It was the 30th of October 2014. The day started out as any other, except for the fact that it was my father’s birthday. Ever since my father died two years ago, this date was a very hard, sad and gloomy day for my family. The weather even portrayed how I felt that day. Everything was covered in a grey hue as the clouds formed a big fluffy blanket, inviting to the thirsty earth beneath. Now and again, small cool drops would fall from the heavens above, mirroring the crying of my soul.

I am the baby of our family, born and raised in Witbank (Emalahleni), Mpumalanga, South Africa. I was raised in a normal white Afrikaans speaking home. We were never rich and sometimes we only barely got by. I have two siblings, a brother and a sister. My mother and father got married in 1976 and were still married when my father passed away in 2012. I met my husband on the 16th October 2003 and we got married six months later.

Three beautiful children later and he still make my heart skip a beat every day. Our son was born in 2006 and almost six years later we were blessed with two beautiful daughters. Six weeks after the twins were born my father passed away from lung decease. My father’s memorial was held, unknowingly, on the exact date that his mother passed away seven years prior. I had a strong relationship with my father and even today it is still hard for me to process his passing.

When it was time to go and fetch my son at school, a five minute walk from home, I gathered the twins and we walked the hundred and one meters to my son’s school. When I returned home I had an asthma attack due to the cold weather and the walking to the school and back. After my son disarmed the alarm in our bedroom, I asked him to give me a glass of cool drink. That was when I heard a strange scratching sound came from our bedroom.

A loud banging sound filled the already tense and gloomy air. Trying to calm my son I told him that it was just probably one of the doves that built nests on our porch roof that flew into a window. The scratching sound continued and I told him that I will go and see what it is, but I still think it is just a bird. My children quietly followed me down the hallway.

Something in the hallway mirror drew my attention and before I could stop myself or my kids I already took the last step into my room. What I saw in the mirror was the figure of a man standing up from my husband’s side of the bed. I don’t know what to call it; bravery or stupidity, but I entered the room.

“What do you want in our house?” I asked the man.

I stood still in the doorway that narrowed into the hallway, two steps away from the alarm. My children surrounded me, as I stood with both my hands on my hips, flabbergasted to see this stranger inside my home.

The person immediately responded, with the look of surprise disappearing in seconds.

“You, I’m going to kill you.” He said in a strong and confident voice, pointing his index finger of his right hand at me. I remember thinking: What? How will you do that because I could not see a weapon of any sorts? I must have had a questioning look on my face because he answered. As if taunting, me I saw it. A black pocket hunting knife’s blade stuck out from the right side of his hand.

The slim silver edge of the black blade caught the light and its sharpness glimmered for a split second as he pulled back his hand and drove it into the tender flesh of my left breast slicing it open, leaving a gaping hole as he pulled back his hand. I remembered thinking in that split second: This cannot be happening to me, not again.

In November 2012 our family suffered a great tragedy. My husband’s father phoned to tell us that during the night, someone broke into his Grandmother’s home. She was found the next morning severely beaten and suspected to be raped. His Grandmother was in the hospital and had to undergo surgery for her broken jaw and disfigured cheekbone and eye socket. Days later she passed away because of bleeding on the brain. She was murdered at the age of 82.

We were devastated. She was a great person with a heart of gold. She was a strong woman and a blessing to all. She was a kind hearted person that never wished ill on anyone. She was taken away from us by an inhumane monster that took several people’s lives and terrorised the elderly.

The shrill terrified screams of my children calling me filled the air. I can distinctly remember the shouting of “Mamma!” echoing through the house. I can remember thinking clearly and calmly, trying to stop what was happening. As calmly as possible I asked my son to press the emergency button for the armed response. He tried his best, but he could not find the right button on the alarm pad. I remember him saying in a terrified 8-year-old voice, “I’m trying mom, I’m trying, but it does not want to work.”

“It is okay,” I said, trying to sound encouraging, but I think it must have sounded like scolding more than anything. I was still trying to fight off the intruder. I tried to fight back, but the twins tried to get to me and hold on to me for protection. I told my son to please take them away, so they would not be hurt. He bravely gathered them and led them away to the living room. Later I found out that he took them to the sofa and sat with them, surrounding them with his arms to protect them. He comforted them and kept them calm.

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Tell us what you think: What would be your thoughts if you were going through this ordeal?