messages from abroad

This story was passed along to me through Help Lesotho. Naomi is a Canadian intern who has been working in Lesotho since May. For me it affirms the need for continued work in gender equity as so many girls are unsafe in their own country.

Bumping into Terror in Maputsoe

Naomi Dore, HL Intern

August 2007, Hlotse Lesotho



My parents were visiting me in Lesotho, and as a treat they took Sonya, another intern, and I to dinner over the border into Ficksburg, South Africa. We had a great time and a lovely meal.



After dinner we came back across the border and were on our way home to Hlotse. It was about 8:30 pm and very dark as we drove through Maputsoe away from the border. All of a sudden, two figures were visible, running in the middle of the road and towards our moving car. My father was driving, and quickly slammed on the brakes. A young girl was running fast away from a man who was chasing her, and she was heading straight towards our car. Our car came to a halt just as they got to us.



The man caught up with her- grabbed her by the wrist and threw her to the ground. The girl was crying and yelling for help. Horror and panic rose up in me; I didn’t think, I cried out ‘Please can we help her…’ My mother opened her car window and my father leaned towards the window and yelled to the man ‘Hey! Leave her alone’! The man looked to be around 30 years old, and could well have been drunk. He said to us ‘She is f—king with me, she’s messing with me’. The young girl got up from the ground and turned to face us.



She was petite and slim, she looked very young and we found out later she was fourteen years old. She was crying. Her dress had been pulled open and down exposing her breasts. She had marks on her chest. My father asked her, ‘Do you know this man?’ I could hear the fear in her voice as she replied: ‘No, I do not know this man’.



At that point three men who I had not noticed approaching came up to the man and started talking to him in Sesotho. We took the opportunity to ask the girl to get into the car. She did, and we drove away. She told us she had been walking home from her sister’s house when she met that man. She pointed in the direction of her house and we took her as far as we could by car. She dried her tears and said ‘Thank you, I am safe now’.



As I watched her walk away, her dress dusty from the road, I wondered how long she would remain safe before something like that happened to her again. I wondered how many other young girls were attacked that night in Maputsoe or elsewhere in the country, who were not able to get away.



Only as we were on our way home again did we recognize the risk we took in intervening in a violent situation. Stories of car hijacking, for instance, came to mind. The man could have had a weapon. But faced with what we saw, and the plea of the girl fighting to get away, so desperate for help that she ran into oncoming traffic, how could we not have tried to help?



I can’t stop thinking about the young girl, and for me the staggering statistics of rape in Lesotho now have a face.