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

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tokoloshe

[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: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

DENIAL!

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Denial and I conversed, and we agreed I should keep quiet and live in an oasis of pretense. Yes, I had told Vuyo, A and Dr Cornell, but as soon as I re-entered my four wall dungeon, I enslaved myself with untruth. I signed a deceitful treaty with denial to secure my peace. The treaty required me to keep up appearances, weep in the confines of my prison and never face reality. This seemed like a very small price to pay in order to retain my sanity. Ironically, silence, pretense, and psychological denial were the very things that destroyed my sanity. They drove me into a land of delusion. I now lived in a dichotomous world of impossibility, where denial fought the truth. Truth reigned in my sub-conscious, while my conscious mind was governed by denial.

The first thing that suffered from my treaty was sleep. In order for any person to sleep, their mind has to be relaxed or in a state of partial Zen. Your thoughts have to be gentle and at the back of your mind. My mind was in a constant state of reflection; it roared like a Ford Mustang and raced across the track like a Buggatti Veyron. Gentle thoughts were non-existent in my mind, both my conscious and unconscious mind were riddled by deep and dark images. Every time I closed my eyes I saw his face and the act of rape that he had committed. Then those seven insulting words rang simultaneously like a cacophony between the piano and harpsichord. Since I had so graciously chosen to honor my Kikuyu roots and suffer in silence, I signed slumber’s arrest warrant and welcomed American motion pictures into my bed. As long as my laptop played movies or series, my sanity could escape into a monarchy of fantasy. Motion pictures kept my nightmares a bay, but unfortunately no amount of TV could stop me from sleeping, especially not after being prescribed sedatives. I cannot recall the nightmares I sustained in the first month, but I do recollect they revolved around death, being attacked, abandonment issues, and ghastly shadows.

My rapist was my first enemy and sleep became his vicious accomplice. After being raped sleep or any form of unconsciousness serves as a cruel form of punishment. It becomes a channel to replay your rape over and over again. It does not serve as a way to rest the mind but it serves as an effective method of torture. Imagine being detained in a dark, isolated room filled with huge screens and high definition sound. Each time you attempt to close your eyes and rest, you’re pumped with shots of adrenaline and forced to keep watching. That is what rape victims endure every time they fall sleep.

For me, my laptop became my companion and defense Major General. He was there for me through thick and thin, he heard me cry and comforted me, he protected me from my own negativity and nightmares by making me laugh and illuminating my room at night. The irony of course being that my laptop personified a male being. The very gender that had violated me was the very gender that I trusted to protect me. This is how effective the patriarchal system could be. My laptop replaced my friends and personified the human companion I needed. The scariest thing for me was darkness, especially when I could not sleep.  I did not want to draw attention to myself by switching on the light and leaving it on, so my laptop acted as my convert defense against darkness and intrusion. The fears I had as a little girl had resurfaced and been amplified to a different height. Instead of just being afraid of external monsters with unrealistic peripheral features, I was now also petrified of the ogre that lay within. The Ogre that lived within wasn’t time conscious he attacked at any time, day or night, because his darkness did not relied on nightfall but rather relied on self-criticism, self-hatred, self-alienation, shame, guilt and any negative emotion that could overpower positive reinforcements. So as much as my journey has been long and full of error, I’d be amiss not to advice you seek medical attention if you feel any of the above feelings, because ignoring your trauma will not make it go away but it will rather length the healing process and cause psychological harm.

