Trigger warning: This article mentions gender-based violence and contains strong language.
Lucinda Evans is a women’s activist from Lavender Hill who has dedicated her life to growing safe spaces of hope for women and children. She chats to MatieMedia’s Aiden Louw about how she celebrates the highs and copes with the lows of working in a hostile field.
“My name is on the wakeup list. Thank you, bra God.” This is what Lucinda Evans writes on her WhatsApp status every morning. Her days usually start at 4am – not because she wants to watch the sunrise, but because she gets called onto gender-based violence (GBV) cases.
“Sometimes it’s the police. Sometimes I go to the hospital to get clients that have come in,” explains Evans.
Philisa Abafazi Bethu, a centre for gender-based violence prevention, began in Lucinda Evans’ home in Lavender Hill in 2008. “For nine years my family didn’t have a home because my home was a community centre,” she says. The centre has since grown and is now in Steenberg. Here Evans sits in her office. PHOTO: Aiden Louw
Evans first dipped her toes in activism at nine years old when she volunteered at the Red Cross Hospital. She now spends most of her days as a director at Philisa Abafazi Bethu (PAB) in Steenberg. She started the non-profit organization (NPO) in 2008 as a safe space for women and children fleeing GBV, but Evans says that she has since opened it up to LGBTQIA+ individuals and heterosexual men.
“I cannot call myself a true gender activist and only focus on vaginas and children,” says Evans. “There are very little services out there for abused men.”
“The space has grown so much from a dining room at Lucinda’s house to this place,” says Jenine Poggenpoel, Evans’ friend, and the financial administrator of PAB.
‘Los my poes af’
Evans describes herself as controversial in her activism and says that a lot of people have called her disrespectful and openly hate her.
“They hate me because I managed to survive for so long when quite a lot of activists suffer from what I call ‘compassion fatigue’,” explains Evans. “I’ve been called a barbaric woman. I’ve been called many names.”“The most extreme thing that I did was the ‘los my poes af’ campaign,” says Evans. “In 2019, I was invited to a very big march. We were in a time where gender activists were just tired […] I had a poster that said ‘los my poes af’ and it caused a big stir.”
Lucinda Evans started her controversial ‘los my poes af’ campaign in 2019. She says that she wore the t-shirt for that entire year. PHOTO: Aiden Louw
Evans then made a t-shirt inspired by the poster with ‘Los my poes af’ written on it, along with the derogatory word for vagina in all 11 official South African languages, as well as sign language.
“When we went to parliamentary meetings the security wouldn’t allow me in. I asked them, do you want me to take my shirt off and walk in my bra? Where is it that it says that you have a dress code?” recalls Evans.
Evans explains that she did not use the word ‘poes’ in its derogatory sense, but rather as an effort to reclaim it and therefore rob it of its harmful powers. “When [they] raped us, did [they] say ‘open your cookie?” explains Evans.
A skimpy government
“One day, when I’m big and can afford flashy lawyers, I will be taking the South African government to the Constitutional Court,” says Evans.
Evans claims that the South African government has failed to protect its women and children. “I keep this government directly responsible for the way [GBV] has been received as pure lip service,” she says.
Evans stood behind President Cyril Ramaphosa at the Am I Next protest in 2019 where she was a speaker. She says that he should be held accountable for lying in his speech that day about the changes he said would be implemented to better protect victims of GBV.
Evans says that she struggles to get funding from the government, despite being a registered NPO.
“We received a little bit of funding from the department of social development for one of our safe houses, but we have two […] We don’t get [enough] funding from the government. I can expand this women’s centre so much more,” she says.
Volunteers from the United States of America are busy working on a children’s literacy program at Philisa Abafazi Bethu. The program was launched on 16 June this year. Pictured above is volunteer Ava Gerdert from The University of Texas at Austin. PHOTO: Aiden Louw
One way in which the centre makes money is by hosting volunteers. Currently, they have students from The University of Texas at Austin in the United States of America (USA) who are working on a literacy program for children at the centre.
“It’s amazing to see Lucinda do so much with so little when it feels like in the [USA], we have so much but do so little,” says Ava Gerdert, one of the volunteers.
Living with the lows
“My space where I find myself as a woman leader… it is a lonely space,” says Evans.
When she joined the One Billion Rising Global Women’s Movement in 2019, she found a holding space. “My international sisters are able to motivate me in the times where I’m like ‘Guys, today I need a cup of coffee and to lay in bed until 6am’,” she says.
Evans also started an informal women’s movement called ‘Her Voice’ in 2013 for women community leaders to come together and debrief.
“It was a space created for women activists to be able to just sit ourselves down and say, ‘What the fuck?’, and to be okay with being vulnerable, and to be crying and saying ‘I don’t have my shit together every day. I don’t have the answers every day’,” says Evans.
Poggenpoel confirms that the job can be challenging at times.
“In this line of work, you must have a passion for what you do. It’s not about you, it’s never about you. So, it can become difficult because the clients can also be challenging. But it’s so rewarding, which brings [me] up again. I’m very happy working here,” says Poggenpoel.
Philisa Abafazi Bethu (PAB) offers surf lessons to the children in their youth program every Friday. They have also started a vegetable garden. Produce from this garden is used in their own kitchens, and to sell to their beneficiaries. This is according to Jenine Poggenpoel, the financial administrator at PAB. PHOTO: Aiden Louw
During the first three years after she opened PAB, Evans often felt defeated. “I wanted to save the entire world,” she says. “But I understand now to take it one person at a time.”
Evans is very busy but has started to take time for herself where she can. “Once every three months I get to do my nails […] This is my little way of doing something for myself. I am learning to have my WhatsApp data off at 8:30 at night […] I try as best as possible on a Saturday just to take three hours for myself and do something. It’s very difficult,” she says.
Evans says that she always feels watched and like she must be on her best behaviour. “Imagine now you see Lucinda Evans walking in a bottle store or a shebeen to buy a bottle of wine… the activist!”
Lucinda Evans treats herself once every three months when she goes to her friend to get her nails done. “And I say to her […] I just want to sit quietly, don’t work too hard or too long on my hands because you know I never have time,” says Evans. PHOTO: Aiden Louw
How to grow a lavender
Evans’ son and daughter are her biggest motivation to continue with the work that she does. “My son is not safe as a young man to walk, and neither is my daughter,” she explains.
Scores of women come to PAB looking for help and Evans describes the situation in the Cape Flats as a mini-scale war.
Evans says her faith as a Christian helps her to cope. Faith in action and belief is what makes her “still see lavender for the hills”.
She hopes that there will come a time where women are safe in South Africa. “That’s my little lavender that I plant every day,” she says.