Welcome to the Safe Space Chats Podcast with Madame Speaker. My name is Perseverance Mari, also known as Madame Speaker, also known as the CEO of Self-Love. If you're joining for the first time, welcome to our family of healing, self-love, and motivation. And if you're returning, thank you so much for your continuous love and support. Today, we are going international because I look like an international slay mama!

Now, without further ado, let's get straight into our international standard. Hi, my sister, please introduce yourself.

Hi, my name is Lorraine Tera. I'm from Zimbabwe, but I live here in South Africa.

Welcome, Lauren. Thank you so much for joining us. Tell us a little about yourself.

I'm a hairdresser and an upcoming makeup artist. I also make body lotions for kids with eczema, so that's what I'm into now.

How was the transition? Have you ever stayed in Zimbabwe?

Yes, I grew up in Zimbabwe.

When did you come to South Africa?

I came to South Africa in 2008.

How was that transition?

The transition was very hard because when I arrived, I didn't know anyone. I stayed in Pretoria in Marabastad for a few days, then I went to Cape Town.

So, when you came here, you went from Cape Town?

No, I first arrived in Pretoria, then went to Cape Town.

How was life when you got to Cape Town?

It was really bad. At some point, I wanted to go back home because I didn't know anyone.

What did you want to do when you got here?

I just wanted to be away from home. As the firstborn, my parents fought a lot, so I felt I needed to leave and let them fight by themselves.

Had you finished school by then?

Yes, I had finished matric. I was 18 when I left home. The only person I told was my father, and he supported me even though he knew I was going to a country where I knew no one. It was better than being at home because it was very toxic.

It must have been really bad.

It was really, really bad.

When you arrived in this foreign land and didn't know anyone, where did you start?

I came with a friend whose mother sold Maas and Mar. We stayed with her, but she quickly got a job for her daughter and I had to help sell Maas every day. It was bad because she couldn't offer me anything, even though we expected her to help us both.

Then you went to Cape Town?

Yes, I called a guy I was dating from high school who lived in Pretoria. He sent me money for the bus to Cape Town. When I arrived, he wasn't happy to see me and told me his brother would pick me up. I didn't see him for two weeks.

And you were still dating?

Yes, but it was tough. I was staying with his sisters and it was very different from home. I didn't understand how people operated here.

How did you survive all that?

I reminded myself why I was here and focused on surviving much better than when I'm at home yes so after working in Cape Town, when did you come this side actually? I came back in 2012. My friend from Cape Town told me that since I was struggling there, why not come back to Pretoria where things were better. She was doing well, working at Ocean Basket, and she offered me a place to stay while I looked for a job. So, with the little money I had saved, I moved to Pretoria.

I stayed with her for a week, but she soon demanded rent, even though she knew I didn’t have money for it since I spent what I had on transportation. She then took my nice clothes as payment for the days I stayed. One morning, she told me to leave so she could lock her door, packing my remaining clothes in those ghamas bags. I had no place to go and didn’t know anyone in Pretoria.

During that week, I tried looking for a job in Hatfield with a Zimbabwean girl I met. I took her number using a small phone and later called her from the park, explaining my situation. She said she lived with her sisters but would ask if they could accommodate me. They agreed, and I stayed with them for about six months while searching for a job. Although I attended interviews, nothing worked out. In return for their help, I took care of their kids and did household chores, which I didn’t mind since I was used to it.

Eventually, my uncle came to South Africa to buy a car, and I told my parents I wanted to come back home as things weren’t working out. Returning home without anything was tough, and after three days, I went back to South Africa. Being home reminded me of my parents’ constant fighting since my childhood, which made me realize I couldn’t stay there.

Upon returning to South Africa, I went back to the same place where the lady who initially helped me was staying. After a month, I found a job in a Nigerian wholesale shop selling high pieces, where I met my ex-husband. We worked together for almost two years, becoming friends and eventually starting a relationship, which we kept secret due to company rules. When the owner found out, we had to choose who would leave, and I decided to quit.