My academic performance was the second thing to sustain irreparable mutilation.  Now as much as I would like to sit here and tell you I was an A* student, I’d only be lying. However my grades were above average, and most importantly I loved and understood everything my lecturers taught. All my life I had keenly followed current events. So imagine my delight when I not only got to study these political events, but I also got to analyze the theories, philosophies, economic and social factors that catalyzed these events.  In those days not even death itself could stop me from attending those lectures but as soon as I was raped nothing could get me out of bed. I mean really, I could barely motivate myself to shower; now I not only had to cleanse myself but I had to concentrate and act like Middle Eastern policies would be enough to fix my current realities? Funny thing was, I was desperately seeking any form of escape, and even though my studies could have offered me that escape, they required much more energy than my body possessed. Sadly, I lacked the basic energy needed to be honest with myself; therefore the graduate future I had worked so hard to secure, was now hemorrhaging from shrapnel wounds it would incur for next few months. Those few months would destroy my academic future for what feels like forever.

A leave of absence could have prevented the wounds that my grades suffered but this solution came with its own complications. A leave of absent required me to tell my family what had been done to me, and quite honestly I was so petrified of telling them that I chose to deal with this alone, in a foreign country.

Secondly, a leave of absence meant I would be doing nothing else but trauma therapy and for therapy to even begin I’d have to be cognizant with my rape and I wasn’t planning to do that, as I had signed a treaty with denial. So as long as my inability to face reality was in play, my academic future would continue to loom over my head and my new obsession would take effect.

Here is what I’ve learnt so far.

  • A rape victim cannot recover from rape alone, asking for help does not make you weak, neither does admitting to yourself and others that you got raped.
  • Denying any trauma’s existence whether it is rape, car accident, emotional or physical abuse does not solve the problem, if anything it makes the problem worse and harder to deal with. Seek any form of medical attention. If you are in Kenya, go to your nearest clinic and ask them to direct you to the nearest therapist. If you live in Nairobi specifically, go to Nairobi Women’s hospital and they will assist.

If you live in South Africa or London or USA contact rape crisis center.

  • Escapism whether with technology, alcohol or drugs also only amplifies the problem and makes it worse. Long term escapism and denial has real psychological effects whether it is depression, deep dissociation behavior, alienation and loss of touch from reality.
  • Lastly, without proper cognitive health everything can seem and prove to be impossible. Negativity, self-loathing, self-criticism, only act as barriers of success and opportunities. So ask for support and care from positive people, and set aside any pride or shame that may try and deter you from asking for assistance.
  • Yes, you are the captain of your ship, but every captain has crew members that support him through his or her journey!

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

Weeping Melody! Overcoming Trauma: A Survivor’s Journey and Finding Strength After Rape

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When a person is raped, they undergo severe battles for their psychological and physiological health. Rape is about power. The rapist shows his victim that they hold power over them and their surroundings. The power is both physical and psychological. Throughout the rape and even after, as long as the rapist is still in the vicinity, they consistently work to belittle the victim through verbal and physical abuse.

For me, the power statement was “we need to go get the pill!” The word WE insinuated that my rapist and I were one, like we made the decision together, like I had a choice in whether or not to engage in sexual activity, that I allowed him not to use a condom or any form of protection, that my biggest concern was getting pregnant and not getting STIs or STDs or suffering the psychological trauma I had incurred. The word “we” was an admission of guilt and an assertion of his so-called authority. He was saying to me I will not leave you until I am certain that I have been absolved of all responsibility. Pregnancy for him was the embodiment of evidence, it would force him to admit his guilt and take responsibility.

I need rape victims everywhere to understand, whether or not he admits that he violated you, that does not negate the fact that he committed a violent crime against you! It doesn’t matter how many times he attempts to convince you that you gave him consent or how many times he tries to justify his actions, he raped you and knows what he did!

It doesn’t matter whether you let him into your space, if you were wearing “inappropriate clothing” or your demeanour was ‘seductive’, if you did not give him informed formal or informal consent, he raped you!

Lastly, it doesn’t matter how many people falsify your testament or how many people deny the truth. Their denial of the truth does not pardon his actions, and neither does it obliterate your experience….

THE MOST IMPORTANT ADVICE I CAN GIVE YOU, IS TO DEPEND ON YOUR FAITH IN GOD AND IN YOURSELF. AVOID NEGATIVE AND IGNORANT PEOPLE, AS NEGATIVITY, IS A VIRUS THAT DISSOLVES THE SOUL! FIND A SUPPORT SYSTEM AND HOLD ONTO THEM LIKE A LIFELINE!

