Nothing Remains the Same - Lessons Through My Lens

Thobeka Yose

CW: themes of family and domestic violence

The past year has taught me a number of things and I am truly grateful for the lessons learnt. The world came to a standstill and we became one global village. Borders and maps couldn’t separate us as the citizens of the world. This kind of oneness was a once in a lifetime experience. We all had one common enemy –the coronavirus that was destroying humanity at a very alarming rate.  

I have learnt that in this life, nothing stays the same. People move on. Hearts break. Dreams change. What you want in life versus what is important now varies as time goes on. Friends move cities. And relationships change shades as though they were setting with the sun. Siblings become strangers that you can easily put into a category of enemies. People make use of what they have so they can stay alive. All you can do is accept each phase of life with open arms and try to make the most of who you were and who you have become. I have learnt how to turn my pain into power, which I think was the greatest of all my lessons learnt in 2020. I have mastered the art of remaining calm in the midst of a storm. 

I was born in Bizana, a village in South Africa where women and child abuse was the norm. I grew up knowing that women had no voices of their own and whenever they opened their mouths and tried to say something, they were muted by men who, for some strange reason, thought they owned them. Women had no platforms to gather, have conversations, and acknowledge each other’s pains, achievements, and presence. They had to literally seek permission from men so they could be themselves. The only place they were somewhat free was church, even there they were under the watchful eyes of elderly women who were torchbearers, the outspoken young women were silenced and labelled as rebels. To be submissive and take everything that came your way (good or bad, especially bad) was considered as a sign of being a ‘good’ woman. 

In my own home, abuse was the norm. My mother was abused by my father almost on a daily basis. The kind of physical and emotional abuse she faced landed her in a mental institution a number of times. I and three of my siblings got to experience the pain first-hand; the stigma and trauma that came with all of that made us feel unsafe and inferior. Home was not a safe space for us. My mother at some point would faint while being beaten up and all we could do was to just stand there, weep and go to school the next morning with that trauma. We were extremely poor and most of all, invisible in society, nobody saw us, nobody knew us, nobody thought we actually had voices and brains. The time and the day I died was when my uncle too beat my mother. That man had no right, nobody had a right to touch her, and as I type this I realise how angry it still makes me and it still leaves me with a huge lump in my throat. She was not well mentally and physically and was refusing to be sent back to a mental institution because all she could think of was leaving behind her four children in the care of a man who was an alcoholic and the world’s wife-beater.

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‘We have too often been expected to be all things to all people and to speak everyone else’s position but our very own. Our experiences and stories are way too often told through interpreters. History, systems and laws have told us we need a man’s voice or power to name our existence, to validate our experience that we need a son to carry on a legacy to earn our impact in society. But we get to define ourselves not through how others imagine us but through how we see ourselves, even if our truth makes you uncomfortable.’ –Audre Lorde.

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I love the above quote and, in my opinion, it speaks to not only black women but to women from all walks of life. In a world where some men still think it belongs only to them, it’s very hard being a woman. Most importantly, it sums up the life my mother lived. 

As I sit here now, I am happy to see progress in my own country and some parts of the continent of Africa. It’s quite satisfying to notice that we are being heard, seen and listened to. Yes, some men in Africa are still stuck in the past and think that we are objects that can be tossed around and get told what to do and when to do it. I am proud to be the descendant of this ever-growing chorus of women in South Africa who in 1956 chose not to keep their mouths shut, women who fought so we cannot be silenced anymore. Women like Winnie Madikezela–Mandela (whom, by the way, was born in the very same village I come from) and a large army of other Queens who took a vow and put their lives at risk so we can stand tall and say we are now being seen and heard. 

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While we were all quarantined my biggest concerns came to the surface, the Minister of Police, Minister Bheki Cele reported on the alarming rate at which domestic violence was mushrooming from every corner of our country. The enemy was not only corona but our very own men. Besides pain and suffering that the pandemic forced down our throats to swallow, a woman was getting a beating every day somewhere, a woman got hanged while she was pregnant, and another was brutally raped repeatedly by her husband. My heart broke into tiny pieces as I remembered how abuse has affected my family. 

I knew from the very onset that the levels of abused and killed women would escalate. On paper, South Africa is a haven for women and children’s rights. But you have to be on the ground in order for you to see that what’s on paper does not correspond with the lived experiences. The majority of women, children, and the LGBTIQ+ community living in this country have no rights and certainly very minimal protection.

Upon noticing that I was drenched in fear and pain, a friend of mine advised me to take a deep breath and step outside of the sad mood for a moment because she realised I was dying inside. I started to meditate, exercise, and avoided watching the news, which helped me a lot. I slowly remembered how to be a human again and continued with my writing and online studies. I saw coronavirus as maybe God’s way of saying, ‘Okay children, you just be still, sit in your naughty corner and think of all the things you have done, things like air pollution, tree cutting and animal killing’. Another thought that came to mind was that as humans, we run so fast to avoid the confusion of our past and we actually forget how to be still. The ability to be still is very hard to achieve because it is a way of surrendering to pain and saying, ‘Pain, come let’s sit, and you don’t have to go anywhere until you have taught me what I need to know, I am okay with you being here, I will allow you to do your thing, I acknowledge your presence, pain. You are allowed to take a bow and leave the stage whenever you are ready and notice that I have learnt my lesson.’ 

