by Bev Clark

I must have been about 9 years old. My father has some business to do in downtown Johannesburg, so he put me in an afternoon movie. I found a seat on my own somewhere. After a while a man sat next to me and put his hand on my thigh. Even so young I had the presence and courage to move away, knowing I had to. Survival kicked in.

A few years later living in Salisbury in Rhodesia I recall my mother and I walking over the road to the shopping centre. We lived on the second floor of a nearby block of flats. My mother was recently divorced and struggling financially. The owner of the supermarket allowed her to buy groceries on credit and settle at the end of the month. This month she didn't have enough money so she needed to plead her case. I remember standing next to her in the owner's little cubicle whilst she explained her situation. During the conversation he gesticulated to me to come and sit in his lap. I did so. A bit later he leaned down toward my face and I felt his tongue in my mouth. I've always thought my mother saw this happen, but I never asked her. I think she got some breathing space and her credit rolled over to the following month.