A Potrait of a Vicious Cycle of Abuse and Neglect
He draws a deep breath, lets go of the door handle and steps towards me. I cringe, because I know what comes next.
“Kahle kahle who do you think you are, mara wena?” he roars. “Queen Elizabeth? Futhi are you ever gonna tell me whose child that is? Because it surely ain’t mine.”
“Yazi yini Themba, you can go back to your floozies,” I spit back. “I bet they are waiting for you. Baba ka-girl, I know it’s that time again. Do not worry, you are free to go and do whatever you want.”
“Uthini wena s’febe?” he says, reaching out and grabbing my arm. “I am not the father of your child, wena. That is Fezile’s child, not mine. Stop calling me Baba ka-girl.”
And with that he unleashes a blow that catches me on my left cheek. I could have sworn I saw a few stars, and the moment I open my eyes, he has the ironing board in his hands. He strikes me on the back as I duck, the blow pushing me against the window. I collapse in an untidy heap onto the floor and hit my head against the wall.
“Stand up and fight nja!” he hisses. “The only thing you know how to do is opening your legs, you good for nothing bitch!”
At that moment, I believed him. I am a good for nothing bitch with no education. I had only gone up to Grade 11 when I got pregnant with his first child, a mistake that will haunt me for the rest of my life.
He glares at me, his eyes fiery and filled with so much hate I expect him to stomp on me like an ant where I sit. But then the amazing thing happens. His face softens, and he heaves a deep sigh. Slowly, he extends his hand towards me. I flinch and recoil deeper into the wall.
“Julz, get dressed nawe man, hawu,” he says, handing me back the towel. I didn’t even realise I am naked.
“Bathing water coming right up,” and he is out the door.
I sigh dejectedly and amble to the corner of the room, where the basket with his laundry sits. While he was dancing the night away last night, I sat here, in his backyard room, and scuffled my hands raw washing his clothes. I had to – the stink of dirty socks and discarded underwear had already sucked out all the oxygen in this tiny space, and smacked you in the face as you walked through the door.
Of course, there were other items of clothing that were not his – unless the women’s underwear meant my Themba was now a transgender who was yet to come out of the closet…
Be In My Shoes tells the real-life story of Juliet Lee, who has endured all sorts of pain and heartache dating back from a troubled childhood. She strips herself bare in this riveting account about a young life marred by a series of sexual abuse, neglect and ultimately becoming an adult who had to go through the same vicious circle all over again. Finding love proved to be an even bigger torment, with a series of failed relationships that left her broken, used, defeated and unloved.
Take a walk in Juliet Lee’s shoes as she relates how a strained relationship with her mother, with her stepfather and with her estranged biological father, and how life’s harrowing punches meted out by two-faced lovers, co-workers and gossip-mongers, has forced her to develop a thick skin and a dim view of the world around her.
This is a story about an unalloyed girl whose innocence was repeatedly stolen by a family friend and a family member, and an ex-lover’s goons who had her kidnapped and raped for dumping him. Walk with her as she takes you through a journey of abuse, hate and lust where falling in love seemed to have brought her nothing but premature motherhood, pain and heartache.
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