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While I was trying my very best to avoid the news about the cases of abused women and children it never crossed my mind that I would one day also find myself in the same situation as them. I mean, those women were abused by their spouses and I am widowed, and when I am with my family I know that I am safely housed, so I thought. I remember at the beginning of a lockdown saying to my friend I was not locked-down but safe in a cocoon. I never knew that my mother, sister and I would be the victims of abuse from my brother.  

When my husband passed on after a short illness in 2005,  I decided to pack my belongings, put up our apartment for rent, take my child and move from Pretoria to Cape Town to be with my family – my mother, two brothers and my sister. It was a decision that made sense at the time because I needed family support as I was so lost and uncertain about how to navigate life without my husband. I have my own place in Cape Town, where I stay with my transgender daughter, Lwethu (22). I mention the transgender part because it is an experience I wish to share soon. 

When the quarantine started, my sister Vuyiswa and I decided to move in with our 80-year-old mother because we wanted to make sure she was well taken care of. At a later stage, we were joined by our big brother who is a former entrepreneur and a serial divorcee. It felt good to be spending time with him at the beginning. We enjoyed having him around until later when we realised that he was actually a monster. Memories of our abusive late father started to creep to the surface. We realised that we were locked up in the same house with a narcissist; nothing we ever did made him happy, even the food we cooked was not good enough for him. He would even swear at us for serving dinner later than the usual time, which of course would happen because of electricity load shedding, which is the biggest problem in South Africa right now. Things got out of hand and my Mum’s mental health was affected, she was crying all the time. His behaviour was a trigger for her as she had endured abuse all her married life. 

They say a home is a home because of the people who live in it. We did not feel safe in our own home, we couldn’t leave our mother. We knew that if we did, we would be sending her to an early grave. We also thought of taking her with us but we thought the idea had its downside as well because as a mental illness patient, we have to keep her in a routine that feels normal to her. Moving houses would have disorientated her. So we stayed, the longer we did the more abused we became. The man was projecting all kinds of hate and anger towards us. We were sometimes blamed for the millions he lost when his company was declared bankrupt, we were blamed for failed marriages and assets lost. I came to a realisation that as a boy child he copied everything that our father was doing to Mum and he needed help, which was not an easy subject to tackle with someone who sees you as a number one enemy. I kept asking myself one question – what was this whole experience here to teach me? Besides what I mentioned in my introduction, I made more discoveries. 

All four of us are still bleeding from the scars of abuse that we got to witness when we were young. All four of us have unique ways of dealing with pain. My big brother finds comfort in tormenting others and reducing them to nothingness. I, the second born, deal with my demons by writing. Writing always takes me to a safe space where I always find much-needed comfort. It saved me during the lockdown when being at home became unbearable and toxic for my soul. Writing made me step aside and get into a bubble of protection, had it not done that I would be in a mental institution by now. It continues to teach me to keep quiet and let my fingers do the talking. What I love most about this craft is the fact that it gives no one amour to attack me, when I am writing I am literally tucked into a nest. Whenever my brother was verbally attacking me I gave him no amour to carry on because I would just keep quiet. I defeated him without having to utter even one word in response to the loads of insults he was throwing my way. I was doing it for myself and most of all for my mother who, at 80, did not need any more drama in her life. I refused to become an enabler to my broken and bruised brother. I never allowed myself to be dragged into a misery I was clearly no part of. That does not mean things that were being said were not hurting me. It simply means I endured the journey of a warrior, all of it! I allowed myself to feel all kinds of pain that needed to be felt so that when healing came, I would be thoroughly healed and free from the clutches of his abuse. He is brutal; he can easily let his fangs sink deep into your skin so hard you would not get up the next morning if you entertain the thought of hosting a pity party. He is the kind of abuser that strikes, turns around and plays dead.  