I then opened my own shop with my savings, but it wasn’t successful. I moved the shop from Melod Mafas to NY House, hoping for better results. However, my ex-husband blamed me for the shop’s struggles, accusing me of hiding money, which wasn’t true. Although the NY House shop did better, things worsened when he stopped working, and we couldn’t pay rent. I wanted to manage in our current place, but he insisted on moving to a cheaper half-room, which didn’t make sense to me due to the costs of utilities and my pregnancy. I wouldn't cope staying in a place with a lot of people. MH, so I remember back then he packed his bags. It was like a joke. He said, "I'm leaving." I was two months pregnant at the time. He had a friend who lived nearby. I went to tell him what had happened, that he left because he said I liked to spend money a certain way. We begged him to come back.

He returned after already paying rent for a place he found, but then came back home. So, at two months pregnant, we moved. I agreed to stay in a half-room. Things got really bad. I closed the shop and started working for a South African lady, cleaning her apartment. I tried to hide my pregnancy so she wouldn't fire me, thinking I couldn’t clean well. But she eventually noticed.

It was during Christmas when she bought me a present. She said, "Lorine, next year my daughter will clean the house. Just rest. I know you're pregnant, but after you deliver, you're welcome to come back." MH, but during that time, since he wasn't working and the shop wasn't doing well, the money I earned was used to pay rent. He was doing this DStv installation thing but wasn't bringing in much. I figured we had to start somewhere. I gave birth, and a week before, he got a job at the Nigerian Embassy. Things started improving. He was driving for the Consul as a personal driver. Things got better, but then he started changing.

After giving birth, I saw a message on his phone. He told a girl he couldn’t buy what she wanted because his wife just gave birth and he had no money. It pained me, but I thought at least he was honest about our financial situation. However, as a driver, he changed. He believed I spent too much money. He'd bring home grocery adverts with everything itemized and priced, down to the cents. If I spent more than listed, he'd call me, accusing me of not knowing how to manage money. It felt like abuse, but I hoped he'd stop one day.

I got a job at a salon in Hatfield, a student area. I didn’t monitor household expenses since he said I could use my money, and he'd handle the rest. I decided not to hire a nanny and instead brought my younger sister from home to help with my son. She stayed with us for five years, studying electrical engineering.

In 2017, there were visas for visiting TB Joshua. People testified about it, so I wanted to go. We were also building in Nigeria, so he got me a visa. I left my younger sister with him and went to Nigeria. Before going, I called his parents, and they seemed supportive, but privately, they told him it wasn’t the right time for me to visit. They wanted us to finish building the house first. I couldn’t see his family in Lagos, so I stayed in a hotel, feeling hurt and isolated. I didn’t call anyone, just went to church and returned.

At the airport upon my return, I noticed he looked unwell. He said we'd talk at home. At home, he revealed my sister was pregnant. I was shocked she hadn't told me herself. We were close, and I never thought she’d hide anything. I asked if it was his child, but he denied it. She explained it was for a guy I didn't know. I was disappointed she didn’t wait to finish her studies before getting pregnant. I called my parents, who wanted her to come home and explain.

She went home, but when she returned to South Africa, she didn’t come to my house. I was worried, checking if her bus had arrived. Her boyfriend answered her phone, saying she was with him. I sensed something more was wrong. My husband’s anger about her pregnancy didn’t make sense. I suspected there was more to the story since I wasn’t home much due to my job.

I only came home to gather my belongings. I tried to talk to her, but she told me not to force her into anything she didn't want to do. This was the last thing I expected from her. She immediately went to stay with her boyfriend. My husband would get extremely angry whenever her name was mentioned, in a way I couldn't understand.

The only time I spoke to her was when her boyfriend called me. He said, "Lauren, please come help us. She's in the hospital and wants to have a C-section." I knew she was due to give birth, but I hadn't spoken to her throughout her pregnancy. She had distanced herself from me, and I didn't know where she was living. But as her sister, I decided to go to her.

