South African women mobilize against domestic abuse

By Sherri Day

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JOHANNESBURG — Baleseng Segona decided that 1996 would be different. This year she would fight back against her abusive husband. So one night, after a particularly bad beating at his hands, she got a knife and waited in her Soweto shack for him to come home from work. She believed that violence was the only language he would ever understand.

"It's either you kill me or I kill you," the 39-year-old Segona recalls thinking at the time. She was tired of her husband's beatings, blatant infidelity and frequent unemployment. When Samuel Makotoko Makotoko came home, the couple fought and Segona managed to pin her husband's body down.

But just before pushing the knife into Makotoko Makotoko's flesh, Segona decided it wasn't worth it, that having to leave her two children and spend years in jail for his murder would be worse than living with him. She let him go and decided to try and salvage what was left of her marriage. But for Segona, the violent war between her and Makotoko Makotoko was far from over.

In South Africa, Segona is not unique. According to the Department of Justice, one of every four South African women is a victim of domestic violence. Even those statistics are questionable. Many women fail to report spousal abuse and those who do must convince police to take their claims seriously.

As the country moves toward its second multi-party elections in June, the silent suffering of battered women is not a campaign issue nor is it a major project for the current government. In the new South Africa, the fight for freedom may be over, but the struggle to protect women from abusive relationships has just begun.

"I think the government is aware of gender issues," said Liesl Gerntholtz, the legal head of a national commission on gender equity. "That's not something you can say about any of the previous governments, but ultimately I think it's (spousal abuse) always going to be an issue that falls through the cracks."

Gerntholtz's Commission on Gender Equality has found that even in Parliament, women legislators are faced with gender discrimination.

"Our research has indicated that women have found the experience of being in Parliament quite disempowering," said Gerntholtz, a former corporate lawyer who gave up her practice to join the push for women's rights.

"A lot of the struggles for equality have been located within Parliament itself in terms of having toilets for women, in terms of trying to sway Parliament not to start sitting at 3 o'clock in the afternoon and finish at 9 p.m. You know women with childcare responsibilities find that very problematic."

While women in Parliament struggle to obtain basic women's rights, black South Africa women in townships, rural areas and even in cities face domestic violence on a daily basis. At the Chiawela Clinic in Soweto, Dr. Shahid N. Malick estimates that at least 10 percent of the 240 patients seen each day are battered women. "I see between 60 and 70 patients a day of which 6 or 7 are definitely abused - even if they don't say it," said Malick.

Malick said he routinely treats women for broken arms and legs and facial injuries - all tell-tale signs of domestic violence that occur from being beaten with a whip or flogged with a sjambok, a traditional long wooden stick used for war. The worst case of spousal abuse he's witnessed was that of a former clerk at his clinic who had multiple face injuries, a fractured skull and bleeding from the nose and ears. Malick said the woman's mate left her at a railway station after beating her. She would have died if passersby had not noticed her clinic worker's badge and brought her in for treatment. "Actually, I couldn't recognize her," said Malick. "But, I've heard of worse cases."

Social workers give many explanations as to why South African men abuse women. They range from cultural mores to the stress of living under Apartheid, the former government's practice of segregating whites and blacks. Under Apartheid, black South African men were routinely humiliated and paid paltry wages -making it virtually impossible to provide for their families. Poverty coupled with alcohol and drug use is what some believe nurtured an environment that was ripe for abuse in homes.

Palesa Makhetha doesn't believe any of these reasons are legitimate excuses for beating women. "There aren't any excuses because we just see abuse as an assertion of power and authority," said Makhetha.

Makhetha, who is spokesperson for People Opposing Women's Abuse, the country's leading Non-Governmental Organization on domestic violence, said that black South African women remain in abusive relationships for a number of reasons. "We see women from very poor family backgrounds," said Makhetha. "They think (spousal abuse) is acceptable because they come from a poor family background." But most black South African women believe they have no rights due to their participation in the African custom of lobola.

Lobola is the African ritual that joins a man and woman in marriage.

Much like a dowry, the man who desires to marry a woman pays lobola to the family. Once lobola is paid, the woman becomes the property of her husband and his family. Makotoko Makotoko paid 1,700 Rand ($283) for Segona when he proposed to her in 1984 — a price she deemed suitable at the time, in part because she thought that he loved her. "I regret it now," said Segona who lived in poverty before marrying her husband.

Women who lack education and live in poverty are not the only ones who insist on carrying out the tradition of lobola. "Not a single black women in the Commission would consider not paying lobola or having lobola paid for her," said Gerntholtz. "Everyone here who is black and married has gone through that practice."

More than a ceremonial practice, payment of lobola strips women of their individual rights and enshrouds the domestic issues of couples with a veil of secrecy. When problems like violence arise, women believe it is a normal part of marriage, and that if they complain, no one will listen.