In December 2020, we were allowed to travel within the country under strict Covid-19 restrictions. One morning I woke up with an urge to leave Cape Town and go back to the village where I was born. I realised I was suffocated and it was time to go back home so I could inhale some fresh air draw strength from my tribe. One afternoon I sat down in a restaurant with my friend Diana and told her about my desire to leave home and how suffocating being in the big city had become. She said – ‘Go back to you.’ It was such a beautiful thing to hear those four words. On the following day, I booked a ticket to King Shaka International Airport in Durban where I was going to take a shuttle to Bizana, my home village. I came home because I was sensing a lot of unspoken apprehension for quite some time about how we find our ways in these unfamiliar dark roads into the future. There is a very visible separation, mass deaths, loss of income and old way of being in and of the world continues to shape us into a global village. Despite the questions that are lingering in my mind, I am glad that I did not lose myself in the midst of the pandemic and that of the abuse from my brother. I lost a few family members, including my niece, Akho, who committed suicide in December which was quite a blow and a huge reminder that mental illness is real and all we need is to actually see each other. We all miss her beautiful smile and aura but find comfort in knowing that she is our guardian angel now. Being at home with my aunt and cousins has reminded me of so many childhood memories, some of them were very good because at the age of nine my grandfather stepped in and took me from my parents to be raised by my aunt and uncle, I felt safe and loved from the fourth grade. Their love healed most of the trauma I was carrying. I consider myself very lucky because two mothers and a strong army of sisters who love me with no conditions attached. Despite the lamentable year I’ve had, I can safely say I am happy and content. 

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Having been away from where I was born for such a long time, I had forgotten how people in rural areas show so much gratitude for everything they have. Rural life is not as easy as it is in big cities but people here handle their hardships and challenges with so much grace and poise. South Africa is divided into nine Provinces, seven of which are mostly rural and Eastern Cape is one of the biggest and rural. In rural areas, people are faced with extreme poverty and a lack of opportunities. What I love most is the beautiful soul of the people. My cousins and I took a drive in December to the most rural parts of the village where there is no electricity or tarred roads, where people have to walk miles to get to the local shops so they can buy essentials like bread and milk. Those are the happiest people I have ever seen. I was taking pictures of them as we drove along the dusty road. Some of them even posed for me so I could take nice pictures, those pictures are some of the treasures I wish to share with the world one day. I saw the spirit of Ubuntu, I saw love and contentment, I saw endless peace. Eastern Cape may be one of the poorest provinces in South Africa but its beauty takes the cup. In summer you get to experience different shades of green which form a nice carpet over the hills and pastures. The huge rocks form nice ornaments on the rich soil; wildflowers spritz a scent that is found nowhere else but here. The singing birds make a pleasant chorus that shows you that you are held by Mother Earth, you are seen and welcome here. The raindrops on flowers sparkle as the sun comes out in the morning; they look like the purest diamonds of our very own African soil. Nature is beautiful, nature heals, and nature is pure. Nature is forgiving and healing. Nature teaches more than she preaches. There are no sermons in stones. It’s easier to get a spark out of a stone than a moral. 

Nature connects us, she is what we have in common, and she connects us with one another as citizens of planet Earth. I got to witness this in December when I hiked and sometimes drove along the beautiful rivers, lakes and wild seas, where nature remains untapped. Taking walks into the woods has taught me that everything that stays in the forests is necessary and belongs there; the woods would be silent if no bird sang there, if no snake hissed under the rock and if no animal took a wild run amongst the trees. I sometimes walked and danced into the warm summer rain, I allowed the rain to wash down all my past frustrations and pain. I let the rain kiss me. I let the rain beat upon my head with silver liquid drops and at night I let the rain sing me a lullaby. I came to realise that the world is not out of order; the world is perfectly in order, as human beings we need to put ourselves in this order and time spent in the woods and rocks is never wasted time. 

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‘In nature, nothing is perfect and everything is perfect. Trees can be contorted, bent in weird ways, and they are still beautiful.’ –Alice Walker. 

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I am so glad that I was pushed home where I leapt into my aunt and cousins’ hands. Ever since I was a little girl my aunt provided a warm pair of hands into which I leapt every morning. My aunt provided me with a safe space, she made sure I was home and that I felt safe and loved unconditionally. In her house, I always know that I am home. Home for me is always sunrise, a glitter of green and golden wonder in a vast edifice of stone and space. Home is beautiful skies at night decorated with shining stars. Home is moon peeping through my window at midnight. Home is sparkling diamonds at the local waterfall, home is cows grazing, dogs barking, and home is galloping horses in the green veld. Home is collecting fresh eggs from the chicken coup. Home is drinking rainwater or sour milk. Home is the soft grass in between my toes. Home is sweet corn and fresh vegetables from the garden. Home is walking carefree on footpaths without worrying about the oncoming traffic. Home is gliding on sticky mud on a rainy day. Home is a fresh breeze, home is breathing freely.

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I am also grateful for the pain for it taught me how to choose my battles and how to step away from them. It taught me to reconnect with myself. Even if I were to die now, I wouldn’t get to discover that I had not lived. I did not lose a brother; he is the one who lost a sister. Indeed, nothing remains the same, when I look back and remember how miserable I was last year I cannot believe I pulled through, got to the beautiful space that I am in today. I am with those who like me and that’s enough. I am enjoying a quiet secluded life in the country, with the possibility of being useful to people to whom it is easy to do good, and who are not accustomed to having it done to them. It is work that one hopes may be of some use; rural people are faced with so much poverty and lack of opportunities. I help where I can, then rest, be with nature, read books, listen to music and write, love for one’s neighbour…such is my idea of happiness. I am home and have never been so happy and fulfilled.