‘Life has its trials — mine was 15 years’, says Andy Kawa

There are happy endings in movies — but the Andy Kawa trial is not a movie.

It was a reference made by Kawa’s daughter, Celiwe, that put her mother’s years of anguish into perspective.

At 48, Kawa was at the pinnacle of her career.

She had established a successful private investment firm, and her only daughter — a lawyer working abroad — was following in her footsteps by pursuing an MBA at the Wharton School of Business in the US, just as Kawa had done years earlier.

But what seemed like a simple decision at the time to take a stroll along Gqeberha’s beachfront changed her life forever.

“Life has its trials,” the now 62-year-old said.

But Kawa’s biggest trial dragged on for 15 agonising years.

“I have not worked in 15 years. I am now practically destitute,” she said, adding that most days she could not even get out of bed.

“Had I died that day, there would have been a huge funeral with thousands of people. But because I survived, I felt like a leper. And friends are few.”

On December 9 2010, Kawa’s life was violently disrupted when she was raped among the sand dunes at Kings Beach, turning her from an individual with hopes and dreams into another number in SA’s alarming crime statistics. 

And so, the biggest fight of her life began as her journey to some form of justice suffered one setback after another.

Asked if she ever felt like giving up, her answer came quickly — “No!” 

“This man nearly killed me. But while he was holding a knife to my neck, I promised God that if He saved me, I would follow His direction. 

“I believe that God saved my life and I wanted to use this experience to do something positive.

“I wouldn’t say it is God’s will, but what I will say is that I would sometimes want to kill myself, and then be reminded that God saved me.”

It was not only Kawa’s life that was turned upside down.

At 92 years of age, Kawa’s mother, Lulu, found herself seated in a courtroom, staring at the man who had violated her daughter.

“It is painful. I cannot even tell you how painful it is,” she said.

“Andy was completely destroyed. Our own friends and family ran away.”

A pensioner, she said she used to rely on her daughter financially, but now Kawa was also unable to work because of the trauma.

Kawa had been in Gqeberha to visit her mother when she decided on the quick beach walk before her flight back to Johannesburg.

And just as the rape affected the older generation of Kawa women, it had a devastating impact on Celiwe, 34.

“I think it’s almost impossible to understand. It was a change that happened overnight,” Celiwe said.

“I wasn’t in SA and when I got back to the country, my mom came to fetch me from the Gautrain, wearing a burka.

“She didn’t want anyone to see her. She wanted to hide from the world.

“Very few people understand complex trauma. Much like with a death, people say they are sorry and then they disappear and you are left alone.

“Unlike a death, however, where there is some kind of script to help people, there is no script for rape — just profound loneliness.”

In the years that followed, Celiwe forfeited her very promising career abroad to move back home permanently to look after her mother.

While Kawa carries a lot of guilt for that decision, Celiwe said looking after the woman who had raised her was simply something she had to do.

“I think that is the reality of having such a small family, it essentially had to be me. 

“There are some things you have to do out of necessity, but there is no greater privilege than being in a position to help someone you love.”

Celiwe said the public saw her mother in her moments of strength, like when she testified, but they were unaware of the nightmares, the panic attacks and the constant anxiety.

She said Kawa would go into such extreme states of panic she thought ants were crawling on her skin.

“It can make you feel like you are going crazy.”

She said she had created an image in her mind of what her mother’s rapist, Moses Gqesha, looked like.

“At some point I imagined he would have a degree of remorse. But I was so shocked at the complete lack of remorse. He didn’t even pretend.

“You also think monsters are massive in stature, but he was this tiny little man. There was just something so unnatural about sitting in court with him.

“I completely understand that everyone has the right to a defence, but there was such a lack of decorum.

“My mom had to show restraint, and here he was laughing.”

Kawa said her faith, her mother and her daughter were her rock.

“My mother was a feminist before I even knew the word.

“My mom would say ‘God has not given us a spirit of fear but a spirit of courage, love and a sound mind’ — those words have been my rock.”

Kawa said after the attack, Celiwe started looking after her.

“She had to look at me through all those times of depression, she had to bear the trauma of seeing a mother who is no longer functional and living with PTSD.

“I would lie in bed for weeks but the minute it was something to do with this case there was a fire in my belly that made me want to fight — not only for myself, but all women.

“I would watch Al Jazeera [news] and see people suffering more than me, and I would wonder how they would survive their house being bombed.

“I resonated with that — one day you have something and the next you have nothing.

“My observation is based on the fact that people don’t talk to me — or don’t know how to talk to me.

“I live the stigma of being a rape victim.”

When Gqesha was finally arrested in 2022, Kawa said she did not know whether the police had caught the right person.

“But when I saw him, I knew. All those emotions of fear and wanting to run away came rushing back.”

On Thursday last week, Gqesha was sentenced to life behind bars for the eight times he raped Kawa that night.

“The closure of this case doesn’t make me feel any different. What will change my life is when the civil litigation has been finalised, and then I can consider a future.

“Currently, I don’t have a drop of happiness, my crisis is still the same.”

Celiwe said as they were leaving the court on Thursday, they had to fill in their details so they could be contacted should Gqesha apply for parole after serving 25 years.

“And it struck me. Twenty-five years is a long time, but it took us 15 years just to get here.

“People ask how we feel now that the case is over and we can finally move on.

“There are happy endings in movies, but that is not real life. This is not a movie.”

After a prolonged legal battle against the police, the Constitutional Court ruled in April 2022 that the SAPS had been negligent in investigating Kawa’s case.

Despite this ruling, Kawa’s civil case has faced multiple postponements.

In March, she expressed her frustration in an open letter to President Cyril Ramaphosa, highlighting her ongoing trauma.

The Herald