Her scream, purposeful and life-giving.
Her scream a sign of new life, changing the world forever.
Her scream gives birth to her scream.
A new life a promise of untapped potential.
A new life of phenomenal power.
A new life shut down.
Born a girl.
Destiny: service to men.
Destiny: sold for money, trafficked for gain.
Destiny: genital mutilation – a girl child, treasure and target.
Destiny: married off for family security.
Destiny: abused, raped, and sodomised for pleasure and power.
Destiny: not worth educating or investing in.
Destiny: a subject of gratification, not growth.
Destiny: to birth a male child.
Destiny: a gender deemed unworthy of life, yet a giver of it.
Her screams shut off, unheard.
Her screams are yours – Born a girl.
I watched a movie on Sunday evening that has been playing on repeat in my mind. It’s called Brimstone. They say a movie is good if it stirs emotion and leaves a lasting impression. Well, this one certainly did that though not in a good way. I’m still mortified, thinking of the cruelty that women have faced throughout history and still face today. What haunts me most is the sexual cruelty, the total disregard for the role of a woman in both the home and society. Throughout history, women have been seen as sex objects for the gratification of their male counterparts. What amazes me is how we still allow ourselves to be used in this way in advertising, in media, in how we portray ourselves online. The obsession with self-adulation and body image just to gain followers, likes, or approval doesn’t always come from men. It comes from us. We have internalised a stereotype: that we are ornaments, commodities. And this systemic abuse continues because many young women struggle to accept themselves, surrounded by messages that beauty sells and that value is found in being looked at.
So, my mind went here: of all the brutal things the girl child endures from birth to old age, why do we allow our story to be reduced to sexual gratification?
A few months ago, I wrote about a conversation I had with a group of young girls. They spoke about workplace victimisation and harassment. I realised: this isn’t just about history or past generations it’s about choice. We live in a modern society, in the age of artificial intelligence and trips to the moon. Yet we still don’t respect women. And worse women don’t respect each other.
Why do we continue to believe the lie: Born a girl. Worthlessness forged in pain.
I read a quote recently: “I helped a man climb a mountain. When we made it to the top, I realised I had, too.” A woman posted that. And it struck me. The real problem in our society isn’t just men. It’s the lack of women standing up for other women. We blame so much on how men treat us, but we’ve forgotten how to treat each other. There should not be children left homeless, old people abandoned, girls mutilated, toddlers raped. And yet, in all these injustices, somewhere, there is a woman one who could save, could speak, could act. But doesn’t.
Why are we still marching for our voices to be heard, our names remembered, our rights realised while some women in power choose silence? We’ve broken the glass ceiling. Women are represented in parliament. Women are mayors of municipalities. We have more rights, more representation, more opportunity than ever before; yet we’ve never been more exploited.
Why are we not standing up for each other?
Why does a mother turn a blind eye to her daughter’s cry?
Why does a sister ignore her sister-in-law’s pain and abuse?
Why is a girl fighting another girl for a boy’s attention?
Why does a woman pass over another woman in an interview?
Why are female officers silent at gender desks in police stations?
Why are female politicians in rooms where laws are passed and yet they stay quiet?
Why are you breaking her instead of building her, when you, too, were born a girl?
August is a breakthrough month for me. I don’t know if it’s because it follows my birthday or because it’s Women’s Month. Maybe it’s because it was in this month that my husband took his abuse public; a moment he thought he controlled, but where I found my power. In the wake of our separation, amid investigations, sabotage, theft, and character assassination I discovered the power of collective voices. The echo of: “Wathint’ Abafazi, Wathint’ Imbokodo!”
So this Women’s Month, I’m not honouring women by trying to change how men see us.
I’m speaking to us, to women, about how we see each other. What if we simply chose to bring the woman next to us up? Why are we waiting for men to change, when we can be the change? There are still girls having schoolyard fights, using vile names; names we once only heard in rap lyrics or shouted by abusers. Now we’ve picked up the same weapons and turned them on each other.
I think of the poverty women face. Still washing clothes in rivers. Still selling their bodies to survive. Still unable to access clean water, or menstrual products. Still mistreated at clinics by other women. Still turned away by female police officers at their most vulnerable. Still seeing homes broken by affairs with married men because a woman didn’t see another woman as sacred. Still the majority in courtrooms seeking justice. Still the ones standing in grant lines. And yet; we have more female voices in power than ever before. Woman why are you not showing her any compassion? Why are we not building her up, instead of breaking her down? You, too, were born a girl.
Every August, South Africa commemorates Women’s Month a time to recognise, uplift, and honour the immense contributions of women. But celebration is not enough. Women’s Month must also be an urgent call to action. This month draws its strength from the 1956 march, when more than 20,000 women stood against apartheid pass laws. Their collective cry “Wathint’ Abafazi, Wathint’ Imbokodo!” became a rallying call for generations. Yes, there has been change in the last 30 years. Even this article exists because women before me stood up. As a coloured woman, once voiceless both as a race group and a gender, I do not take this freedom lightly. I know my duty: To use my voice, so you can use yours.
Wherever you are, reading this; I pray that everyday heroines rise. Teachers ensuring girls stay in school. Doctors and nurses caring for communities. Social workers supporting survivors. Mothers raising sons to be honourable men. Women-led organisations, movements, and advocacy groups must continue. Because real change begins at the grassroots, with compassion, consistency, and courage. You; mothers, daughters, students, entrepreneurs, activists are breaking barriers by choosing to build her up. Take her with you. Don’t see her as competition. Not your marketing tool. Not your stepping stone. Not the voice you silence on your way up. Take her with you. Only you can understand what it means to be born a girl. See her, so she can see another woman in turn.
The future rests on empowering every girl child keeping her safe, educated, and inspired.
This August, let’s turn commemoration into action:
Support women-owned businesses
Demand justice for survivors
Stand for equal pay
Invest in girls’ education and dreams
Amplify her voice. Challenge injustice. Share her story.
Women’s Month is not only a celebration; it’s a rallying cry. Let us honour the rock-solid strength of South African women and girls and commit to shaping a safer, fairer, more hopeful world.
Wathint’ Abafazi, Wathint’ Imbokodo!
By Teresa Green
Relationship and Behavioural Therapist & Master Life Coach – Born a Girl
