The Unfair Tax on Being a Woman in South Africa
By Elize Fisher | Founder & Editor-in-Chief, WorkingMama®
Exactly a month ago, the illusion of safety shattered inside my own home. I work from home, a space that is supposed to be a sanctuary where I manage operational timelines, review content structures, and build this publication. But one evening, my daughters and I found ourselves trapped inside our house as six intruders attempted to break in while we were still inside. They systematically cut and removed our electric fencing before jumping over the wall. Just moments later, one of my older daughters arrived home from work. She noticed the fencing was gone and questioned it, completely unaware that six men were waiting on the other side of the wall.
When the police finally arrived, the institutional minimisation began. They took our statements and casually reduced a coordinated, multi-man home invasion to an assumption that the intruders "just wanted the gas bottle outside." The intruders came back a second time that very same night.
A month later, I still live in the grip of that terror. Because I work from home, I am mostly alone during the day, constantly alert to every sound, every shadow, and every shift in my surroundings. The trauma has altered my daily reality so deeply that I have developed a genuine fear of doing the most basic domestic tasks. Just taking out the garbage bins or stepping into the yard to hang out laundry leaves me on high alert. More than anything, I live in constant fear for my daughters, who sometimes knock off late from work. Every evening they commute home, my heart is in my throat. We have been forced to become hyper-vigilant, adding layers to an already exhausting mental load.
THE COST OF HYPER-VIGILANCE
It was while sitting in this heightened state of alertness at my desk last week that my phone lit up. The bodies of nine women have been discovered dumped in public spaces. Among them was Elizabeth "Tsontso" Moselakgomo, a 38-year-old professional and mother who stepped out of her house for a routine late-afternoon jog and never walked back through her front door.
And yet, the official response from law enforcement to these atrocities remains the same patronising script: women are told to "be vigilant," to "not walk alone," and to "take responsibility" for their own protection.
THE QUESTION WE KEEP ASKING WRONG
Why does the responsibility to prevent violation always default to the person most likely to be harmed?
When we founded this publication, our mission was clear: to empower the ambitious corporate woman and entrepreneurial mother to scale her career while navigating the dual realities of family life.
We need to completely flip the script on accountability in this country. The Department of Justice and the South African Police Service must stop minimising crimes against women, stop offering generic condolences, and start treating the terrorisation of women as a national emergency.
More importantly, the burden of prevention must fall squarely on South African men. Safety is not a "women's issue." It is time for men in our professional networks, our private circles, and our families to break the protective silence.
To every professional woman, founder, and mother reading this note from her desk, her office, or her kitchen table: I see your exhaustion, I share your fear, and I refuse to let this publication look away. We will continue to build our businesses and raise our daughters, but we will no longer accept the lie that our survival is our own responsibility to solve.
Now, we demand the right to live safely in our country. Elize Fisher
Founder & Editor-in-Chief
WorkingMama®
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