When she gave birth, I offered to take her home from the hospital. I thought it would be a chance to find out where she was staying and help her since she had a C-section. But she insisted we go to my house so I could bathe the baby, and then she would take a taxi home. I was concerned about taking a newborn baby on public transport, especially since it was impractical and unsafe. Eventually, I convinced her to let me take her to her house, and from then on, I would visit regularly to help her and the baby.

Throughout this time, whenever I mentioned to my husband that I was going to see my sister, he would get angry. He couldn't understand why my sister had distanced herself. He seemed to take it personally, but I didn't pay much attention to it. My sister's boyfriend wasn't working, and they were struggling. I would secretly take food from my house and deliver it to her because she was too proud to ask for help.

One afternoon, my sister visited me, and I packed some groceries for her. My husband didn't say anything at first but later demanded I replace everything I had given her. He accused me of enabling her decisions. He was furious and made me buy back all the items, insisting I couldn't sleep in the house until I did. This made me realize there was more to his anger.

My husband was often away, driving for diplomats and working other jobs. He became increasingly secretive, even staying in hotels without telling me. His behavior became more suspicious, and I started to worry about his safety. One time, I couldn't reach him for two days and had to track him down at a hotel where he was working with diplomats. He accused me of trying to embarrass him, but I was just concerned for his well-being.

Things got worse when he started driving for a taxi service and doing side hustles. He would leave for days, and when he was home, he was controlling about our expenses. During the lockdown, he suggested we try internet dating to make extra money. Reluctantly, I agreed, and we both set up profiles.

I met a Nigerian doctor living in the UK on one of the dating apps. He was gentle and understanding, and our conversations became a welcome escape from the turmoil at home. My husband knew about my interactions and even helped me respond to messages, as the plan was to make money from these online relationships. However, he started getting jealous, especially of the doctor, and began recording our conversations without my knowledge.

One day, the doctor sent money via Western Union, using my friend as a proxy. This escalated my husband's jealousy, and he accused me of losing focus on our original goal. Despite our agreement, he felt threatened by my growing bond with the doctor, even though I never intended to betray him.

Throughout this ordeal, I realized my husband's anger and controlling behavior had deeper roots. His jealousy and secretive lifestyle created a toxic environment, making it clear that our relationship was falling apart. Despite everything, I tried to maintain a sense of normalcy for the sake of our son, but the strain was becoming unbearable.

Her FNB account, so I'm not sure if he took offense because this guy sent a lot of money. It was 15,000 during lockdown, and we had nothing in the house. I told him, let's use the entire 15,000 to buy necessities for the house, which we did. The second time, the guy bought us phones, saying our camera quality was poor. He sent phones. I wasn't really asking for anything; he would willingly offer.

Then he started recording me whenever we were together. One day, he said I needed to stop what I was doing because I was losing focus. The guy wanted to send 50,000, and I thought, let's let him send it, then I would stop because I had been talking to him for months. But he said it wasn't possible. I told the guy my ex was back because I didn't want to ghost him. He was nice, and I didn't know how to tell him that while he was accusing me, he was doing the same thing.

One day, we were fighting, and he told me to stop. I said I wasn't sleeping with anyone; it was an agreement. I wanted to receive the money to help at home, then stop. He said he was leaving. He started acting differently, suggesting I find my own place while he'd pay the rent. But I couldn't do that; I proposed we start over and figure out what makes us happy. He didn't get it, saying I was forcing him into something.

In February 2020, he said he was leaving. He was always the type to pack his bags and say he was leaving but would stay because of the child. Things were awkward at home. I hadn't ended things with the guy because I wanted the money. One day, he started packing, saying he was taking our son to Johannesburg, then to Nigeria. I ran out with my son, and he chased us with his car. We found refuge in a Pakistan shop. They threatened to shoot him if he didn't leave us alone.