"What happens in a place like South Africa, it's a very racial place," said Malick, the clinic doctor. "People tend to keep within themselves even if they live in a black neighborhood. It's not a very open society. Expression is absent - totally."

Segona agrees.

"You know it was like he was raping me, and I used to take it," said Segona. "I thought he was my husband, and it was okay. I would think 'Oh God let him come and beat me so then I could get some sleep.' That was everyday of my life."

Makhetha, who grew up watching her father abuse her mother, said People Opposing Women's Abuse is dedicated to letting women know that abuse should not be a tenant of marriage. "We're still at a very early stand of addressing issues of domestic violence," said Makhetha. "Because we were concerned with political oppression for a very long time, the women have been behind their men in the struggle for freedom. Now that we've achieved political freedom, the women are starting to focus their energies on issues that affect us."

Makhetha and the members of her organization spend a great deal of time trying to educate women in rural areas and in schools. The 25-year-old said the prevailing attitude of black South African women towards domestic violence is one of acceptance.

"Some of the attitudes that you get from young people, you want to strangle them," said Makhetha. "It was found that one in three school girls has been a victim of a sexual offense. They just see it as something that will inevitably happen. They think its a sign of his manhood. He's showing me that he's the boss because a man who does not do this, he's a sissy."

If Makhetha is unable to change the attitudes of women, she at least hopes to inform them of their rights to complain about being abused. Last December, the South African government passed the Domestic Violence Act. The country's first legislation of its kind, the act makes spousal abuse illegal.

Under the act, abused persons can lay a charge of assault against the accuser and obtain an interdict, a Magistrate Court order that prohibits the abuser from assaulting or threatening the victim and from coming to her home or workplace. If the abuser violates the interdict, the abused party is supposed to be able to contact the police and have the abuser arrested. However, the police do not always cooperate. Makhetha believes implementing mandatory gender sensitivity training in courts and on police forces will help.

"There are magistrates that believe that if a women is wearing a short skirt she is asking for rape," said Makhetha.

Gerntholtz agrees.

"We've had complaints from women in rural areas where the police have said 'but you're not bleeding, come back when he really assaults you."

Government officials admit that there is a disconnect between the law and its enforcement.

"The laws are partially effective in the sense that not all women are aware of this legislation, of this mechanism to support and assist them in this crisis situation - especially in the rural areas," said Dr. Eddie Harvey of the Department of Welfare. "At the national level we only have policy making. NGO's and provincial governments take care of it."

For Segona, who finally fled her husband's abuse in April of 1996, the government's gender laws came too late. She decided to leave Makotoko Makotoko when he falsely accused her of sleeping around and beat her - bruising her body and maiming her foot. When she complained to police, she got no response. But the social workers at POWA believed her story and gave her refuge.

Today Balesang ( which means 'leave them alone') Segona's life has changed.

After spending six months with her children in POWA's women's shelter she is now self-sufficient. She works as the receptionist at POWA's main office and rents her own apartment in Hillbrow, an urban suburb of Johannesburg. Segona and her two children share the apartment with her boyfriend of eight months. He is her first boyfriend since her break-up with her husband. Although Segona had initial difficulty with dating, she is growing more comfortable with her lover and the couple is even beginning to enjoy a sexual relationship. However, experiencing love is a different matter.

"I don't have love anymore," said Segona, who admits she lies to her new beau about feeling affection for him. "I think it's nice for me to just lie and go on with my life. Maybe love will come someday."

Segona bears no physical signs of ever being traumatized and said physical abuse is no longer a part of her daily routine. But she has promised her lover that she will kill him if he tries to harm her. She also admits that there are still remnants of her abusive relationship in her life.

For the past year, her 13-year-old son has been in and out of the hospital for various feigned injuries. Last week, Segona realized that her son was psychologically damaged from years of watching her being abused. She plans to take him to counseling.

Segona's 9-year-old daughter is too young to remember her father's rage. But Segona remembers well. Makotoko Makotoko, whom she has not seen for a year and six months, won't let her forget. Recently he telephoned her and threatened to kill her. It is a promise she believes he will keep.

"I'm waiting for him. When I see him maybe he's going to kill me," said Segona. "I was afraid of him, but not now. This time, I'm going to put up a fight."

Gerntholtz hopes women like Segona will allow the law to fight for them. But she realizes that the present government is not as focused on women's issues as it could be.

"We have some power but not a lot," she said of the Commission. "At the end of the day, we're very much reliant on who's in power."

Still, women may have more power than they realize, particularly with national elections scheduled for June. "The majority of people who registered (to vote) were women," said Gerntholtz. "And yet, nobody's regarding them as an important political constituency at all."