She Knows Not a Man by Pastor GiftThe Real Life Team has left for Manzini and I am sitted in my house with Mxolisi playing a game of cards. I’m trying to tone down in preparation for the Young Adult coming with Morgan. Phumzile, a shop keeper from the small grocery shop across the street comes running into the house as if something is after her. “Pastor, they have sent me to call you. Maswane is very sick and they need your help”, she announces.
We immidiately stop playing and the much needed toning down and rush
for the Matsenjwa homestead which is not more than 4 kilometres from the Community Center. We find this 19 year old girl writhing in pain and her grandmother begins to tell us what is wrong with her. I began to observe her from a distance and realized what was wrong with her. I then drove back home to get my first aid kit and a book loaned to me by Isabel ‘When the Doctor is Away’. Maswane has a terrible skin problem. Her skin looks like a rough snake or lizard skin and has sores that are full of abscess all over the body. Her breasts are covered in scales that are hard to look at. Putting gloves in my hands I began to imagine the pain she was going through and wanted to know all about where it began. After having washed her sores, applied sore cream to them, I then gave her antibiotics and pain tablets. We used a vitamin c drink to wash them down her throat and waited. When she looked calm and settled I ordered everyone out so I could talk to her. Here is what transpired:“Tell me Maswane what happened to you when you were young?”, I asked.
“Pastor, I have been meaning to talk to someone about this before I die. When I was almost six years old, in the year 2000, I was raped by my martenal cousin. It happened right here in this house. Every one was away and I was not schooling then. He came to the house early in the morning and he raped me. The issue was reported to the police and I was taken to Saint Philips clinic for examination. But to this day nothing has happened to my cousin Zakhele. I hear he has done a similar thing to another five year old. They say he has completely damaged the young girl womanhood. No wonder, he damaged me too. They even say he is now on the most wanted police list because he raped an older woman.
Pastor, there is something else I must tell you. Not only Zakhele raped me but also my uncle. He is my father ‘s brother because they share the same mother but they have different fathers. He died in December but after a long illness. The scales you see on my body started soon after Zakhele raped me, but I think I got HIV from my uncle. I have only one wish now, to see Zakhele, my cousin paying for his sins. My uncle is dead and I cannot do anything about it now. However, can you help me pastor make sure the police find Zakhele and put him in jail.”
“Where is he?”
“I hear he is up the mountain with relatives in South Africa. It is possible to get to him. You know what pastor. One thing that is painful in this whole thing is that I have never had a man have me because I consented. All the men that have been with me they had done so by force. My privates parts were damaged from young and now I DO NOT KNOW A MAN.”When she said this, I was already weeping and could not imagine the amount of emotional pain she is going through even as I write. Maswane is a real person and this is a true story. It is not fiction at all as it might seem. The Real Life Team while in Nsoko visited with Maswane on several occassions. In fact there is one girl who struck some kind of a relationship with her. We praise God for these teams because they help by spending time with the dying in Nsoko. I believe for Maswane to open up to me is because of the ground work that has been done by the team members.
Her mother came to me in the afternoon to say thank you for helping her daughter while she was at the farms working. She narrated how painful it is to leave her daughter alone in the morning for work. There is nothing she could do since she is the bread winner. She confirmed Maswane’s rape by the cousin and how that created animosity in the family. She was surprised to learn that she was also raped by the late uncle and we began to cry together. We cried with no one to comfort us. I’m not sure why I was crying. May be because crying was the only thing I could do. She cried right by the training ground where she found me and it hurt so deep to see a mother weeping for a daughter that knows not a man.
Maswane gave me permission to use her story and her real name so people could realize the level of child abuse have come to in Swaziland. I do not know how to react. I do not know what to do. I do not know what to think. How can we stop this? How can one fulfill Maswane’s wish?Pray!
I mentioned earlier my encounter with Maswane while I was in Swaziland. This morning when I awoke, for some reason I was inspired to write a poem about her. When I fininshed, I opened my computer out of curiosity and searched for the meaning of her name. The search brought up several blogs written about Maswane, including this one from Pastor Gift.
Before I share my poem, I want you to hear the story from him. Unfortunately, another blog that I found stated the news of Maswane’s death. She breathed her last on Wednesday; cut short by violence and disease. It’s hard to resolve in one’s heart the tragedy of her passing with the faith that she is now at peace awaiting the coming of the Lord and the resurrection of the saints. What we see is different from what we know to be.
I wish that I had stories of her youth to share; something delightful to rejoice in. But all I have is the story of her suffering, and it needs to be heard. Her life begs to make a difference in Swaziland.
