Candice Nolan
The girl left home before dawn, navigating a township cloaked in shadows, where survival was a daily struggle. Her bare feet pressed against rough tarmac as she moved purposefully towards the motorway—a relentless stream of lights and motion. The cold concrete overpass loomed ahead, a boundary between what was and what could never be.
She climbed onto the edge, heart pounding, eyes fixed on the world below. Everything seemed distant—a blur of lights, metal, and speed. Engines idled as tow truck drivers observed in muted disbelief. The city, awakening to its routine, remained indifferent to the tragedy unfolding above.
She leapt.
Time fractured. The fall was merciless, the wind a hollow scream in her ears. The ground rose without pity to meet her. The sound of impact was swallowed by the relentless roar of traffic. Vehicles sped past, their occupants oblivious to the shattered life beneath their wheels.
But every story, even the most tragic, has a beginning.
Let’s Start at The End
My name is Siena. My mother, Dawn, was just 19 when I was born—fierce yet fragile, a young woman fighting for a future better than the shadows she’d grown up in. I was her golden child, the one destined for greatness—a top student, admired by teachers and envied by neighbours.
At my memorial service, one question lingered: Why did I take my own life?
Two weeks before that final morning, I attended an all-night prayer meeting. While my classmates were cramming for exams, I prayed for answers to questions I didn’t fully understand. But brilliance doesn’t shield you from darkness.
Desperation had cornered my parents. Addiction tightened its grip until they made a devastating decision: they sold me. £50,000—that was the price of my life.
I was handed over to strangers as though I were a commodity, a mere transaction in a twisted economy driven by drugs and despair. That night, in a shadowy house of horrors, I died long before my body hit the cold tarmac beneath the overpass. The orgy of rape wasn’t just an assault—it erased my very being.
By the time I walked to the overpass, I was already gone—a ghost waiting for the world to catch up with my absence.
If this were a true story, it would be a crime. But like many tragedies, justice would remain elusive. No headlines. No court cases. Just lingering heartache and confusion as my only legacy.
Thirteen short trips around the sun, and my story has already faded into whispers. But now you know. Maybe knowing will stir something within you—to confront the scourge of drug violence destroying communities and shattering lives before they’ve begun.
For every Siena, countless other names go unspoken, their pain unnoticed. This epidemic infiltrates homes, schools, and hearts, leaving devastation in its wake. Yet society remains silent.
We tell ourselves it’s someone else’s tragedy, someone else’s problem. But how many more children must be lost before we act?
Accessible Mental Health Services
There’s no simple solution, but change starts with breaking the silence, speaking out, and fostering compassion. Support for vulnerable families, accessible mental health services, and advocacy for accountability can create meaningful change.
Imagine a world where children thrive, dreams flourish, and lives aren’t destroyed by violence.
My story could have been different—if someone had intervened, if resources had been available to help my parents escape addiction, if just one person had listened.
But it’s not too late for others. Change begins with you, with every voice speaking out for justice and hope.
If you or someone you know is experiencing trauma, depression, or suicidal thoughts, help is available. The South African Depression and Anxiety Group (SADAG) provides support via its 24-hour helpline at 0800 567 567 or SMS at 31393.
Your voice matters. People care.
Visit the SADAG Website
