A repost from November 2010.
There are so many factors that shape who I am. And who I am constantly becoming. Life, my family, relationships, circumstances, choices, my faith, my personality, decisions, events. Today marks the anniversary of a pivotal event in my life.
November 12 fell on a Friday in 1999. It was a normal working day in Cape Town for me. I was the PR manager for an NGO that trained unemployed people to start their own small businesses. My work took me all over the Peninsula to visit training centres and fledgling enterprises. Trainees learnt business skills to run spaza shops (small retail businesses from their homes), or skills such as sewing, leatherwork, knitting or butchery, to run a business from home. It was rewarding work, and I loved my job.
On this Friday, I had an appointment to go and meet up with a new entrepreneur in his home in Guguletu, to hear about his new business. I had been given directions to get there, although road names didn’t feature too strongly: “Turn left at the school and go down and when you get to the station turn right.” I had a good idea where I needed to go, as I was familiar with the area, and I double-checked with the new entrepreneur’s trainer where I needed to go, and off I went.
I took the main route off the highway, Duinefontein Road, that heads through Manenburg and on towards Guguletu. Manenburg is notorious in the Western Cape for gang activity, and I always drove through the area with due vigilance and caution. As I headed towards Guguletu I couldn’t find any of the landmarks, and it was no longer clear to me where I needed to go. After going backwards and forwards a few times, and nearly running out of road, I chose not to venture into the unknown. I decided to go back to the office to get better directions and reschedule my meeting.
I drove back along Duinefontein Road. Cape Town had recently been hit by a freak tornado, Manenburg being the area most acutely affected by its brief appearance. Many houses had been destroyed, three people had been killed and a number had been left homeless. There were a few makeshift, tented camps where people lived until their homes were rebuilt. One such camp was on the grounds of a school that I drove past.
I looked at the brown tents and felt sad that people had lost their homes. I was also aware that there were hundreds of school children pouring out of the school and across the road. I wondered why they were finishing so early (it was mid-morning), I was concerned that many were crossing the road without checking what traffic was coming and going. It was in the middle of those thoughts that I heard a gunshot. And then a sound I can’t describe – perhaps a thwang – as a bullet hit my windscreen and I was showered with shavings of glass.
The bullet ricocheted off my windscreen without penetrating it. The trademark spiderweb left by the bullet on my windscreen was in line with my head. I thought, “I’ve been shot at. And God’s protected me. Perhaps I should go to the police station.”
I didn’t look to see where the shot had come from, I didn’t stop or slow down or speed up, I just carried on driving and thinking logically what I needed to do next. I knew the police station was just down the road and to the right. As I approached the intersection, I felt it would be unsafe to turn down that road. So I continued on to Guguletu to go to the police station there.
All the while, I felt calm and just kept thinking, “God’s protected me. And I need to report this.”
I turned down the road to go to Guguletu police station, and when I was about to park my car, it suddenly hit me, “I’VE BEEN SHOT AT AND I’M TERRIFIED AND I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO OR WHO TO SPEAK TO. AND I’M SO SCARED.” I began to shake and sob and my face and cheeks wobbled beyond control.
I turned my car around, and decided to drive back to my office. By now, my legs were shaking too and I don’t know how I managed to drive, or see through the tears.
I still felt the need to report this to the police, so I went to Mowbray police station, near my office. I cried all over the front desk, I could hardly get the words out, and the kind and patient officer took my statement and gave me a case number. I asked her if she wanted to see my car, and she said no. I felt sad for the state of Cape Town, and that more attention would have been paid to this in a more peaceful world.
I drove quietly back to my office, my colleagues and friends were astounded and open-mouthed and didn’t really know what to say. Then hugs and words of comfort abounded.
As an amusing aside, one of my colleagues told me to drink sugar water.
“It’s good for the shock. My mother’s sister-in-law’s nephew took sugar water after a cupboard fell on him, and he’s never had nightmares.”