After he raped me, every cell and fibre of my being felt eroded with his manure. I felt so filthy, soiled and sullied. When a Christian baby or adult is baptised, they tell you that you are absolved of all sin; baptism is the expunging of all your past sin and the original sin, Rape is the act of smearing the rapist’s sin onto the victim’s body and mind. Therefore, all I wanted to do was to vindicate myself of his sin and renew my purity. The minute I could, I cleansed myself.

Those of you who know me, know I have a serious addition to Dettol, the smell and its properties just soothe my soul because nothing makes me happier than a germ-free environment.

So naturally, I took my big bottle of Dettol and barricaded myself inside the bathroom. I ran the hot water, placed the Dettol on the ground, laid my back against the wall as I attempted to squat and hold onto my sanity. The minute I realised my blockade was impenetrable and indestructible, my weeping melody began. The harder the water fell against my body, the more venomous the tears felt against my cheeks. The tears were a reflection of the bleeding soul and spirit that lay within. My veins felt like they were drenched in an undeniable realisation, the realisation that rape had become my reality. From this day on I bore the face of a rape victim! 

That was my weeping melody, a melody that could not be erased by water, Dettol, screaming, tears or hypnosis. The melody was strong and full of discords. It was a destructive melody that rang the mantra of the devil. This melody did not aim to uplift, it aimed to annihilate my body, soul and mind. The harder I tried to fight it, the harder it fought to burst my eardrums and shred every ounce of my body. Funny thing was, the weeping melody laid within. It had been placed within me by my rapist. I may not have been carrying his human spurn, but I was definitely baking his weeping melody in my womb. The clarity of this composer’s intent rang loud throughout my body and held my brain as an undeserving captive. I tried to liberate myself by scrubbing myself free. I started by pouring the Dettol throughout my body. I promise you if I could, I would have poured the Dettol on my face and ingested it so as to cleanse my insides and silence my weeping melody. The sad thing is, the harder I tried to wipe out my rapist’s essence, the harder it stuck to me like glue, and the harder it corrupted my neurones.

I’m sure some of you are wondering why in all my efforts to cleanse my body and mind, I hadn’t reached out for God’s salvation. As far as I was concerned, I lived in a godless world. The only hope for my salvation lay in the bottle of Dettol. If Dettol could not save me, nothing else could. You must understand, all my life I had tried to see the best in people. I lived in a world created by the most high, and everything in that world had a purpose and a beautiful essence. When that short asshole raped me, he opened my child’s eye to the grave evils of this world. This battle was not just about my split hymen, it was about the loss of my innocent perspective. Prior to my violation, I viewed the world through a child’s eye. Yes, I was a female adult, but no amount of experience could bust my bubble, pun intended. Trust me, until someone shakes the very core of your being, your innocence remains unharmed. The second that it is shaken, nothing looks the same ever again. Not only do you feel alienated from the world, but you are reborn into an errant and aberrant world.

Weeping melody was the corruption of my innocence, the innocence of my body and mind. I wept for both my physical and psychological health. The physical health refers to the annihilation of my hymen, the violation of my thighs, legs and any other body part that was stained by his touch. You see, I couldn’t touch my own body, without having flashbacks of him touching and violating me. The image of his desecration was tattooed into my mind’s eye; so the ritual of cleaning myself was not helpful at all. Every drop of soap that fell in the name of purification, was a constant reminder of my affliction. The harder I scrubbed, the deeper my affliction ran.

