“Uyaphi sfebe! Hey wena, sfebe uyaphi? Sikhuluma nawe!” The words rang in my ear as I marched with the rest of the students who had gathered outside the Union Buildings. I turned around and he yelled again, “Ya vele, wena!”

I was so shocked because that came out of nowhere. I remember, at that moment, feeling like everyone was looking at me, the slut. I wondered what I had done to him, to warrant being called a slut. I literally couldn’t believe it.

I go to the car and cried my eyes out

I walked back to the car that I had arrived in with a few of my male colleagues and I started crying. When one of the boys asked what had happened, I just cried some more.

I cried not because I had just witnessed police being violent towards protesting students, but because of the raw emotion I saw on so many young people’s faces. I cried not because of their desperate pleas for better access to higher education. I cried because I got called a slut in the midst of all of it.

What hurts is that I wasn’t surprised to be slut-shamed at the protest

I couldn’t believe it. But at the same time, I could.

This is after all the same country where a woman was harassed at a taxi rank for daring to walk there in a mini-skirt.

This is the country where a young woman in Bredasdorp went out for a drink and did not make it home because someone decided that raping her and disemboweling her insides was a good idea.

This is the same country, where a woman was killed on Valentines Day only for him to spend a few months in jail.

This is a country where street harassment is so common that women hardly complain about it.

This is a country where some women have stopped reporting abuse and rape to the police because they have lost confidence in the justice system.

This is the same country with so many problems that I even feel guilty writing about how being slut-shamed at the protest made me feel.

Not even being “one of the boys” could protect me

Not one of the five male colleagues that I was with would’ve been able to protect me from the violence I experienced and continue to experience every day as a black woman living, working and even protesting in South Africa.

When my colleagues weren’t looking for a Pulitzer Prize worthy image, they did try to ensure that I was safe from teargas or a stray rubber bullet, by sticking by my side. But that still didn’t protect me from the violence of being called a slut.

I was so annoyed and exhausted by their constant show of masculine bravado and their empty “Are you okay?” that I didn’t have the energy to explain to them that I was just called a slut. Besides, I knew that if I said anything to one of them, my feelings would’ve been dismissed. I would’ve been told that I should stop being a feminist – that I shouldn’t overreact and that there are much bigger things to be offended by.

There’s a certain kind of harassment that only black women experience

As I was sitting in the car trying to make sense of my feelings, I thought back to the group of white girl protesters I saw earlier in the day.

They wore the cutest little shorts, strappy sandals and trendy sunnies, looking like they had stepped out of a fashion feature on “what to wear to the Rocking the Daisies festival”. I thought about how I envied them not only because they looked cool but because they could probably get away with wearing whatever they wanted without being shamed for it. I was wearing jeans and a t-shirt, not ideal in the Pretoria heat, but it was what I felt like wearing that morning.

It reminded me of something I overheard earlier on while marching. Someone said that Wits SRC president (elect) Nompendulo Mkatshwa was dressed like she was going to lunch with her girlfriends. I didn’t quite understand why her outfit had anything to do with her capabilities as a leader. I wondered whether the same thing would’ve been said had she been white.

It got me thinking of the misogynoir: when sexism and racism intersect and the black woman experiences a special breed of anti-black sexism.

I got called a slut at the protest, but I shouldn’t be at all surprised because it was just another day as a young black woman in a world that has 0% percent respect for your body.

Image by Lwazi Mazibuko