I WAS SEXUALLY MOLESTED WHILE CHASING GOLF BALLS
I have often been vulnerable in order to tell my story in the hope that through my vulnerability someone else would identify with my story and open to begin the journey of healing. The words of President Joe Biden rings true; "to heal we must remember"
But this one story of my life is hard to tell. Sometimes I blamed my parents for letting me leave home at a tender age of six.
Sometimes I blame it on the divorce between my sister & her husband who were my primary guardians.
When my guardian then my sister went through a divorce, she decided I should go and live with our Father's brother who worked for Maamba Collieries.
Maamba is a small coal mining town in Southern Province of Zambia under Choma district.
At 12 years old our activities will be around throwing sticks & stones up the mabuyu tree.
Or find our way in the prestigious Maamba Golf club hiding around fences hoping we can get some of those world class dishes before they could end up into the bins. Sometimes the chefs will be generous to give you some left over foods.
But it's not just food we were going for at golf clubs. We were chasing golf balls.
When you open a golf ball there was elastics inside. For some reason we played with elastics and the more golf balls, the more elastics.
This fateful quite day I went to the golf course leaving my cousin brother behind.
I was walking around looking for golf balls when this man from our neighborhood came behind me enquiring as to what I was doing in the golf course.
To which I responded that I was looking for golf balls.
He told me there are golf balls that go outside the wire fence & he would help me find a lot of them.
So we jumped the barbed wire which meant we are right in the bush. So we started looking for golf balls, and I just felt a whip hit me so hard from behind.
This man who is helping me find golf balls was whipping me for no reason. His countenance changed. Here standing before me was a monster.
After crying and begging he asked me to pull down my pants and lay face down.
I was traumatized in fear because pulling down your pants and laying face down was a posture for corporal punishment were teachers or parents would strip you naked so as to whip you right on the butts.
This usually was bloody and would leave you swollen that seating down on the desk would be painful.
I didn't know why I was being punished by this man. He didn't tell me what wrong I did to warrant this kind of punishment.
Laying face down my eyes closed, my teeth clinched together in anticipation of lashings, not knowing how many lashes will land on my 12 year butt skin.
Then I felt his body touch my body & aggressively pushing his manhood trying to penetrate my 12 year old anus.
This was more scary than the beatings. I was sexually molested at 12 while chasing for the golf balls.
And when he finished he whipped me again with a warning never to tell anyone about it otherwise he would kill me.
There are two reasons I couldn't tell my aunt and my uncle. This man lived a stone throw away from our house.
I was terrified of him. I hated men in general. I hated masculinity. I hated elderly men in general.
I was scared of golf balls. And every time I bumped into this monster he will give you that look that says, "don't you dare!"
The second reason I didn't tell is because I didn't know how to tell. What do I saw?
Sex was a taboo subject, but more so this very unnatural kind sex. There was no word for gay or LGBTQ.
I am a little weak child, I don't understand what just happened to me.
But this one thing was clear. I felt dirty for many years. His dirty ugly odour I smelled it for years. I had endless nightmares.
I felt unsafe around men. Till now I find it easy to have female friends than male friends. Because it's the man who did this to me.
All my life I gravitated towards the opposite sex. And today in hindsight I had about four cousin brothers who would have stood up to this child molester and put him into his place.
But I didn't know how to open up about this.
Perhaps if Maamba Mine School was equipped with social workers they could have picked up in my sudden change of behaviour.
Lawrence Musunte was an intelligent Child. I am in tears right now when I think about who Lawrence Musunte was in class before being molested.
This is a boy who scored 100% in all the subjects in Grade 3. Instead of going to Grade 4 they skipped me straight to Grade 5. Without Grade 4 under my sleeves I was a formidable competitor in academics in Grade 5.
Then after this sexual violation I just wanted to leave Maamba. I preferred P.P Zambia shanty compounds in Konkola than living in a middle class mining housing near an old man who violated my body.
At one time out of fear of this monster I started a journey back to Chililabombwe. I walked from Maamba by foot. My plan was to reach Choma and jump on the train without money to get far away from this monster.
When I reached a place we called GRZ it was late at night. There was a drinking place where mine bosses drove to drink.
I found myself there hoping to sleep around there till morning to continue my journey. Eventually the music stopped, the bar was closed and I was caught loitering by the bar owner. I told him I was going to Choma by foot.
He enquired where I was coming from, and I told him. He quickly asked some of his patrons to drive me back to Maamba. My uncle still didn't know why I found myself far away in the night.
My grades dwindled. My uncle was called and I still remember him in the office at school wearing his white work coat.
He was a well known and respected man working in the stores department in Maamba Collieries.
But that teacher-parent conversation only dealt with the drop in grades and that Lawrence has withdrawn. He is not himself.
I think it's from this point when I actually became a loner. I keep to myself. I don't walk around the streets of Cape Town aimlessly. My safe place is my house.
The sad part of it is that my uncle and my aunt have both passed on to glory without knowing what happened to me when I was under their guardianship.
I don't know if at the time this old man would have been arrested and sent to jail.
I don't know if they would have sought the traditional way of resolving this privately by demanding payments in damages.
I probably will never get justice till I depart this earth.
But this I know; I will use my voice to advocate against any form of Gender based violence & child abuse wherever it raises it's ugly head.
I will be a voice to the voiceless. I will speak for those who are in fear of the perpetrators.
Often in sexual violence we overestimate the power of perpetrators.
I know my cousin brothers would have taught him a lesson.
But this one weak man who chose a little boy as prey, in my head he was invisible, he was everywhere and I dare not open my mouth.
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