I didn’t know Shadi Rapitso. That can be attributed to the myopic way I think many of us go about our daily working lives in the demanding and rushed environment that is 24-hour news or to the fact our newsroom has expanded to such an extent that it is a maze to navigate, let alone get to know all the people who work there. I do, however, recall her strikingly beautiful face and her waiflike figure as she waltzed through the corridors with poise and purpose.
But not knowing her has not affected the horror and revulsion I feel at how she died. According to reports, a man who had allegedly been stalking her allegedly dragged her from her home, down a flight of stairs and stabbed her to death.
There was an eeriness in the newsroom that day when we arrived for work to learn that one of our own, who’d worked just metres away from us, had been killed in such a barbaric fashion.
Those who knew her well speak of her skill and passion as a political writer and her promise as an investigative television journalist. What a loss to our industry.
Her tragic death allegedly at the hands of a man who had hounded her has again raised pertinent questions that we should all ask ourselves about the people who come into our lives. It reminds us as women that we should always be alert and guarded, even about the most seemingly innocuous overtures, romantic or not.
When the alarm bells ring, let’s not ignore them.
Often, we don’t speak out about the bizarre behaviour of men who pester and harass us, because we don’t want to create a fuss; we hope it will just go away. We don’t want to cause a stir lest we be called names. Such is the society we live in.
I think we are also wary of attracting any sort of attention to ourselves beyond that required of us by our work, yet we are the ones who end up feeling trapped by these unwelcome advances.
We end up with the burdensome task of trying to come up with imaginative ways of keeping potentially psychotic suitors at bay without causing offence. It’s now time we caused a fuss, otherwise we too will pay with our lives.
The sad thing about stalkers is that they don’t all act, look or behave like ogres.
I remember being part of the Talk Radio 702 Eye Witness News investigation team that uncovered the so-called “celebrity stalker” in 2001.
After staking out his house in Pretoria with police until the early hours of the morning, we finally pounced on the man who, for years, had terrorised some of the country’s best-known personalities by sending them lewd or sexually suggestive messages on their phones.
Although he was a senior government official, he fitted perfectly into the movie stereotype of the pathetic, sad, depraved loner who claimed he only wanted to make friends and that’s why he had besieged and terrified women for years.
It was easy to dismiss the letter writer. For months on end in 2004, I used to receive lengthy, nonsensical letters from a Mangaung prison inmate. He, too, used his loneliness as an excuse to infringe upon my space and time.
Initially I was scared but once I’d established from prison authorities that he was safely ensconced behind bars for at least the next 20 years, I ignored him.
But not all stalkers fit into our preconceived notions. There is the high-powered business executive who for three years has insisted on calling me, declaring his undying love — despite the fact that I have told him repeatedly to leave me alone.
Now, on the surface one would never imagine such behaviour from a suave and sophisticated type. The burden of trying to avoid phone calls and changing numbers then becomes yours.
I hate it that I have to be the one who has to change my behaviour and lifestyle because some people are sick.
Let’s not be fooled by social standing or looks: psychotic behaviour comes in all shapes and sizes. Enough now. Shadi’s death has reminded us we need to speak up, take charge and, yes, report to the police, get that restraining order, no matter how cumbersome the process might be. This may not be a foolproof way to ensure our safety but at least it’s a start.