My Only Story. Deon Wiggett
target’s trust. He watches and learns to identify the kid’s needs and weaknesses, so that, in stage three, he can fulfil those needs. This is usually accomplished through the giving of gifts and attention and the appearance of care. It is the point where a bullfrog becomes a kid’s hero.
In the fourth stage, the target is isolated. The groomer uses his special relationship with the kid to get him alone, because it is hard to rape a child in company. This is often achieved by also ‘grooming’ the kid’s parents; he must secure their trust too and acclimate them to his presence in their child’s life.
Once the two start getting alone time, stage five can commence: inch by inch, the adult will start to sexualise the relationship. The child needs to become desensitised to sexual matters. First, just a quick verbal reference to something. Then maybe they change together, or pee next to each other. The paedophile knows all too well that children are naturally curious – he will dangle something in front of them; arouse their curiosity; establish their sense of equality. Within his target, the groomer creates the illusion of agency, so that by the time pants end up around ankles, the victim thinks he is an adult and an equal participant. Little by little, the groomer shapes the child until he can do whatever he wants to him. Until the boy becomes the sex object the man wanted.
The final stage of grooming exists to maintain control. The abuser shames the kid, blaming him for what was done to him. He may threaten him with exposure and humiliation. And because he has placed himself at the centre of the boy’s life, the kid no longer knows where to turn or whom to trust. In shame, the child buries what happened to him and never thinks about it again.
These six stages are designed to control children. But their success requires a deception so deep it will take the survivor a lifetime to disentangle it.
*
For most of us, paedophilia seems impossible, so we do not look for it until it is too late. How may we see things differently if we accept that paedophiles exist?
For instance, here we are, a married couple, at our six-year-old son’s soccer game. Uncle Fanie has been coaching the under-7 soccer squad for as long as anyone can remember. The boys love him, and he loves the boys.
As we wait on the stands, the under-7s are in a huddle on the field with uncle Fanie. They look adorable in their new game-day clothes. Uncle Fanie helps straighten someone’s shirt and then hugs the boy – he is a physically affectionate person, everybody knows that.
The game begins; our son Phil plays soccer; and they win! You and I hug out of pride for our sweet and agile boy. Now here they run past us, and we wave at Phil and the team. They are all heading for the locker room to change, with a beaming uncle Fanie in tow.
But why is he beaming? Uncle Fanie may be a honey – may behave exactly the way all decent people would. But let us imagine he is nothing like us. Could he have other motives than meet the eye? Imagine a horny uncle Fanie who has a type; his sweet spot is sporty boys younger than seven. How much do we really know about uncle Fanie and the reasons why he coaches the boys?
Our six-year-old is now bounding over, flush from his sporty performance. ‘Mom, Dad, did you see that? Uncle Fanie says I’m a natural!’
After a flurry of parental pride, Phil says: ‘A few of us are going over to uncle Fanie’s to celebrate, please can I go?’
If you and I were unwary parents, we would both think: That uncle Fanie! His enthusiasm for our son knows no end.
And also: An afternoon off sounds wonderful, because childcare is exhausting.
But you and I are not unwary parents. The school grounds are clearing out and little Phil wants an answer like a desert wants the rain. Between us, we have more questions. Just how many boys are going over to Fanie’s? What will they be doing? Will there be swimming? Will Fanie hug the boys often to make them used to his touch? Will they ever be naked together for a seemingly innocent reason, like changing or showering or peeing next to each other? Will our son ever be alone with Fanie, his hero? If uncle Fanie wants to play with Phil’s penis, will he have the chance?
Our minds are made up. If Phil wants to go so badly, we will have to go along and inspect Fanie closer. Next to the swimming pool at Fanie’s place, we must watch him watching the kids. When he looks after them, exactly what is he looking at? Follow his gaze. Is he looking at certain parts of their bodies? Does he seem more interested in closely watching the kids than having a beer with the grown-ups while keeping an eye? If Phil were a grown-up, might we think uncle Fanie is flirting with him? If Fanie is a paedophile hiding where paedophiles hide, could we be looking at a man with a crush on a child?
Children need heroes, because good people show them how to be good themselves. But real heroes do not ask to be heroes; it is an honorary title bestowed and not pursued. If somebody is trying to bribe a child into liking them with gifts, outings and outlandish validation, we may not be looking at a hero. We may be looking at someone seducing a child.
‘Childhood sexual seduction’ is what Oprah Winfrey, a survivor herself, calls it. It is infinitely more useful than ‘stranger danger’, which is a concept so unhelpful it may have been invented by paedophiles. The predators are seldom strangers; most often, they are suitors.
First, we must remember that paedophiles never stop thinking of ways to get to children. Hunters follow their prey. Not every teacher or priest or coach is a child rapist, but if you are a child rapist, someone with authority — maybe a teacher or a rabbi or a coach — is what you become. When we see someone who is enthusiastic about children, we should not assume their intentions are the same as ours.
Second, paedophiles tend to have a type, and so find ways to surround themselves with kids with the certain look they find just right.
Distasteful as it is: to protect our children, we must see the world like child-raping psychopaths do. It is best to assume the worst of people until you are certain, in your head and in your stomach, that your child will be safe with a man who is his hero.
In my loft, obsessing over Instagram, I can see Willem turning himself into the hero of boys who look like me when I was their age. He likes them older than uncle Fanie – his sweet spot is thirteen to sixteen – but a few years either way is perfectly acceptable. If his sweet spot cannot be had, a bullfrog will make do.
If the profile holds, the current boys are just the latest in a pattern that started well before my cameo in 1997 and should continue until the day Willem graces us with his absence. But even though the evidence is on Instagram for all to see, it is legally meaningless if I cannot get any of these boys to acknowledge it.
Trouble is, these boys on Instagram are too recently traumatised. The whole messy meeting with young Mike has helped me to understand this.
I open Willem’s LinkedIn profile again. The first time I looked at it, I was struck by a strange gap. It says he graduated from the University of the Orange Free State in 1987, and then started working in Cape Town in 1995. Odd. What about the seven years he taught at Grey College? Why would he omit his illustrious teaching career?
And that is when something clicks for me. Something that would, as they say in detective novels, blow this case wide open. I have been looking for the wrong guys. The Instagram men are boys and they are afraid. It has taken me two decades to acknowledge my abuse; how can I expect these boys to even grasp the deception that has lodged in them?
I need to find men who are older than me, not younger. Men who have had the time to process their past. The men Willem once taught and is now trying to hide. It is among them that I will find some concrete evidence – some witnesses. It is how I will find myself a couple of brothers.
I know where to go looking now. Willem has not always kept shtum about the years 1988 to 1994. Once upon a time, he was extremely proud of what he did at Grey College. He told me all about it when we met.
10
It is April 2019 and tentatively autumn in Johannesburg. My loft has windows on three sides, and mostly all I can see are trees and birds. As if I have a desk in a tree house,