Someone given a second chance, is someone given a chance to be reborn

I cannot recall what was happening in my head when I decided to sell my pastry goods caravan so that I can have enough money to build an NGO Center. All I know is that the day she walked up to buy at my caravan, my life changed. I walked up to her as the waitress was taking her order, my eyes explored her and were welcomed by new bruises, newer than the ones from last Thursday when she had sprinted up to me for the third time as I was locking up. A black Audi SUV had pulled up and a man silhouette emerged. She had hid behind the caravan. He looked in my direction, his eyes met mine. He asked if I had seen a young lady in a blue dress pass by. His expensive cologne had slapped me across the face and warned me of entitlement. I shook my head and had continued locking up.

He lashed a threat at me. I shivered like a leaf attacked by a thunderous storm. He had paced up in my direction when fortunately one of my waiters appeared from the darkness. As he saw Sam he made for his car quickly so he could not be identified in the dark. The car drove off, I had quickly looked behind the caravan. She was gone.

And lo behold, the mysterious girl in blue. Still in blue. I introduced myself as Palesa Mofokeng and gestured for her to sit with me so we could talk. But her fear did not allow her to even be within company of help. She looked around, put her hand in her bosom and returned with a bank note that seemed to shock us both. I told her it was on the house. She smiled gratefully, revealing the most beautiful porcelain teeth. Her eyes darted for a quick exit. She scurried off. I ran after her. But my heart was faster than my feet. I kept wondering to myself what hold he has on such a beautiful and intelligent looking girl. Such strong emotions over someone I barely even knew. I was just a mere woman who sold pastries in a caravan. I do not even have a family to bury me if this pimp would have returned to kill me as I had meddled in his affairs. But I understood why I was so worried. Because at some point in my life, I was that teenage girl in that blue dress. I had to save her. I had to save me.

I had spent afternoons searching for her. All the spots where promiscuous women stood; the nearby brothels, taxi ranks that had my regular caravan customers outside of it selling from food stalls and the taxi drivers. No success. The Johannesburg CBD is huge. Who was I to even think I could convince her to leave that life? I did not even know her by name. I had walked around under the empathetic skyscrapers’ shades the whole day and day asking around. And everyone kept shrugging shoulders.

And fear was a companion that kept directing me in the path of panic. It had crossed my mind that I might be looking for someone who had been drugged and killed. Another part of me feared that someone would alert him that I was looking for her. Unbeknownst that I should have looked for him in order to find her.

I went home with a heavy heart. A fateful day, I walked into my flat and a call came in. It was her. She sent me her location and I ran there. Not logically assessing that it could be a trap or not. I found her under a bridge beaten into a pulp. Her state affirmed how dangerous this man was. I knew that she was one of the many of his victims. Left home and came to the big city in search of jobs to support their families left behind. Only to be lured by men old enough to be their fathers who have lavish lifestyles pimped by money that their gullible minds could not fathom where it came from, how it came to be nor where it ends. Ensnared by liars and manipulators.

I was able to help her get away from the prostitution life and away from the pimp with the help of a detective friend. I enrolled her into Varsity back in her province, KwaZulu Natal. Away from the place that had become her peril. More of her friends came to my caravan. Seeking help to leave the solicitous jobs that paid them in shame and disgust. Every day, I found myself helping young women find shelter and flee. The Monday morning that persuaded me to build the QalakaBusha (Start Afresh) Center; I found my caravan vandalised. Warnings and threats promised that I will be killed for helping these women. This only made me aware that I am on the right path. If Pearl did not run to my shop that night, I would not have been able to be courageous enough to even stand up to the injustices these women suffer at the hands of these monsters masquerading as noble men. My Center received so much support from private donors. More young women came to the shelter running from abusive partners. Where they received counselling and offered employment in the Center’s different investors’ companies. The prostitutes who came where helped with testing for sicknesses, put on programs that dealt with motivational sessions and workshops in various schools and communities. Where they motivated people to test so they know their status and warn the youngsters to stay in school. Other women went to villages where households that had HIV/AIDS patients who lived alone received aid of cleaning their houses, helping them take their medicines and miscellaneous activities. An agricultural project was started to feed the patients, most of the vegetables are transported to different stores in the city. Serving as income for the workers.