I wanted to report him to the police, but when I got there, I couldn't bring myself to do it. He called my sisters, saying he didn't know why I was running. That night, he said he wouldn't stay if it wasn't for our child. He stayed, but things were awkward. He had already taken my documents—school papers, certificates, my child's birth certificate. He was slowly taking things without me realizing.

When he finally left, I didn't beg like before. I called him, apologizing, but he wasn't coming back. He knew the damage he'd done and had already rented another house. A girl came to my house for a hair appointment, and I opened up to her about my situation. She turned out to be his girlfriend. I didn't know until later.

I tried different methods to get him back, even going to a lady who prays for people on a mountain. I was desperate. One day, I saw his car parked near my house. I stopped the taxi and saw the girlfriend getting into his car. He embarrassed me, telling me to get out of his car.

At home, things were still tense. He would come with an auntie, who he claimed was protecting him. My aim was to bring him back home. I did everything, praying, fasting, but he told me to stop because it wouldn't bring him back. He mocked me, saying he would only return if I cried blood. I begged, knelt, but it didn't work.

I called his parents, but it was pointless. Each time I went to church or prayed, he'd call and insult me, saying he'd never come back. I felt like I was putting fire on fire. Calling Nigeria was expensive back then, no WhatsApp. It was a struggle, and I felt completely defeated.

These old folks, they don't have WhatsApp. Even my mother would say, "I'm on a motorbike, I'll call you back." But nowadays, these people don’t want to take your calls, they don’t want to take mine either. It was really bad.

We were a family where people would come over to eat. I loved cooking and was always excited to try new recipes for Nigerians. Guests would come to our house and say, "Our wife, you know how to cook. Did you make this?" We were that kind of family, hosting parties and having people over to eat. 

When everything happened, I’d go through my phone contacts and start calling. "Pastor, please call Fat, let him come back home." Someone would say, "Aisha, I'll call you, let me talk to him." But, 100% of those people, none of them ever got back to me saying they had spoken to him. 

I remember staying alone for two months while he was gone. He came back just before my son's birthday in April. I was sitting down, and he kept telling me I needed to move out, but where was I going to go? I was only relying on clients for house calls; I wasn’t working. 

Then, one day, I saw a group of movers, about five guys, coming in with moving supplies. I couldn't do anything in the house; I couldn't clean or do anything, I was just lethargic. He told me to pack. I remember me and my son putting things in black bags. I was thinking, there's no way he’s going to leave me without a roof over my head. We packed everything, including my clothes, into black bags. He took everything from the house, but told me I could take what I wanted. 

At that time, I couldn't think clearly. I felt like I lost my memory. I was fasting a lot, but not in a spiritual way. I went to different prophets daily, seeking help. One prophet almost tricked me. He came to the house to pray for me, saying the guy left because there was no network. He was touching me, asking if I felt anything. I was too stressed to feel anything. Then, he saw condoms in the drawer and asked about them, hinting he wanted to use them. That’s when I realized his intentions and told him no. He left after I paid him 250 for transport.

My son told me, "Mommy, you can’t piece back together broken love or a broken mirror. This guy is gone." I had two dreams before everything happened, showing me he was leaving. But I kept telling myself he'd come back, thinking the devil is a liar.

When they were removing the curtains and everything, I was so stressed I couldn't think. People were bringing things downstairs, and I went down pretending to throw away trash. I asked the security about his car, planning to deflate the tires. But he had changed the tires and tightened the valves. 

While trying to deflate the tires, he saw me from the window and came out. I was trying to open the valves but couldn’t. He probably thought I was trying to put a spell on the car. He hit me with the car as he reversed, and I fell against the wall. From somewhere, I got the strength to break the car’s windows, mirrors, radiators, everything. He drove away with a damaged car.

The next day, he came back to finish moving. He had friends with him and they said, "We can’t leave you here in this state; you need to stay with your younger sister." They gave me 1.5 to find a place, but I needed someone to take care of me. His plan was to take my son because he said I wasn’t fit enough. He even called the police on me for damaging the car, but the police didn’t arrest me.

