I am every woman.
I am her heartbeat.
I cry her tears.
I am her experiences.
I live and die as her.
If she lives with no respect, it is I that is humiliated.
If she lives in pain, it is my heart that breaks.
When she is riddled in bullets,
It is my body left with holes.
When fists leave a trace on her face,
it is my face that turns red and blue.
My dear brother. My friend. Love of my life.
For every woman that hurts,
the world is less safe for all of us.
Everytime the actions of your kind say she is useless, that tells me I am useless.
Do not rest because you think I am safe.
I know you love me. I know you would give your life to protect me.
Do not rest because you think I am safe.
I am not.
He who killed Karabo, Sandile, I have met him. He wears many faces; belongs to many races; speaks multiple tongues.
Sandile is on the bus aggressively demanding my number.
He brushes against me in class endlessly starring and lurking.
I work with him at my office, where I must constantly turn down unwanted advances.
He is at the taxi rank where I have grown deaf to his cat calls that demean and objectify me.
I meet him at my church, where the hugs linger just a little too long. He is everywhere. All the time. Anytime. It may not be long before my body too is turned to ash.
Do not rest.
Do not leave me here alone to fight this.
None of my kind are safe.
And we alone cannot fix this.
We need you.
WE NEED YOU.
For Karabo. For every woman. #RIP.