My experience with gender-based violence began in the streets of my neighborhood. Let me describe my home life: it was a peaceful environment where both my parents treated each other and us, their children, with kindness. I never witnessed my mom or dad raise their voices at one another, nor did I ever sense any disagreements or tension between them. Physical fights were completely absent from our household. They communicated without using any harsh language, and even minor expressions like clicking your tongue or saying “whatever” were considered serious insults that would lead to a reprimand. The only violence I encountered was on television, through movies, boxing, or wrestling. It wasn’t until a childhood friend moved into a backroom rented from a neighbor that I first saw a man hit a woman, which was a shocking experience for me.

They were a young couple from the Eastern Cape, living in Mdantsane with their only child, and they always seemed so happy together. We would often play with some kids from my neighborhood in the yard of the house they rented. One afternoon, we heard screams coming from one of the back rooms, and we rushed to see what was happening. It was Sisipho’s mom lying on the floor, being attacked by Sisipho’s father. There was so much blood, and I couldn’t bear to look closely as he kicked and punched her mercilessly. I was filled with fear at the scene before me, but to my shock, Sisipho just laughed and said, “No, man, they always fight. My dad beats up my mom all the time.” Thankfully, the landlord arrived just in time to intervene and stop the violence.

The things I saw were so disturbing that they haunted me with nightmares. We kept playing outside, but it became a regular occurrence for Sisipho’s dad beat up his mom to a point he chased her with a knife. I was so shocked that I almost lost control of myself. Fortunately, she managed to flee into the street, where some bystanders intervened, trying to help them sort out their problems. My mom saw everything and made sure I never played in that yard again. A few days later, we heard screams in the evening and rushed outside, only to find Sisipho’s parents in another violent confrontation. He was attacking her, and I was terrified, fearing for her life.

Neighbors rushed out to intervene as Sisipho’s dad was beating his wife. Some were expressing their frustration about having to step in every time this happened, while others suggested calling the police. The situation escalated into a loud dispute among the neighbors resulting to a heated argument, with some siding with Sisipho’s mom and others with his dad. The noise from the adults shouting was overwhelming. I noticed Sisipho standing quietly at the gate, and it was hard to gauge his feelings, especially remembering how he laughed when I first saw his mom being hurt. My parents soon urged me to go inside as the situation escalated into a fistfight among some neighbors. The chaos continued the next day when we were playing on the pavement, and Sisipho’s uncle (Sisipho’s mother’s younger brother) showed up, getting into a fight with Sisipho’s father. He pulled out a panga, and suddenly there was blood. I ran home in a panic, crying uncontrollably, feeling trapped by the trauma of it all. This experience left me feeling unsafe, and now, whenever I see fights in the street, I just want to run home. I even lost interest in watching boxing or wrestling, which used to be a fun pastime.

Sispho’s parents were asked to vacate their rented room and find another place to live because their behavior was deemed too toxic. The landlord was concerned that Sispho’s dad might seriously harm Sispho’s mom, which would attract unwanted attention. After they left, the constant screams and the sight of Sispho’s mom being chased and beaten in the street ceased. I often find myself pondering their fate: Did Sispho’s dad ever stop the abuse? How did Sispho manage to cope with everything? Even now, I still think about their situation and wonder if they ever found happiness as a family. These are the questions that linger in my mind.