Upon hearing these words from her mouth: “uptight” and “overreacting”, I suddenly felt the rage inside of me erupt like flaming orange lava from a volcano. I had high expectations from my bosom buddy, I thought she would be more empathetic when I was merely lamenting about how uncomfortable of a position she had just made me endure.

I did raise it up with her my reluctance to accepting a lift from a group of strange men in the dilapidated minibus taxi. At this moment everything else seemed to blur: from the ogling looks we received from them, the irritatingly rattling sound of an aged engine, background music of men in high pitched voices of Maskandi music and that nauseating stench of burning cigarette joints. That reek particularly threw me back to a play date I had dug and buried in an old grave, now being washed away by the heart-wrenching words from my friend, like the recent floods in KZN unearthing that which I did not want to remember.

I was never a child fond of playing outside the confines of my ever rowdy family yard. My aunt sold beer from her back room while my uncle operated a mini vegetable stall at our gate. On this distinct day however, I stepped out with a friend…I seldom frequented this friend’s place, but unlike our regular wire fences that divided our homes, theirs was uniquely covered in these neatly trimmed dark green plants that greeted you as soon as you walked in their gate. My tiny hands would mischievously touch the plants just to get that rustling feel on them.

Late afternoons in our townships are normally busy, with many making their way back home from work so you are bound to hear a taxi beep or more and their careless swerves on the road. This particular one was awfully quiet or it could have been this yard given how secluded it was; their beautiful fences higher than the usual. It must’ve been spring or summer because I was wearing my white jumpsuit with red and yellow teddy bears that I had recently worn at my birthday party; mom had it specially tailored for the special day with a matching bucket hat. The clouds had gathered but the spark from the sunlight was still in sight behind them, the slight breeze of cool air hitting my arms.I still had ample time to be outside before curfew, even the streetlights were not on yet. 

This backroom, a typical feature in the hood – he kept calling us into it and it was a bit dark. In my mind it just seemed too early to have the curtains closed but who was I to question anything, I was just a little guest. I could only think about playing outside, without my grandmother calling to send me to the stores to get a sachet of Rajah spice for her.

This man keeps distracting us, he suggests we take turns to come into the room to show us something “mysterious”, he excitedly says. Then this last upsetting moment came. He held me tightly on his lap. 

Now this is where I remember that nasty cigarette smell – from his breath. I remember his fuzzy & coiled black hair on his chest as he sat there shirtless. An uneasy turn in my belly hit me when he attempted to coerce me into taking off my party outfit.

His toothless grin lingers heavily on my mind, the grip of his hairy hand on my small thighs was too tight. He was insistent on removing my clothes, and though it was not that evident on his calm demeanor, my hesitancy was displeasing him. The silence in the room was now deafening, a distant memory of our childlike giggles we shared earlier when we opened the gate. Looking down in terror, I was gobsmacked at what I laid my eyes on: there were his genitals uncovered. He grabbed my shaking hand trying to get me to touch his private parts as tears suddenly welled up in my eyes. My friend abruptly jumped into the room, irritated at how long my turn was taking. This was at her uncle’s annoyance and my answered prayer of escape…

Back to the back & forth between my bestie and I. How do I even begin to narrate where my paranoia stems from? How can I explain why I am always on guard and forever ready to get off the grips of a man’s hand? From a backroom to a taxi, I always seem to bear the brunt of a man forcing themselves on me. Uptight is an understatement in comparison to how anxious I get whenever a man breathes in my direction, I walk around each day bleeding from what was meant to be a light-hearted break from my busy family.