With the rise of gender-based violence, Interpol has named South Africa ‘the rape capital of the world’. Feminist writer, Professor Pumla Dineo Gqola rightly calls rape “A South African Nightmare”. We live in a violent society, where people of marginalised genders live in constant fear of being sexually assaulted. It is reported “in South Africa someone is raped or sexually abused every 25 seconds”. For as long as I could process things, rape has been a reality.
I was around 9 years old when I first heard of rape. Three boys in my neighborhood had gang raped a girl and were sentenced to 15 years and above in jail based on their varying ages. From a young age, I knew that rape was a punishable offence. The second time I heard of a rape case, I was 15 years old. It was the most publicised case of Fezekile Ntsukela Kuzwayo, publicly known as Khwezi in November 2005 when she exposed former president, Jacob Zuma as a rapist. I remember how rape was on every newspaper, radio and television news bulletin. The conversations it sparked around me were not so about the rape itself but rather on Khwezi’s audacity to speak out against a powerful man. I kept hearing how women were the biggest downfall of powerful men. Although I was young, I remember being aware that speaking out was discouraged. Where silencing is embraced, rape culture flourishes.
Since Zuma’s acquittal in 2006, I have been drawn to content that seeks to keep Khwezi’s memory alive in the public imagination. Having read a number of books and articles on Khwezi, I have often wondered how one could tap into the person beyond just the “story” of someone who spoke out before it was popular to do so. Way before global movements like the #metoo gained popularity.
It is against this backdrop that I enter the performance of Sullied, directed by Matjamela Motloung, choreographed by Kristi-Leigh Gresse showing at Actor Spaces in 44 Stanley on the 18th and 19th February. Nothing sets up doctrine and allows rape culture and patriarchy to thrive like the church, known to sweep all oppressions under a rug. Therefore, it is no surprise that this is how we are herded into the space. The use of repetition in song, dance and poetry in Sullied is not random. It is carefully crafted as a reminder that women’s oppression is not outdated, at any moment it is recurring. Women are not free, not free to occupy spaces, not free to wear what they want, when they want – free to just be. While repetition can fool one into not noticing the finer details. Disruptions to a routine serves as a cue that no matter how much rape culture appears natural, we should never accept it as normal. We must never tire of challenging patriarchy. Any system that allows women to live in fear should be eradicated.
Despite the prevalence of sexual violence, we must never accept it as part of life. If you think sitting on the floor for an hour is uncomfortable, imagine what it is like being a woman in South Africa every 25 seconds. We cannot cleanse ourselves off the vulnerable bodies. Our bodies are warzones; we are under attack at every turn. We are sullied.
Sullied is both triggering and healing depending where you are in your life. At any time, it is a gentle whisper to keep fighting, a call to never allow silence to thrive.
Dear Khwezi, dear khanga
You are not just a story. In Sullied, your fighting spirit is evoked. You are in the room; you are seen and you are heard. Khanga is reclaimed and so is your name. You spoke out, so we could have these uncomfortable conversations. I sat on that floor and I thought; I wish Khwezi was alive to see this version of the narrative. Here you are more than just a story, an article, a book or a metaphor. You are human Khwezi. You are a friend; a sister, you are that girl I knew when I nine. You are all of us and all of us are you. In performance, through the beautiful medium of dance and poetry, we witness and embody your story and that of many other women worldwide. For an hour, we are Khwezi. For every day, women in South Africa are Khwezi. We are sullied and for that, we can no longer be silent.
Dear Khwezi…
Dear Us…
Dear Khanga…
I am sorry, breathe now.
Sullied is directed by Matjamela Motloung, choreographed by Kristi-Leigh Gresse with moving performance by Kristi-Leigh Gresse, Sandile Mkhize and Fezeka Shandu on the 18th & 19th February at Actor Spaces, 44 Stanley.
If you missed the Joburg leg, you can catch the next run in Cape Town, Theater Arts Admin from the 8th – 10th March 2022.
Madiba says... 