The Girl Who Survived Her Mother

Title: The Girl Who Survived Her Mother
Author: Moshitadi Lehlomela
Publisher: Tafelberg
Reviewer: Hazel Makuzeni
Readers be warned – this is a no-holds-barred book. It is a deeply distressing read that brought me to tears plenty of times. The sheer abuse the author suffered at the hands of (predominantly) her mother is prime evil. The book shines a spotlight on a taboo subject, that of maternal abuse. As the author affirms, 

“My mother was the greatest perpetuator of misogyny and patriarchy in our household.”
We know about fathers who abuse their children. You read about it daily. It’s on the news, it’s everywhere, it’s in our psyche. But what you seldom hear about is mothers who do exactly the same.
Horrible, ghastly women who do not even deserve the title of mother. Reading this book made me ponder: Why is it so easily assumed that mothers cannot harm their children? Why is there always an explanation as to a woman’s ill-treatment of her kids? Why is there such secrecy in society around maternal abuse? And, ultimately, why are mothers beyond reproach? Author Moshitadi Lehlomela takes you on her harrowing life journey with the women in her life, women
who were meant to protect and love her but betrayed her and stole her childhood. This is her raw truth - facing her past and healing the wound left by her mother.
The author grew up in abject poverty in rural Limpopo, in an underdeveloped village where they relied on water from the river to survive and do laundry. Electricity was too expensive, so the author and her siblings had to gather firewood to keep warm, boil water and prepare food. Her paternal grandmother was too old and fragile to do any meaningful work, and her mother (when not inflicted by ailments) worked the fields. Truth be told, her grandmother was a drunk brute who tormented her grandchildren, calling the author ‘red vagina’ because of her light complexion. She also domineered her daughter-in-law (the author’s mother) and did not hide her hatred for her. Her mother coped through denial. “My mother was my grandmother’s outlet and I was my mother’s outlet,” says Moshitadi.
The birth of her younger brother is a major milestone for the author. She was seven and was tasked with the adult responsibility of raising him. This is the period where her childhood ceased to exist, a period that would haunt her for eternity. She was totally cut off from the outside world, her little world made smaller still. The physical abuse reached extremes, and she was utterly neglected and emotionally abandoned. As a teen however, she did not tire of seeking her mother’s validation and approval. But not only did she not receive any, she was constantly criticised and belittled. Her mother was resentful of her achievements at school and also of her beauty. Imagine someone saying to you, ‘You think you are beautiful? Who is telling you, you are beautiful? They are lying to you.’ For the author, these unfortunate words did not come from a stranger, but were said to her endlessly by her own mother. The very same woman who is supposed to love her unconditionally. She, along with her siblings, were blamed by her mother for ruining her life as she believed she could have been something important in this world had they not come along. This book raises important questions about motherhood and intergenerational traumas. The author, now in a better place spiritually, mentally and physically, works as a mother-wound recovery coach where she helps victims and survivors of maternal abuse heal.