“Armed robbery”. A term bereft of real meaning unless you have lived the experience.

02:30 in the morning. A light shining in my eyes woke me up from a deep sleep. I was hoping to get a solid night’s rest after having worked (although being on holiday) until 11 pm the previous night. What confused me about the light was that it was so small and that the person using it was erratically moving about the room. He took something, which I later realised was my mobile phone, off the bedside table and moved away. I was just awake enough to know that something was amiss. In quick succession, an accomplice entered, my host in whose house I was sleeping appeared from his bedroom, shouting followed, and his son appeared behind his dad.

Stages of denial followed, too quickly to recognise, as one of the perpetrators raised a gun and shot his son — in his early 20s. This happened within 5m from me, all in the same room.

My host is an ex-policeman, experienced enough to understand not to mess with nervous armed assailants. His son has less experience, and although he did not attack the assailants, his movement towards his dad must have made them nervous and suggested to them that he might approach them. At first, I did not know if the shot had hit him. He had in fact taken a shot through the shoulder. By this time, my host’s wife had entered the room.

I am not used to guns. My family never owned one. I have never been exposed to hunting, let alone handguns. I am comfortable operating a gun for target practice, but pointing it at another person with the intent to do harm or kill is completely different. I saw the assailant lift his weapon and heard the shot. I have never experienced such a callous attitude to human life. It has no meaning to them. People are only obstacles to them reaching their objectives, which is to take valuable items that they can sell. What is the meaning of a life? It is only that standing (literally) between them and their objective.

The assailants rummaged through the spare room where I had been sleeping and took my laptop, my camera, and two other cellphones of my hosts. They wanted cash and although they had already emptied my wallet, they instructed me to check if there was more. I told them they can take the laptop, but asked if I may copy the data. They initially agreed, although their nervousness at not recognising an external hard disk caused this to be aborted.

I know, from reading, that these robberies are over as quickly as they start since the perpetrators are highly agitated and nervous. They did not think to take my wallet with a bank card and ask for the PIN.

I kept my head down, not looking at them directly, as that would probably have agitated them even more. They asked if there was any other money or anyone else in the house. My fears rose, as their daughter in her 20s was in another room close by. Many thoughts and fears flashed with lightning succession. If they found her, would they be angry that we had not admitted she was there? Would they want to rape her? If they did, would they do it in front of her parents? All of these fears are based on headlines of regular similar events in South Africa. Oftentimes, violence is involved. Sometimes, this includes sexual violence. At other times it involves extreme cruelty and humiliation. Alcohol and drugs are usually involved — as if that is any excuse for this behaviour.

My hosts and their injured son sat on the bed next to me. They pleaded with the assailants to let them take their son for medical care, while he sat holding his shoulder.

It was over as quickly as it had started. They fled, loot in hand. 10 minutes later the first private security services arrived, thereafter the police.

I am tired from lack of sleep, but will not be able to rest, as my mind keeps running over the events that played out in that room. I did not have the option to rest. Mechanical function took over. There were things I had to get done: report the loss of an office laptop to my employer, get a case number from the police for insurance, organise a new phone. I am on leave — I had to get to my next destination. Without a phone, I could not even phone them to cancel my reservation. Several hours in mobile phone shops did not sort out my problem. I still do not have a working phone. But I went through the motions of doing what needed to be done. Then I set off for my next destination — Leshiba, the most beautiful place in the Soutpansberg — having drunk a Red Bull to ensure that I did not fall asleep while driving. Despite now being in a place of beauty, I struggle to appreciate it. I see it, but it does not touch me in the way that it would have done before. “Before” — such a telling word. Everything prior to that intrusion is “before”.

I arrived here at 17:30, exhausted but unable to rest. My body remained in flight or fight mode. I felt (still feel) dazed, having been unable to process the emotions due to the need to function. “Like a deer in the headlights” comes to mind. I had to go through the motions of managing, but it was mechanical. I thought of what I had learned about trauma, and realised I need to allow the emotions to be felt. Suppression is negative. Yet, some level of suppression is necessary to function. How long do I suppress, and how much? What will happen when I eventually release my emotions?

The most overwhelming emotion I felt in those 10 to 15 minutes is absolute powerlessness. My life was in the hands of a stranger who feels nothing for human life. The least provocation (who knows what his triggers are? — excuse the pun) could have caused him to shoot again. Everything was on a knife’s edge, and there was no way of telling which way the dice would fall.

Coupled with that is fear of what they would do. Would they kill me? Would they kill someone in front of me? Would my host’s son die from his wounds? (Thankfully not — the wound was not serious). Would they rape? Would they force us to look as they raped someone?

What about my child? What if I am shot this morning and I am no longer there for her? I had last seen her six days ago. If I am killed, what should I do in that room with my last few minutes to make it a life worth having lived? If I get out of this alive, what next? I have heard of other people’s experiences. Will my processing of this be different? The trauma I have been through before was not like this. It gives me fears for my own daughter. What do I need to do to protect her if my own house is invaded?

This writing is part of my attempt to process what happened. Beyond giving names to the emotions and talking to people who understand and care, I cannot yet see a clear path forward.