Kamogelo Maubane Poet Narrative

Say Her Name And Mine Too

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She trusted him.
Loved him.
Believed in the promise of tomorrow —
but tomorrow never came.

South Africa, our soil is heavy,
carrying too many daughters
laid down before their time.

Her name was whispered in hashtags,
her smile replayed on timelines.
She is every Ayanda, every Naledi,
every Lerato, every Zinhle —
names we say, names we march for,
names carved in our memory.

And I am here too.
A survivor, who walked away before my soul could leave my body.
After threats too many to count:
“If I can’t have you, no one will.”
“I will erase your beauty.”

He tried to break me,
but even God intervened,
made me sick so I could escape,
so I could finally breathe.

Yet, the abuse followed — online, in whispers, in lies.
Claiming I stole what was never his,
trying to rewrite my story.
A man who never built, never worked beyond his comfort,
blowing what little he had chasing illusions.

I did not let him define me.
I did not let him take my life, my passion, my purpose.
I built communities. I created impact.
I became a millionaire through hard work, not his permission.
I was never made by a man — I have always been my own maker.

We are left lighting candles in the dark,
crying: “How many more?”

This Women’s Month,
we will not be silent.
We will say their names —
and ours too.
Each syllable a protest,
each memory a revolution,
each heartbeat a vow:
No more.

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