The mental turmoil I had, only increased the weeping melody. My mind was racing between acceptance of what had just happened and complete denial, for fear of losing my sanity. I tried to justify his behaviour by finding fault in my conduct, by convincing myself that I had done something to deserve this. Maybe it was the fact that I had allowed him to comfort me, maybe my demeanour, while he was comforting me, was seductive and I did not know it. I tried really hard to understand his cerebral process, but the harder I tried to find an excuse for his conduct the harder I marred myself. The saddest part of being raped is how quickly the victim bears the shame. The moment he pulled his penis out of my vagina, I bore his shame. With every thrust, the shame was intensified and engraved onto my soul. The shame did not come because I did not fight him or scream, but because I found a way to mirror the stigma of the world onto myself. I convinced myself that no one would believe me, so I chose to keep silent. Not because I couldn’t find the strength to fight him legally but because the shame overpowered me. Not to mention the fact that my rapist came from a wealthy family, we all know justice or victorious judicial adjudication befalls the wealthy not the middle class!

Here’s the truth, you cannot bear the shame of your rapist. You did not violate him or yourself, he violated you! Thus no one else but your rapist should bear shame and fault for his crime against.

Secondly, it is not for you as the victim/ survivor to prove your innocence to your family, friends, his family or his friends, because your innocence is not proven by his admission of guilt, your innocence is affirmed by itself. Hence try not to focus on people who don’t believe you, as they have made a conscious decision to add to rape culture, rather than fight it. That’s a reflection of them and does not diminish the truth!

Lastly, remember that God the Almighty also hates the crime of rape. We see this in Deuteronomy 22:25-30, the punishment befalls on the perpetrator, not the victim. Romans 13 also speaks to the above. Therefore, in reality, there is no need to feel ashamed, discouraged, suicidal, or depressed because the Lord our God loves you very dearly. That does not mean that your feelings are invalid, they are extremely valid and understandable feelings to have. However, try to not let those feelings drive to unimaginable despair! Instead call onto Yahweh, Jehovah, Lord,  Allah, Jesu, or Yesu. He is a mighty God who will NEVER FORSAKE YOU OR DEDUCT HIS LOVE FROM YOU!

YOU BEING RAPED WAS NOT AND WILL NEVER BE YOUR FAULT!

TAKE COMFORT IN THAT FACT AND REMEMBER HUMAN VALIDATION IS WORTHLESS!

WHAT IS IMPORTANT IS THAT YOU ARE STRONG AND BELOVED SURVIVOR!

 

 

 

 There is peace in acceptance and strength in your survivor! Strive to heal and the Lord will steer your ship! 

 

©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: , , , , ,

Breaking the Silence: Speaking Out About My Rape Journey!

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Break the stigma

Speaking out is a form of empowerment. The more we break the stigma rape victims face, the better out chances of eradication rape!

Speaking out about my rape is part of my journey and I cannot ask other survivors to speak up and break their silence, without first freeing myself by speaking out.

Every time I’d visit my GP he would ask me:

“Why do you choose to hold the weight of the world and the shame of your rapist on your shoulders? Every time I see you, you walk and behave as though you committed the crime against him; but he is the one who should be ashamed of what he did to you.

My response was always the same:

“I walked and behaved as though I am guilty because I feel guilty. I carry my rapist shame on my shoulders because I think I must have done something to deserve this. In addition, I know everyone knows and blames me for this.”

My rapist was known and loved by so many people at UCT. In the East African Society (EASOC) he was known as and called the godfather. So for many years I was too scared to speak out about what he did to me because I was sure no one would believe me.

I also need you to understand. South Africa was not my motherland. It was a country that looked very different from Kenya, the people spoke different languages than my people, and most importantly, it was a place that I had not fully embraced as my home yet. Thus when I felt homesick, I latched onto my fellow countrymen and women for support. Even though, my closest friends were actually from South Africa and other nation-states. I sometimes needed physical anchors to my heritage to make me feel whole again. Unfortunately when I finally got the courage to speak up about my rape and against my rapist, some of my countrymen and women were the first to call me a liar, disown and shame me.

