“My Name Was Karobo Mokoena”
Johannesburg, Gauteng, October 19, 2022
I remember that day. The sun was bright, the city alive with movement, and I was just 20, full of energy, hope, and the promise of a future I was determined to build.
I had a life ahead of me, full of dreams, learning, and the chance to grow. I trusted the people around me, believing in safety, in community, in protection. But none of that mattered in the end.
He was someone I thought I knew, someone who promised care but delivered harm. That day, violence arrived in a moment that should have been ordinary. I was attacked, and there was no escape, no chance to defend myself.
There was no warning. No one to protect me. The world I trusted collapsed in a single act of cruelty. My life was stolen, and the grief left behind cannot be measured.
I was only 20. I had family, friends, and a name. I was a young woman full of potential, who believed she could live freely and safely. But I was taken, leaving sorrow, shock, and outrage behind.
My name was Karobo Mokoena. I was vibrant, hopeful, and trusting. And I was taken too soon.
Remember me.