GOD, IN THE END, DID not give me the money, but after a week He helped me to get out of Soweto and back to my friend Zanele.
Zanele was still attending the Houghton Methodist Church, but she introduced me to Tie, a Zimbabwean girl, who suggested I join her Christ Embassy Church in Yeoville. I kept strong, kept the faith, and considered joining the CEC community.
In the meantime, friends I made led me to others who helped me find jobs, like domestic work. My employers were caring when they didn’t know my background. Sometimes, maybe once a month, I would still go to bachelor parties and do strip shows.
When I eventually joined the Christ Embassy Church, I discovered that the Nigerian pastor was very charismatic, encouraging rigid practices of fasting during the week, preaching the gospel and holding conferences. The programme promoted forgiveness and prosperity in life, and this helped my spiritual path further. I felt that my spiritual strength was paying off; I could grow in this new church.
But I was still being pulled back to work at the Methodist soup kitchen. I felt good about my walk from Hillbrow to Houghton at 5am to cook rice and chicken for people who were on the streets, like I once was. I could also receive a day’s meal for myself, and this kept my spirits up. It was as though I was overcoming, even forgiving, my former church for abandoning me, and allowing me to still exercise my spiritual and civic duties towards others in need, against all odds. I saw the change my work was making in the lives of other people.
But it was painful for me – being torn between two churches. I loved the Methodist church for what I learnt from it, but in the end I was experiencing more growth at Christ Embassy.
After two-and-a-half years, I finally stopped working in the Methodist soup kitchen because I developed a runny tummy! It seemed to me then that my system was being purged of stress and confusion.
And what was I to do with the uniform I had earned with the Methodists who cast me out? Thinking about it all over again made me very angry, so much so that I threw the uniform into a street bin.
A woman who was watching me told me that God would curse me for that. ‘You can’t just change churches like that,’ she said.
Yet Christ Embassy, which was more charismatic and emotion-driven, inspired me to grow. And I was happy at least that the Methodists had taught me discipline during a time when I needed to get off drugs and prostitution.
Yes, now I was making choices, like I couldn’t have during my time of being trafficked. I was evolving.
But old thoughts plagued me as I continued to walk my spiritual path. I knew how to find money – with clients. I also knew the trade-off: sex workers always needed their fix. I remembered how one girl I knew had drunk Benylin cough syrup and then smoked cigarettes just to stay high.
Should I go back to this kind of life, even temporarily?
I had other thoughts: had I enjoyed sex during my prostitution days? No. I had always worried about satisfying the client so that he would return. I had never thought about satisfying myself. Yes, I would like to have a loving relationship with someone who could physically satisfy me. In my life, I had only climaxed during a threesome with another girl.
Most importantly, I had to make some decisions about money, and my choices were muddled by the economic realities of my situation: I was undereducated, underskilled for employment, and I still needed to get off the sex and the hard drugs. Those addictions were still calling me.
My mom’s phone calls angered me. She was always asking for money, saying things like, ‘You have a child.’ In my phone calls to my mom, I always tried to reassure her that I would send more money. But it wasn’t happening.
I desperately looked in other directions.