However, when I finally found the courage to speak to God about my rape, he did not disown nor did he blame me. Instead, he said:

“BE STILL MY CHILD! BE STILL! I’ve loved you from before you were born and I will continue to love even after you die.”

And thanks to his mercy and grace I survived.

This entry is going to be very graphic; I’m not going to sugar coat anything because I need you to understand the pain and destruction that rape leaves in its wake.

I met my rapist at the beginning of 2006 when I started my studies in Cape Town, South Africa. When we first met, he seemed like a normal and decent individual. He was short, petite, and overall a typical 20-something Kenyan guy. His demeanor and attire mirrored American Hip Hop culture. In fact, the only thing that reflected his nationality was his accent, though even that didn’t fully represent most Kenyans. It mostly reflected the type of schools he had attended—private schools—and the fact that he came from an affluent family.

I did not find him attractive, nor did I see him as anything but a friend. He just seemed like a polite person who might make a good friend. So, I classified him as an acquaintance or big brother. I hung out with him and his friends once in a while and occasionally sought his assistance when I felt I needed it. During my time at Abbotts College, where I was finishing my last year of high school, I anchored myself to him and his friends. They provided a kind of familial feeling for me.

In late 2006, early 2007, I was accepted into the Humanities faculty at the University of Cape Town and became an active member of the East African Society (EASOC). I lived in the university residence, Tugwell, on the lower campus, which was across from my rapist’s apartment building. Because of this, I spent a lot of time with him and his friends. However, with the added pressure of my double major and other commitments, our friendship started to take a back seat, which upset him and his friends. From mid-2007 to mid-2008, our relationship became strained until 2009.

Although we weren’t close from mid-2007 to mid-2008, we still saw each other and interacted at EASOC and other university events. In 2009, we began hanging out again and became friends once more. Naively, I believed he saw me as one of his male friends. Boy, was I wrong. By letting him back into my life, I unknowingly opened the door to my personal version of hell.

…

In May 2009, I was struggling with academics and life in general. My third year was incredibly stressful—the workload was heavier, the reading material more complex, and the fear of failure had become nearly debilitating. Additionally, the disappointment of not getting my hip replacement surgery was increasingly frustrating.

At the end of 2008, I was scheduled for a hip replacement, but due to unforeseen complications, I had to postpone the surgery. This left me bitter, as I thought 2009 would be the year I could realize my full physical potential. For years, I had imagined trying new things, like surfing or some other crazy sport I couldn’t attempt before. I pictured myself letting out my sunny disposition and acting like a carefree child again—no inhibitions, no concerns that I wouldn’t be able to join the fun, or worse, that I might hurt myself. Just to clarify, my hip sometimes limits my range of motion, but it doesn’t define me, nor does it rule my life.

Anyway, on May 12, 2009, I was having an absolutely horrific day. I had failed a test that I’d spent a great deal of time studying for two weeks earlier. I hadn’t slept in days because of assignment deadlines, and as a result, I felt overly emotional. Luckily, I had attended all my morning lectures, so I decided to take the rest of the afternoon off to relax and gather my thoughts.

On my way back to my room on middle campus for lunch, my phone began to vibrate. (Note: my phone is always on vibrate, and the ringer is always off.) I tried to ignore it, but the sound was so unsettling and loud that I had no choice but to answer it. I picked up the phone from the bedstand and glanced at the screen. His name appeared, and instantly I felt a sharp pain in my abdomen. A small voice whispered, “Don’t pick it up. DON’T PICK IT UP!” Of course, like a complete fool, I ignored that voice and answered.

It was my rapist. We exchanged pleasantries, and then he told me he was near my residence and asked if he could pay me a short visit. At first, I was hesitant, as I really just wanted to be alone, but for some reason, I decided to let him come over. I lived in Woolsack on middle campus, so it was normal for me to entertain guests in my room. Honestly, it had never occurred to me that inviting people of the opposite sex into my room could pose a security risk—especially in this case.

