Friday, October 30, 2015


Photo Credit:
By Amanda 'Maya Madumere

He smacked my butt again, "Nice arse!", he smirked. "Leave me alone!", I shot gruffy at him.

I drafted a couple of items I was going to buy, which comprised a few bottles of wine. A wine store had just been opened a few blocks away from my apartment. Everyone in the neighbourhood seemed pleased by the budget stock they sold. So, that morning, I decided to patronize the wine store.
The huge glass doors glided open and I walked in.

"What can I do for ya, missy?", the vintner asked from the counter. "Hi," I said studying the mini-cellar behind him, "I'd like to buy some vintage, please". "Vintage. Of course.", he said. "Yeah! What have you got?", I asked, still studying the mini-cellar behind him. "We have everything," he grinned, "ranging from Alsace, Loire, Chablis, Rhone, Burgundry, Bordeaux, and of course," he grinned from ear to ear again, "Champagne". "Champagne?! Pfff," I had a laugh over that, "I want something on the budget stock, please". I waved my purse at him. "I should get you the catalogue then", he bent, and drew up with him a big book. "Here", he slid the book across the counter.

"This one," I handed him the catalogue, "I need a dozen of it". "A dozen? Gee, missy. What're you doing with all that wine?". "It's my birthday tomorrow", I said smiling broadly. "Oh! What's ya name?" he squinted slightly. "Mandy. What's yours?". "It's Leroy. But, just call me Roy," he winked "and that wine costs R169.00", he finished off. "You've got to be kidding me," my brows furrowed in anger, "but the catalogue says R139.00. For Pete's sake, this is Polokwane, and not Cape Town, or Johannesburg", I stressed the last word.

"I'll tell you what. Loosen up a few buttons off that blouse and I'll sell R139.00", he smiled slyly. 

"What the heck?!", I bawled.

I had just turned to leave when in the flash of lightening, he was right behind me. He smacked my butt. "Damn squidgy!", he said with a smirk on his face. "Naff off!", I bawled at him. He smacked my butt again. "Nice arse!", he said, still smirking. "Leave me alone!", I shot gruffly at him again. He gripped my shoulder. Defensively, I kicked at his crotch. "Arghhh!", he released his grip on my shoulder and staggered back, with his hands on his groin. I made for the door.

Of course, mother would have asked, "Did he hurt you, honey?". Father would have just said, "I don't want you going in there, ever again". And the authorities? They'd drag on the issue in order to water down the seriousness of the issue-- if ever taken serious-- and pass no verdict. Rumor would have it that, "She went about seducing the vintner".

So, what do I do? I keep my ordeal clandestine. I keep hoping it never happens again. But, in this part of the world where we're seen as tools, it never stops happening. Even as you read, another young girl is being sexually harrassed--or even raped somewhere else.

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