In 2021, I responded to a call that has stayed with me ever since. A 15-year-old girl, whom I’ll call Sunshine to protect her identity, had been raped by a family cousin. The story was devastating, not just because of its violence, but because it is far too common in communities like Harare in Khayelitsha.
This was also just around the time President Cyril Ramaphosa had just signed into legislation the three Anti-GBV laws. I stood outside Sunshine’s family home alongside journalist Nasiphi Same from Newzroom Afrika. As we reported on the case, I spoke out—not just as an activist and founder of The Great People of South Africa NPO, but as a survivor of sexual violence myself. Every word I uttered carried the weight of my own trauma. I wanted to do more than report a story; I wanted to stand beside Sunshine and her family as they navigated the long road ahead.
Over the next months after that story made it to the media, we would attend court cases together as part of our court support program, designed to help victims and survivors navigate the criminal justice system. Over time, Sunshine became more than a case. She became a beacon of hope. She also began attending the community legal empowerment programs we run in Khayelitsha, where we teach about GBV, the justice system, and ways to seek support. Seeing her sit among other survivors, listening and engaging, brought a flicker of light to my heart. Here she was, reclaiming her life piece by piece.
But the scars of sexual violence are not easily healed. Today, I am heartbroken and overwhelmed because Sunshine’s journey has taken a dark turn. Her mother’s messages have been increasingly alarming, filled with anguish and desperation. Today's voicenotes sent me over the edge. I cannot begin to imagine the mother's emotions even though I can hear in her voice, that she herself, is not coping.
Sunshine, now 18, often disappears for days. She has fallen into drug use, spending time with people who exploit her vulnerability. Her mother has recounted harrowing incidents: Sunshine dancing naked at local hangouts, high and shoeless, while bystanders call for her mother to come and rescure her, when her mother arrives, Sunshine runs away, a painful echo of her inner turmoil.
Since December 24, Sunshine has been missing. Her mother’s voice messages are filled with sobs, the grief of a parent helplessly watching her child spiral out of control. As I listen, I am overcome with the weight of my own memories. I know the dark place where Sunshine is now because I have been there.
After surviving sexual violence, I remember feeling like a shell of myself. The confident, outspoken person I once was seemed to vanish overnight. In her place was someone consumed by shame, anger, and suicidal thoughts. I couldn’t see a way forward. I felt trapped in a darkness so profound that it seemed to swallow any glimmer of hope.
Surviving sexual violence is not just about surviving the act—it’s about navigating the emotional, psychological, and social aftermath. The scars are deep, and they manifest in ways society often misunderstands.
For Sunshine, the drugs and risky behavior are not who she is. They are a manifestation of her pain—a way to numb the trauma that lingers in every corner of her mind. Yet society is quick to judge her, labeling her as a troubled young woman, without understanding the weight she carries.
As survivors, we don’t just need justice; we need compassion. We need communities that understand the long-term impacts of sexual violence and provide the resources and support necessary for healing.
While Sunshine’s story is uniquely hers, it is also the story of countless survivors across South Africa and beyond. For every Sunshine, there are countless others who are struggling in silence, unseen and unsupported.
To Sunshine, wherever you are, I want you to know this: You are not alone. You are not defined by what happened to you. You are more than your trauma, and there is a way forward, even when it feels impossible to see.
To her mother and all the parents grappling with the aftermath of their children’s trauma, I want you to know this: Your pain is valid. Your love is powerful. And your hope is not misplaced.
I kindly ask that as society, we must build systems that truly support survivors, long after the headlines fade. Mental health resources should not be a privilege; they should be a fundamental right. Communities must come together to break the cycle of judgment and shame, replacing it with understanding and care.
And to my fellow survivors, I want to say this: Healing is not linear, and it is not easy, but it is possible. It is a journey that requires patience, love, and a willingness to confront the pain head-on.
I am committed to fighting for Sunshine and all the other survivors who feel like they are drowning in the aftermath of their trauma. I believe in the light within each of us, even when it feels extinguished. Together, we can create a world where survivors are not just seen but are supported, uplifted, and empowered.
Immediately after getting off the phone with the mother. I reached out to a local rehab centre that could accomodate Sunshine and her needs- https://tawakkulrehab.org/ (please check them out)
I spoke to Mr Ganief and he explained to me that their services cost R10 000 for the six weeks program. I am now reaching out to you all, if you can donate towards Sunshine's recovery journey, please do not hesitate to reach out to me or you can make a direct payment to the centre.
If you do so please forward me the proof of payment. Use the refference #Sunshine because I need the sun to shine on this family and on Sunshine as well.
Your support will be appreciated in words I cannot even begin to express.
In the face of darkness, let us be the light that guides each other home.
