FOR THE PERIODS THAT WE were together, my mother and I had argued a lot and I had always felt we needed something to bond us together. The answer was S. He was her baby too. Despite all the arguments, I was strengthened by having my mother near me because most of the time I had no idea what to do with this baby. She helped me care for him, and I think it was the first time we had something we shared.
I decided I needed to continue the spiritual journey I had started with the Methodists in Johannesburg. I also needed to find an income. I knew one hundred per cent that I would return to S, and that I wasn’t going to repeat what my mother had done to me. That wasn’t going to happen. But to make a new path in my life, I knew I had to get away from my mom.
That December 2008, just a few months after S’s birth, I left for Johannesburg to find a job. My mother wanted me to return to prostitution. That, to her, was my job. She didn’t seem to realise how much I didn’t want to go back to that lifestyle.
I knew I had to get away, and then come back stronger.
And it came at a great cost: I left parenting S in order to resurrect my spirit.
In the back of my mind, I thought I would stay in Yeoville with Lindiwe, my pretty Cape Town friend. She knew my story – knew about the working and occasional stripping in Cape Town, knew about me getting pregnant and having S. She thought that I was in Johannesburg to look for clients and continue my prostitution business now that I had a bigger family to support.
When I arrived in Johannesburg, Lindiwe immediately fixed me up to perform on a bachelor’s party strip show which she had organised for her friend’s fiancé.
The money was tempting – R1200, a good amount for a night’s work. The party was inside a big bus with a bar inside and a pole for me to dance and strip on, and it drove from one club to the next while the guys watched me strip. The guys kept buying me drinks, and I was high on weed.
So that was how I started things back in Joburg.
When I was staying with Lindiwe, she kept going out, and that’s when I learnt that she was now also attending functions at the Methodist church. When she found out I was also joining the Methodists, she became very embarrassed because she had introduced me to this strip bus, not knowing about my spiritual pursuits.
Then Lindiwe found out that the soup kitchen staff and others in the church already knew me and my background from the last time I’d been there. I thought to myself, ‘This chick could threaten me.’
And she was about to do just that – Lindiwe was about to make my life hell.
Once I had made contact with the Methodist church, I moved out of Lindiwe’s place and into the Methodists’ Home of Hope shelter. While I was there, I learnt about a six-month programme designed to guide ‘young’ women like myself, who were having difficulties with life in general, in the direction of the Christian faith. It was called IntombiMayano. When I joined up, it was like I was ‘on trial’, trying to become a spiritually strong young woman and forget my years of trauma.
Lindiwe, whom I had considered a close friend, didn’t seem to understand the spiritual changes I was experiencing, and that I preferred to continue with church activities rather than prostitution. Nor was she accepting of my spiritual growth, even though we went through the programme together. And while I was so excited to come back to the Methodists, Lindiwe seemed uncomfortable with my move, perhaps because I might crowd her own space there. That’s where we had our differences.
She might have been willing to help support me, but the church was full of TV celebrities, and she felt I wasn’t fitting into this image. By now, Lindiwe was an extra on a local TV show, and was moving about with the ‘celebrities’. With everyone knowing my story, I felt like I was living in a fish bowl.
I challenged her: ‘You’re an actress now. So why are you also joining this church programme?’
The dynamics between us started to change.
The IntombiMayano programme enabled me to not only learn religious and Godly principles for conducting my life, but also to make friends within the church, and give service by working in their soup kitchen. During that time we could only wear our black and white clothes.
But at the same time, my mother had been phoning me from Cape Town to complain about money, and she was making me feel so small and cheap. When I spoke to S on the phone, I would reassure him that I was his mama and would be coming home soon. But as I neared the end of the six months, I became totally focused on my spiritual path, even forgetting about my mother and S, and the anxiety I had been feeling about them.
I ignored my mom’s voice more and more, and instead I focused on helping the kids in the church’s orphanages. And I was able to stay in the Home of Hope shelter, which helped my focus. By now I was making choices that were free from the violent and abusive circumstances of the past. I had found a church community which supported my growth, and it felt like my time had finally arrived. When I completed my six months, I received a uniform that identified me as an intombimayano.
Right after receiving my Methodist uniform, I had the opportunity to visit Cape Town and see my mother and S in Site C. The grannies in Site C also wear their ‘cultural’ garbs for church, so I impressed them by wearing my garb that Sunday. I really felt that I was getting somewhere. I went back to Joburg feeling good about things.
Then, a shock.
Just when I had my full uniform and had found a stronger spiritual path, my friendship with Lindiwe fell apart. One day, we were both called into the church office and told that rumours were spreading among the members. Lindiwe stated in that meeting that I had told her that the church pastor was a client of mine from when I was a sex worker. Her own circle of friends had been spreading this rumour as well.
I said in that meeting, with the pastor present, ‘I never met this pastor in my previous life.’
The pastor stood up and agreed with me: ‘This is not true, this rumour. I have never had any relations of a sexual nature with Grizelda!’ And then he surprised me by saying: ‘This rumour is very hurtful and I’m afraid Grizelda will have to leave my church. I cannot have my name muddied like this. My position in this church is more important than her past.’
The church leaders said I must leave the congregation and not work at the soup kitchen any more. This rejection hurt me profoundly. I left, and never saw Lindiwe or discussed this false rumour with her after that.
The rejection from the church and betrayal from someone I had thought was my best friend plunged me once again into deep depression.
Just as I had chosen the path of survival, I was being set back once again. I asked God why I deserved that, just when I thought I was doing the right thing.
One lady in the church said I could continue working on Saturdays at the soup kitchen. I was very confused. I disliked the shelter’s ‘sorry-shame’ programme, which meant begging and looking poor for the white people who came with their donations and gave us food. That didn’t allow for spiritual growth.
I also didn’t know if I would be allowed to go back to the Home of Hope shelter, or if I had to stay on the street. I started looking at other shelters and programmes to join. The Home of Hope shelter allowed me to stay, although they weren’t happy that I was spending time on other church programmes.
Then I was invited by a church member to stay in her apartment in Joburg central until I found my feet. Her apartment had three bedrooms, and she lived there with her boyfriend, two children, and her sister, Zanele.
I think the woman was worried that her boyfriend would want to have sex with me, because she made me sleep on the balcony. Although I was grateful for the bed, in my mind I queried whether she really trusted me. I found it unsettling that she was so suspicious of me. I just couldn’t understand why someone from the church would try to help me, but then not trust me in their home. On the streets I had been called useless and unreliable, and I hadn’t expected the same treatment now, when I was trying to change for the better. I left after a month, but in that time I had developed a close friendship with her sister, Zanele.
After that I wandered about, and would find odd jobs for income, like washing people’s clothes. One time a guy tried to approach me for favours, but I just got very angry. I was not interested in engaging with any men.
I had to find my own feet again. I was deeply hurt and confused. Yet, I had to make some money for myself, S and my mother in Cape Town. My mother was drinking and still expected me to prostitute myself for income. We had a toxic relationship, even from this distance.
A Zulu guy I knew in the church referred me to a Pakistani guy who owned a tuck shop in Soweto, and that’s how in my vulnerable condition I was trafficked by a church member: I could work and live in this man’s house, but I had to give sex for my accommodation.
My spiritual growth had cleansed me, but my progress was being challenged by the devil, who kept pulling me towards temptation. I still needed to earn money, and I knew I could do it with sex, but at the same time I wanted to be left alone!
I spoke with God: ‘Please, don’t let me down. Don’t let me down.’