I like I said above, I had known my rapist for years and he had visited me before and, he had never done anything to harm me.

Before I continue, it is important for me to point out rapists that do not look a particular way, neither are they of a particular race or class. Most rapists are people we know, trust and have some sort of relationship with. Sometimes rapists are complete strangers, however, this is usually not the cases.

Therefore, telling a rape victim they should have dressed more appropriately, or acted differently, doesn’t help them, neither does it solve this epidemic. What it does do is place blame on the victim instead of a perpetrator.

In addition, for those of you that told me I should have never let my rapist into my dorm room, or I should have yelled or that it was my fault and that I wanted to have intercourse with him. Go fuck yourselves, as your arguments are not only fallacious they are ridiculously stupid!

My rapist arrived a couple of minutes after the call. He didn’t call me to swipe in, as someone else let him into the residence. I heard a knock at my door, I moved to the mirror and made sure my eyes weren’t too puffy. Back in those days, I didn’t like crying in public, I was firm believer that people who cried in public were attention seekers and feeble. Little did I know this would become my MO for many, many years. After I put some eye drops on, I moved to the door and let him in. We exchanged pleasantries. Unfortunately, despite my best efforts, it was very rather obvious I had been crying. So he asked me what had gotten me so upset and if I wanted to talk about it. I replied with a vague answer and tried to change the topic, but he kept pushing and before I knew it, I was spilling my guts out. His response was I should cheer up and take comfort in the fact that other people out there had much bigger problems than I did. This really pissed me off, so I asked him to leave, as I really would rather have been alone rather be patronised. He insisted on staying and cheering me up. For some stupid reason, unknown to me, I let it go and let him stay. He asked me if I had ever watched a movie called Amelie and I said no, and he began to download it.

As the film was downloading, he began to make moves on me. He run his hands up and down my chest while trying to kiss me. This made me very uncomfortable and angry. I mean who makes advances on an individual whose clearly upset and preoccupied?

I mean, seriously, who?

Once again, I asked him to leave. He declined and I didn’t insist, I just reasoned that I would throw him out once his downloads were complete. Within a few minutes, Amelie was saved on my laptop. He copied the file onto my VLC player and we started watching the movie. I felt very uncomfortable, because within the first five minutes, there was already a hectic, steamy sex scene. I didn’t like it as I was a huge prude and quiet honestly I thought it was an inappropriate film choice.  Now, don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t an angel. I had seen films with sex scenes before but all I’m saying is I was very conservative and naive at the time.

In addition, I had little to no level of interest in the content of this movie or his company. Honestly, I just wanted to be left alone to cry and console myself. I asked him to leave but he insisted on staying and cheering me up. He asked me again what was wrong, and I repeated my story about my hip and how disappointed I was that I didn’t get my hip replacement. The more I spoke about it, the more upset I got, before I knew it; tears started rolling down my cheeks. I tried to hold them back, I tried to breathe and shout at myself internally, but like many of you know sometimes you just have to let your sorrows flow like the river Nile.

It was at this moment that he saw his opening. It was at that very moment he decided to steal my power and declare it as his own.

Sexual assault is not about sex but rather it is a way for a rapist to exercise their power over their victim.

“Rape is a crime that is committed through a sexual act without the consent or agreement of the people involved. Rape is traumatic, humiliating and can have life changing consequences. Rape is never the victim’s fault. Rapists make the choice to rape, and they are to blame.

You can be raped by a stranger or by someone you know or are going out with (date rape). A woman can also be raped by her husband. If you are raped by two or more people at the same time, it is called gang rape. Statutory rape is when someone age 18 or older has sex with someone under the age of consent (16 years) whether or not she gave consent.” (Rape crisis centre SA: http://rapecrisis.org.za/about-rape/)

 

 

 

my body is not a democracy

Assuming control over another individuals body without their consent, doesn’t make you powerful. It makes you a bully and a rapist. My body is not a democracy

 

 

©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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