I stayed with my sister. The next day, he thanked her for accommodating us. I was sleeping on a small bed in the dining room. Seeing him, I got so angry. I took an electric cord and hit him. I felt like he robbed my life from me. He called the police again, but my sister stopped me from hitting him further. 

He called my father, saying he didn’t want me anymore and that I was eating his food for free. My father asked if I was alive and when assured, told him to send his account number for money if he wanted to take our son. My father’s words made me angrier, feeling disrespected.

I started staying with my younger sister, who, along with her husband, sometimes mocked me. I was filled with anger, even considering killing him. One day, I approached some guys at a park, driven by anger. His actions and the way he flaunted his new life fueled my thoughts of revenge.

I went and knocked on the car window, remember after I broke the car, he fixed it with that thing you think I cannot do. I went and knocked on the window, and as he rolled it down, he saw me. The car almost mashed my leg as he drove off. I'm like, wow, so this guy is living nicely, dressing well, and it used to hurt me a lot. How can he enjoy life while he ruined mine? 

I spoke with some guys and told them I needed a job done. They said it would cost 1.5. I remember buying them alcohol, thinking, "Tomorrow, before I sleep, I'm sorry. I'm trying to take you seriously." They were drinking Black Label, and I bought eight bottles for all of them. They said, "Before you sleep, send us a picture of this guy and where he stays." By that time, I knew where he was living. That night, as I was about to sleep, I got calls from the guys. Suddenly, I had a revelation: "Soline, do you want to be the first to kill someone in your own family?" That thought saved him. They said no one would ever know what happened to him because they planned to make him give back everything he took, then dispose of him in a drainage with stones. If they hadn’t told me how they’d do it, I might have agreed. But knowing their plan, I couldn't be the first to kill someone, no matter how painful it was. 

The guy started threatening me, saying I made them arrange things, now I wasn’t following through. I just didn’t answer them. I gave them money for alcohol but not the 1.5. From that time, every time I saw a blue car, I felt sad, thinking maybe it was him, maybe I didn't see the plate number well. It took time for me to heal. Where I stayed with my younger sister, if she saw me crying, she’d laugh and say, "Is that not what you wanted? So why are you crying?" I used to cry in the bathroom. My child was the only one there for me. 

During those three months with my sister, they cooked masja every day. My son, used to a different life, said, "Mom, if I’m to eat with amas, it’s better." He developed a love for amasi. For me, it was hard to eat. They’d cut a wheat brick in half, put a lot of milk, and force me to drink. It was tough, and I lost a lot of weight. I never went out where people would see me. When people saw me, I’d say I was gyming, but it looked like I was sick. 

One day, since my child was wearing my clothes, I wanted to buy him some. I went to a place selling secondhand clothes. Immediately, I saw a Nigerian guy, and I started crying, unable to select clothes. He asked why I was crying, and I told him my story. He asked what I was buying, and I said a small trouser and shirt for my son. He gave them to me for R50  and asked me to come back the next day. 

The following morning, he had six black bags of clothes ready for me. He let me select more, but I didn’t realize he was giving them to me. As I was leaving, he said, "Carry those things; they are for you." He wanted me to start over. I walked with those clothes from one salon to another, selling them. They sold out in three days. I returned the money, but he said it was for me to start over and I could stock from him, keeping the profit.

From there, I managed to open my own flat. As I sold clothes, I told my sister it was a good business, but she wouldn’t join me. After three months, she said my spirit wasn’t good around her and asked me to find another place to stay. I had saved enough money to open a one-bedroom flat, where my child and I could stay. My sister only hired a van for me and paid 100. She didn’t even see where I was moving to. I started staying by myself with my child, selling clothes, and doing hair. 

One day, by the gate, I met two school girls and told them I did hair. They asked for my number, and that’s how I started doing their hair. Their mother, who sold caramelized seeds, needed a driver, and I agreed to drive her bakkie for 700. 

