Lying on my bed, looking at the sun setting on that summer’s day through the small window in my room, she whispered ever so softly, “Maybe, it was all my fault.”

Just like a blood stain on a white t-shirt, so too were those words my best friend said engraved onto my innocent soul that December holiday. No matter how much bleach and scrubbing I tried, that day still haunts me. But I guess I needed that wake-up call sooner rather than later. Because as much as my parents tried to protect me from the harsh realities of this world, there were things they couldn’t protect me from. And I guess this was one of them.

December holidays were my favourite. First and foremost, it was summer. And summer is my favourite season. I mean, who doesn’t like going to the beach? And let’s not forget it is holidays so no studying. What more could a girl ask for? Living in the Cape Flats, I knew better than to go play outside with the rest of the children my age. Because once all the grown-ups had gotten drunk on their SASSA grants, the fighting would then commence.

Mothers would be swearing at their daughters, “Jou masepoes,” as daughters replied, “Ja, ek het mos uit jou gekom.”

Do not let me get started on the fathers and sons. Now these fights were scary. They went from throwing rocks to, “Ek gaan jou skiet jou naai. Ek is nie bang vir Pollsmoor nie,” in a matter of minutes.

Funnily enough, I felt very safe when I stayed inside my house. I don’t know if it was the fact that my best friend was standing outside my door unaccompanied in this scary neighbourhood, or the fact that her eyes were swollen from crying that had me paralysed. I mean, how do you react in a such a situation? School clearly failed in teaching me that. Wait no, actually my parents were supposed to teach me that…I think.

I had never been taught what rape was. What I mean is like, actually sat down and explained to what rape and sexual assault is. Mind you, I was in high school (I was in grade 8, but still). So there was absolutely no way I knew what to do when someone came to me after they had been raped. What I had learned in Life Orientation, however, was that when people try to commit suicide, they slit their wrists. But I was never prepared for the way the actual sight of those wrists would send shivers down my spine.

I always thought that being inside my house on Anne Street, I was safe. That those four walls would protect me. That if I didn’t let strangers in, then all was good with the world. But what I have come to learn about today’s society is that nowhere is safe, and everyone is a stranger. And I mean every single person.

My best friend, like me, was always inside her house. Yet, within those very four walls that our parents had vowed would protect us, she was raped. No, it wasn’t because she let a stranger in or because of a break-in. It was her uncle. When I say uncle, I mean her mother’s brother. The one who regularly came over for dinner and Christmas lunch. The one whose daughter she babysat occasionally. That very uncle came over and of course she let him in. Gave him a glass of cooldrink while he waited for her parents to return home from the hospital…and he raped her. The worst part, yes, I said worst part, was that when her parents returned, they refused to believe her and beat her up because now she “confessed to having sex under their roof”.

I can’t help but wonder what I would do if it was me. Would I have run over to her home like she did with me or would I have just gone through with the suicide? Or better yet, would my parents believe me or still invite the bastard of an uncle over for dinner the following day?

So, you tell me, was it all her fault?

Tell us: What would you do in that situation?