I was able to chuckle at that, as I called my husband to tell him what had happened. I had stopped crying, but started again when I spoke to him. He came to me right away. And then I went and fetched my boys and went home. My boys were so shocked, but were just glad I was fine. Thank the Lord children don’t agonise over what if – I was there and I was fine. And that’s all that mattered.
It was a strange and scary and surreal experience telling people about what had happened, dealing with my own reaction but wanting to protect everyone else from feeling sad. Or anxious.
My husband, as a trained trauma counsellor, insisted on debriefing me that evening. We sat, cross-legged and facing each other on our bed, as he talked me through what had happened and asked me strategic questions about how I’d felt and what I’d thought. I know, without doubt, that that session was just exactly right. I’ve never had flashbacks, or nightmares, and I honestly haven’t relived that moment with anything but gratitude. My body had its own reaction six months later, when I experienced a series of panic attacks, but they were short-lived and I guess my body needed to vent.
Oh, and I didn’t ever get to do that interview. I just couldn’t.
In the paper the next day, we read of an off-duty policewoman who was shot at – and injured – in her car in the vicinity of my event. It was attributed to a gang initiation ritual. Perhaps that was the purpose of the bullet that hit my car. I don’t know where it came from, I don’t know where it was going. I’ll never know if I was caught in cross-fire or if the bullet was meant for me. All I do know, and am forever grateful for, is that the bullet didn’t have my name on it.
Sunshine signing off, with gratitude, for today.
10 thoughts on “Why I’m still grateful for today”
I don’t think I read this one before, but I’m you’re okay! What a scary thing to happen. I’m glad your husband was trained in how to deal with crises like this, so he could talk you over the feelings. I don’t blame you for not doing that interview, though!
Thanks, Debbie – it was scary, and quite surreal.
Isn’t it wonderful that a terrifying moment can, after the trauma has setled, really turn your life back to the important stuff…like family, friends, please and thank you, and share your toys, and all the things we learned in KG (ok maybe thats a little too far… but…) We’re also grateful! Thanks again for sharing (again) this experience.
Very true, Mr tangerinelizard. It puts stuff in perspective, doesn’t it? Thank you for being grateful too! 🙂
How terrifying! So glad this had a happy ending, and you didn’t suffer from nightmares! These moments give a clear picture of what is important!
Thanks, Darlene. So true.
That was a scary experience, Sunshine. Just while reading your retelling of it I could feel the hairs on the back of my head stand up.
So wonderful that you were able to parlay this experience into one of gratitude!
True, jacquelin – it’s good to be able to experience the memory as one of gratitude.
Prior to retirement, I worked in banking in Los Angeles (the Bank Robbery Capital of US). We were often robbed, and the bank always offered counseling to anyone that wanted to accept it. Probably the worst experience was a takeover by four teenagers. While one vaulted the counter, one tried to open the safe, one rifled the manager’s office – and one stood by me at the New Accounts desk, ruffling my hair with the barrel of his handgun.
Of course I was scared (I’m not stupid), but once I got home that evening, I stepped into the shower, braced my hands against the tile, and replayed the whole thing … but this time, I was the exterminator “Lie down, on your face. Are you moving, talking, looking around?” Pow! another one for the chop.
All the other employees visited the counselor, who eventually came to me, since I’d not made an appointment to see her. I explained I’d dealt with it, in my mind, in my own way, and she conceded it seemed to be working for me.
I’ve not forgotten that afternoon, but I’m the one that hasn’t had nightmares, nor have I needed to take time from work.
God bless, Christine
Oh, most unbelievably, the kids were caught, but not prosecuted, because apparently their lawyer(s) convinced the the judge they didn’t realise what they were doing was wrong !
Hi Christine – that sounds like a really scary experience. Glad to hear you came through it unscathed … and thanks for sharing your experience. I can’t believe the outcome – they didn’t realise what they were doing was wrong? That is outrageous! So wrong on so many levels – wow!
Great to meet you!