How many people do you know who have been murdered?
February 4th 2008 01:06
It sounds like a glib question. It’s not.
It is because my answer to this question is ‘three’ that I am writing this blog from my apartment in Sydney, Australia and not Cape Town, South Africa.
Six and a half years ago, my family made the most heart-wrenching trek from Africa to Australia because as the mother of two small children, I was slowly losing my sanity to anxiety about my children’s safety. I’d be sitting in the movies with my husband and would suddenly turn to him and say, ‘We have to get home now. What if someone has broken in and has raped the babysitter…?’
I was a reluctant immigrant. I did not want to leave the beauty and richness of Africa behind me. I grew up under the African sun. I was raised by my nanny Violet Matlapeng, who carried me on her back and sang me lullabies in Sotho. I worked in the violence against women movement for years. I never thought I’d leave my homeland.
But then my friend Denis was shot point blank on his farm in front of his son. And my husband’s best friends’ mother was raped and murdered, a church-going humanitarian of a woman. And I lost count of the number of people I knew who had been raped or car-jacked.
The first few years in Australia nearly broke my spirit. My grief for all we had given up threatened to overwhelm me. I couldn’t face the fact that my babies would grow up bereft of grandparents and aunts and cousins.
Six years down the line, I am desperately grateful we left when we did, despite all we lost in the process.
Some weeks ago, Professor Michael Larkin, a law professor who both taught me company law at the University of the Witwatersrand and who was also my colleague for two years when I taught law at that law school, was stabbed to death walking home one evening from university. He couldn’t drive as his eyesight was very poor, so he walked everywhere. I cannot describe my grief at his death. He was the gentlest of souls. He was only 58 years old.
A few days ago, Sheldon Cohen, a South African businessman was murdered, sitting in his car waiting for his son to finish a soccer match. Arthur Goldstuck, a South African journalist wrote this in the Mail and Guardian in response to his friend’s death:
‘..In every murder we see dreams destroyed. Not only of the victim, but also of the family, the relatives, the friends, the admirers and all those who share a dream of a country in harmony. … Our leaders, who so readily accuse us of disloyalty and worse when we demand action, are traitors to our cause of a better South Africa, and we rage against them. The government, which is bound by the Constitution of the country to protect us but cannot, is a collaborator in the destruction of our dreams, and we rage against them. That the loss of such promise, such vision, such forces for improvement of our society, can occur so easily, so randomly and so regularly, shouts out to us how fragile our dreams have become. We must rage against that noise, before it drowns out the dreams that remain.”
Really Long Link
Every day, from across the Indian Ocean, I pray for good news from Africa, for her healing and liberation, for peace and prosperity for everyone there - my family, my friends, my colleagues, and all the beautiful people of South Africa who deserve to live in peace and safety.
I lived for years feeling like a traitor for having left Africa, guilty for the life of relative safety we brought our children to in this bright and hopeful land.
There is no joy in the loss of ambivalence about having left South Africa. My certainty that we did the right thing comes at a cost that breaks my heart every day.
www.joannefedler.com
It is because my answer to this question is ‘three’ that I am writing this blog from my apartment in Sydney, Australia and not Cape Town, South Africa.
Six and a half years ago, my family made the most heart-wrenching trek from Africa to Australia because as the mother of two small children, I was slowly losing my sanity to anxiety about my children’s safety. I’d be sitting in the movies with my husband and would suddenly turn to him and say, ‘We have to get home now. What if someone has broken in and has raped the babysitter…?’
I was a reluctant immigrant. I did not want to leave the beauty and richness of Africa behind me. I grew up under the African sun. I was raised by my nanny Violet Matlapeng, who carried me on her back and sang me lullabies in Sotho. I worked in the violence against women movement for years. I never thought I’d leave my homeland.
But then my friend Denis was shot point blank on his farm in front of his son. And my husband’s best friends’ mother was raped and murdered, a church-going humanitarian of a woman. And I lost count of the number of people I knew who had been raped or car-jacked.
The first few years in Australia nearly broke my spirit. My grief for all we had given up threatened to overwhelm me. I couldn’t face the fact that my babies would grow up bereft of grandparents and aunts and cousins.
Six years down the line, I am desperately grateful we left when we did, despite all we lost in the process.
Some weeks ago, Professor Michael Larkin, a law professor who both taught me company law at the University of the Witwatersrand and who was also my colleague for two years when I taught law at that law school, was stabbed to death walking home one evening from university. He couldn’t drive as his eyesight was very poor, so he walked everywhere. I cannot describe my grief at his death. He was the gentlest of souls. He was only 58 years old.
A few days ago, Sheldon Cohen, a South African businessman was murdered, sitting in his car waiting for his son to finish a soccer match. Arthur Goldstuck, a South African journalist wrote this in the Mail and Guardian in response to his friend’s death:
‘..In every murder we see dreams destroyed. Not only of the victim, but also of the family, the relatives, the friends, the admirers and all those who share a dream of a country in harmony. … Our leaders, who so readily accuse us of disloyalty and worse when we demand action, are traitors to our cause of a better South Africa, and we rage against them. The government, which is bound by the Constitution of the country to protect us but cannot, is a collaborator in the destruction of our dreams, and we rage against them. That the loss of such promise, such vision, such forces for improvement of our society, can occur so easily, so randomly and so regularly, shouts out to us how fragile our dreams have become. We must rage against that noise, before it drowns out the dreams that remain.”
Really Long Link
Every day, from across the Indian Ocean, I pray for good news from Africa, for her healing and liberation, for peace and prosperity for everyone there - my family, my friends, my colleagues, and all the beautiful people of South Africa who deserve to live in peace and safety.
I lived for years feeling like a traitor for having left Africa, guilty for the life of relative safety we brought our children to in this bright and hopeful land.
There is no joy in the loss of ambivalence about having left South Africa. My certainty that we did the right thing comes at a cost that breaks my heart every day.
www.joannefedler.com
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Comment by Cibbuano
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Comment by secretwritersbusiness
I hope someday my kids will be able to say what you've just said.
Jo
Comment by Patricia 7
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Comment by Michaelie
Flick Wit
It's so sad that Africa is still in such turmoil - I hope there is a better future for your homeland.
Michaelie
BTW, can I ask why you chose to bring your family to Australia? Did you at least have some friends or family here?
Comment by Joanne Fedler
Secret Writers Business
Thanks for your compassion.
Actually, we had no friends or family here - we chose Australia because it's climate is similar to South Africa's, it has a stable economy, good public schools, is child-friendly and has a good social welfare system and is relatively safe. I had never been to visit here before I arrived to stay - with two tiny kids on my hip! And a year after we got here, Bali happened, and we thought we'd made a mistake - nowhere is safe.
Now we have friends and a great life here, and we are so grateful to be here. But it saddens me more than I can say that our decision was unequivocally the right one. Africa deserves so much better.
Jo
Comment by Michaelie
Flick Wit
You're right - nowhere is completely safe, but I hope Australia will always be a haven and a home for you and your family... and for all of us.
Comment by missnomer
My very first "serious" boyfriend whom I remained close to for years was murdered with his wife in Manila in front of their 5 year old son....it was a tragedy and a terrible shock...I empathise with you...x Miss Nomer
Comment by Anonymous