Working with her, I traveled to many places and forgot about my ex. My son was well taken care of, and I had someone to look after him when I was at the market. But sometimes, markets weren’t enough, so I decided to go back to doing hair, something I loved. Meeting people and hearing their stories inspired me. 

I even started making body lotions because my son had eczema, and I couldn’t afford treatment. His skin improved, and people began noticing. My son advertised my work at school, even suggesting I make flyers. He would tell his teachers about my hairdressing skills. 

One day, he saw his father buying airtime. His father greeted him, but my son cried, feeling ignored. I told him to think of it as just someone behind him in the shop. 

Since then, doing hair has made me happy, and my clients have become like family. I also make body lotions, and my son helps me with advertising. I want to be great for my son and show him that I can succeed despite the challenges we faced.

I may not be able to raise this boy alone. Let me contact him and explain that things are not okay and I need support. I took him to the social workers, and he told them plainly that if the day Lorine gave birth, he had died on his way to see her, the boy would still survive. So, they should live as if he's not there—a real jerk. From there, I decided to make an agreement: he could come see the boy and whatever. I thought it would be good for the boy not to feel deprived of seeing his father. He offered to pay for the second term of school. I thought if he paid for the second term, he might continue paying school fees and could take the boy on weekends. I was considering co-parenting.

Last year, during the holiday, he called and said his friend was graduating, and he wanted to take Roland to Cape Town. I reminded him that it was a flight risk for Roland since he had taken Roland's passport and birth certificate. The passport is Nigerian and has his name on it, making it a flight risk. I refused and said he could take Roland to the mainland and bring him back, but not outside the country. How would I know he would return from Cape Town? He accused me of not trusting him and threatened to stop paying school fees. I told him it wouldn't make a difference since he had only paid once in four years. He left for Cape Town and told me never to call his number again.

Since then, I haven't bothered calling him. Sometimes I look at my child and think about how his father isn't concerned about him. I used to call him from different numbers, but I've stopped that. I've realized there are other single mothers out there who are managing and surviving with their kids. My child tells me, "Mommy, you can never mend a broken glass, but you can start somewhere." Even when I struggle with money, I ensure my child goes to school, we have a roof over our heads, and some savings. That's what matters most.

Now, as I work doing hair and making body lotions, I'm happy. People are often surprised that my child is mine because he's so clever and brilliant, even in school. He reminds me to pray and encourages me to work harder. He tells me to save money because if something happens to me, he needs to be secure. I'm saving for his education and future.

My sister, your story inspires me. You've gone through all this in a foreign land. If you were at home, it might have been easier. There was a time my mother came here, and my husband bought her groceries. But when I told her about my situation, she never called to check on me. She only advised me to keep begging him to come back. I've realized that I don't have a family who values me; they only wanted me when I had something to offer.

It's essential to turn your table upside down to see who remains. Difficult times show you who truly cares. Your story inspires me because, despite everything, you are still here by God's grace. Before we end, could you share some advice for someone in the situation you were in four years ago?

Whenever you feel uncomfortable in a marriage, it's better to leave early than too late. It's like a ticking time bomb—they know where to hurt you when you're least aware.

Thank you so much for sharing. It's important to spread the message that you need to stay where you are wanted and leave if you're not, to protect yourself and your child. Imagine you could have ended up in jail, and what about your child then?

Another thing that kept me going is that sometimes people will lend you money, and if you can't repay it, they curse you. It wasn't my intention to fail, but circumstances were tough. It motivated me to work harder. As a single mother, people often don't respect you; they think you're out to take advantage.

Where can people get in touch with you?

You can find me on Facebook and TikTok as Aisha Lorine T. On Instagram, I'm Aisha La. That's where I sell my body lotions, hair, and wigs.

Thank you so much. I'll visit your page, even though we still have the studio, and your hair looks beautiful. Thank you for joining us. And a big shout out to Hydroquench for sponsoring us with water, Crown Light for dressing me, eHair Studio for the hair, and sStudio for being our home. We love you. Thank you.