears, I thank God I’ve never been able to cry loudly. You know what I’m talking about, some people cry really loudly, there’s absolutely nothing with it, but that’s just not me. The minute I began to cry, he moved closer to me and began to try and comfort me. He hugged me and said:

“Don’t do that, think about it this way, your problems aren’t that serious, there are people out there that are dying of hunger.”

He hugged me, and then he tried to kiss me. I got upset and asked him seriously? Looking back now, it was at that moment that I should have thrown him out. I should have physically gotten up and opened the door and demanded him to leave. I can’t tell you why I didn’t do that, all I remember is feeling very tired and weak. I don’t mean fatigued like from crying, I mean I was physically and emotionally drained. The next thing I knew, he was on top of me. I can’t tell you how he got me to lie on my back, or how he managed to get the better of me, but he did.

I felt his hands holding my thighs; it felt like a shovel of hot coal was being pushed against my thighs. I tried to get up, I tried to push him away, well it felt like I tried, but alas my hip had failed me. I remember thinking, I did this. I told him how to plant his flag on me. When I opened up about my hip replacement surgery, I told him the precise nature of my problem, I told him about my limited range of motion, and with my own mouth, I had signed my own death warrant. The minute he got a hold of my legs, he had the power and he knew it. He knew that as long as he held onto them, I couldn’t kick him or fight him. Like a moth flying towards the light, the demise of my virginity was nigh.

He held onto to my right hip very tightly and forced it to move into the correct position. In those days, my hip was very stiff, so the position he was forcing it to be in, would be natural for many of you, but for me, it was aberrant and extremely painful. Let me try and paint a picture of how intense that pain was, imagine you sprain your ankle, then as you trying to recover someone comes along and forces your ankle into an unnatural position. You try to free yourself from their grasp, but the more you try, the more pressure that’s placed on your ankle, and therefore, the more excruciating pain you feel; that’s the pain I was experiencing. Then couple that pain, with the image of a rapist on top of you grinding away at my hymen. I couldn’t see him properly, as I said earlier he is significantly shorter than me, but I did see his head popping up.

The minute he put his penis inside my vagina, my whole body went numb and into shock. I lost all feeling and completely detached my spirit and soul from my body. I had an out of body experience.  I watched each and every second of him violating me. I lied there, motionless, unable to fend off this predator, all I could see were tears streaming down my cheek. I saw the tears but I couldn’t feel them. Those tears symbolised my power as a human being diminished.

My spirit tried to awaken my physical form. It began to scream at its body:

Scream bitch! Scream! I tried to move my lips but they wouldn’t cooperate. I then yelled at my body, fight him, move him, do something, don’t just lie there. I tried to gain the strength I needed to fight him, my soul tried to gain entry back into my body, but another spirit had already conquered my corpse. His demon spirit had occupied my flesh and there was nothing I could do to stop him.

With every motion, my body got benumbed. My soul became heavier and my body became lighter. In those moments he violated me, I felt my spirit die and my faith disperse.  After he was done, he said:

“we need to  get you the pill.”

This git hadn’t even bothered to protect himself!!! There were fucking condom dispensers all over this residence!!! Those words ‘we need to go get the pill’ kept ringing in my soul all night and for nights to come. Those words symbolised the death of my virginity, my innocence and my rights as a human being. 

That ladies and gents, was how I was introduced to adulthood. This was also the beginning of my rape trauma syndrome!

For those of you (because believe me I know from my experience, you do exist) that believe I deserved this because I let him into my room or think because I did not scream or fight I gave him informal consent. Well here’s what I have to say to you,  sex requires informed, verbal and not coerced consent from each sexual partner. If your partner is too young, that’s rape, if your partner is unclear about your intentions, that’s rape, if your partner is incapacitated or and of unsound mind, that’s rape. Basically, if your partner cannot willingly and free say yes to sex, DO NOT DO IT, THAT IS RAPE!

Sex for me meant, the intertwinement of two bodies and souls.  It is not a mindless activity that one party decides consent on behalf of another, neither is it a right for any boy! (yes boy, because no man forces himself onto any person!! It doesn’t increase your masculinity it only diminishes it).

For those of you that believe that I just got confused after giving formal consent (Because I’ve had two female law students say that to me). It never ceases to amaze me how educated, ignorant idiots like you, continues to roam the earth. Anyway my response to such individuals is:

“Rape is a violent crime in which a person commits a sexual act without formal or informal consent. Consent: to agree to something, give permission or say ‘yes’ when you understand what is being asked of you and when you are not forced or deceived into giving consent.” (Rape Crisis Cape Town trust, 1992:-4-6).

Now, my understanding of formal consent is when a person willingly indicates verbally that they wish to have sex with you. Informal consent is a physical indication of consent through open and positive response to sexual advances. NOW I MUST EMPHASIS ANY PERSON CAN CHANGE THEIR MIND AND REFUSE YOUR ADVANCES AT ANY TIME. No person has the authority to steer you ship/ destiny without your consent!!

In addition, most rapes are committed by people you know, that makes it violating, hurtful, confusing and evil.

Now, I thank God that my battle was a mental battle and I wasn’t harmed badly physically. Unfortunately, because I did not know better, I cleaned myself and discarded away the evident as soon as I could.

I need you to understand that every fibre of my being had been engrossed in my rapist bile. My vision was blurry and I was suffering from inner turmoil. Even the sweet, sweet smell of Dettol couldn’t cleanse my soul, mind, spirit or body; as far as I was concerned I was a walking corpse!

AFTER BEING RAPED, YOUR FIRST PRIORITY IS TO GET YOURSELF TO SAFETY. Once you are in a safe place, try and call a friend, loved one or family member, or a helpline and IMMEDIATELY SEEK MEDICAL ATTENTION! THE FIRST 72 HOURS ARE CRUCIAL!

Lastly, I didn’t get the opportunity to file charges, due to various reasons. However, that does not mean that you can’t do so. Please feel free to check out this link: http://amandlaawethu.org/misbeloved/memoirs-of-a-rape-victim-my-rape/

This will inform you on exactly what to do if you are raped.

In conclusion, I’m really hoping and praying that this blog post helps someone out there.

At the Rape Crisis Centre in Cape Town, my therapist used to tell me,  DON’T HIDE, SPEAK OUT!

I SAY SPEAK OUT AND BREAK FREE! For God is your father, and he alone knows your heart. Let no one persecute you, as they too will lay down in front of our father!

 

©misbeloved/mwk

 

[Maryanne Kamunya] and [misbeloved], [2014]. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to [Maryanne Kamunya] and [misbeloved] with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

 

Filed Under: My Memoir as Rape Victim and Survivor Tagged With: , , , ,
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