Gertrude Fester has a long history of political activism focusing on women’s liberation within the national democratic struggle in South Africa. She hence held various formal political portfolios post-1994 and has pioneered together with others, seminal NGOs working towards popularizing the African Feminist Charter and promoting a united Feminist Voice. She serves on various boards and is currently vice-chairperson of the University of Western Cape Council. Her key passions include transformation and education.
Gertrude has a PhD in Women’s and Gender Studies from the London School of Economics. She has published widely, both fiction and non-fiction. Prior to 1994 she was an educator for 21 years and was inspired by the future teachers whom she trained.
The following work is copyright © 2011. All rights reserved. No distribution or reprinting in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.
Taking Revenge For a Ride
She really felt uneasy. Here she was in this classroom with 70 other first-year idealistic Theology students. She felt out of place; they were 90% Afrikaners - mostly male - big and robust - the rugby types, hairstyles - cropped short - back and sides, painfully neat, with thick necks. Their pale blue eyes looked intently at the lecturer, determinedly, diligently. Occasionally some bit their lips and screwed their eyes when a Greek word or Hebrew reference was alluded to. There was this feeling of anxiety again. Why can’t she forget it? It was more than a decade ago and this is the new South Africa and here is she, a Coloured woman sitting at the University of Stellenbosch, the bastion of Afrikaner Apartheid leaders. There were 7 other black students. Not much for transformation. It’s a start. She was breathing too fast, getting palpitations. She wasn’t even sure whether she was in Religious Ethics or Hermeneutics.
It was no use pretending she was listening. She saw Van Zyl in the corner of her eye. Even the way they dressed was similar. Surely styles have changed? A few wore shirts-top button open; the rest unfashionable ties. What happened to carefree, unconventional student attire?
Why were they tormenting her? It was as if every male moved and gestured as they had done. Surely genetics and DNA can’t be responsible for these fervent potential NG Dominees all having the same mannerisms and grimaces as her tormentors all those years ago? She was experiencing it all over again…
Tears welled up in her eyes. How could she get herself into this state? Especially as she was on enemy territory. She tried to sit in a nonchalant way, her eyes focussed on the well-used pencil box on her desk. She watched the grains of the wood forming patterns. It was worn over the years but she loved it. It was a gift from Ouma, who was very proud of her, the first grandchild at university and who would get the Jantjes family out of their poverty.
But was it the Patriarchal Father God who was doing this to her? She had rejected male images of God and instead prayed to a loving Mother God. Sometimes she would use the non-sexist Creator, Source of all Being, Redeemer and Comforter. But now this Male God of the Old Testament, all fire and brimstone, was like Salem’s God of ‘The Crucible’ who punishes and punishes if you take one wrong step, even a teeny weeny step. ‘God, I was only joking - don’t you have a sense of humour?’
Kobus put up his hand and asked some question. To aggravate matters all these guys even have the same accents. It was as if they were hand-picked to represent the different dialects of her erstwhile tormentors. She could not show her enemies that they had got to her, how weak she really was. She was not the confident articulate Cape Flats girl with the shine in her eyes, the ring in her voice.
Breathe slowly, dammit, breathe deeply and slowly- hold your breath for the count of 16, there, there now. Remember how you stopped crying the minute you heard the keys - you never let them see all those months how they unnerved you. There’s the bell.
‘Wil jy vir koffie gaan? Coffee?’
She was confused.
Breathe slowly dear slowly - Ahh… there’s the bell, is it the bell for the electrodes to be put onto your nipples or the bell to take them off?
‘Koffie? Joining me for coffee?’
She had forgotten about it – Now here she was sitting with these interrogator look alikes, with Mostert, DuToit…
She had especially come to this university. She wanted to get back at Afrikaner men. She had it all planned. No Madiba-like reconciliation for her! No Amnesty for the wicked! She was an attractive woman - everyone said so. She’d befriend these men and later confide in them. Tell them what their fathers had done to her, goad them with the gory details and work on them to make them feel guilty, destroy them with their Afrikaner confidence. The sins of the fathers…
‘Koffie? Is jy alright?
She could not face him, nor anyone else.
‘Sorry, I have to go to the I.T. Help Desk.’
She walked through the Cape Dutch buildings, down the oak-lined avenue. The sun filtering through the red gold leaves suddenly comforted her. She looked at the purple rugged mountains surrounding Stellenbosch, and once again breathed in deeply, resuscitated with new energy by the crisp autumn air.
The I.T. assistant was petite with delicate features, her head barely visible above the counter. Christina was pleased to see another black woman on campus. She smiled easily and gave Christina her email address.
‘How do I access my university email from my home pc?’
The woman behind the counter smiled, her entire face suddenly ablaze with excitement, her dark brown eyes animated.
‘It’s lunch time now and I have a great date. I’m having my prosthesis fitted at two. Do you mind coming tomorrow? ‘
Christina stood, dumbfounded and walked out, slowly. The I.T. assistant skilfully manoeuvred her wheelchair and within minutes she was next to Christina, keys in her hand. Christina paused outside the door. The I.T. assistant started locking the various locks and spoke confidentially as if she had known Christina all her life.
‘It was a bit scary when I first fitted the prosthesis. It’ll take time to get accustomed to walking. But can you imagine what it’ll be like walking down these avenues? I can’t wait. Do you know I wanted to be a dancer before my car accident caused by the taxi wars on the ‘Flats? Bye, see you tomorrow.’ And off she scooted around the corner before Christina could respond.
Christina walked down the avenue. Suddenly she started running, intermittently skipping and jumping. She looked with wonder at the majestic mountains, the contorted branches of the trees. A leaf was falling to the ground and she ran to catch it. She was amazed at the colours and intricate patterns of the leaf. She took a deep breath of beauty, embracing the whole wide world wantonly. Suddenly she cried, this time not in anger.
Some tears were in order… | 
