By Amandla Karungi

Many of us leaned back in our chairs, fully clothed and shielded by screens as we watched your virtual take-down. Somebody had found it reasonable to allow your naked body to be scrutinised by the world.

The rise of the cyber bully has made what once was meant to be a world wide connection, an international space where trolls live unhindered, haunting media spaces with their spew of anger and hate. They have finally found their home in Whatsapp groups, on Twitter and on Facebook where they attack and retreat to safety.


“You chose to live in the public eye, so you must deal with the negative consequences.”

Whose job is it to punish those who exist in the limelight? Everyone who rises above the grumbling masses is criticised by those who never dared.

Sometimes, I have scrolled through the comments of a post and shivered to imagine the rotting souls that exist behind shining masks of sunshine. Why is it so easy to be ugly towards one another than to be beautiful? It’s so easy to shame than it is to appreciate. How much do we hate ourselves that it should spill over to others in such great measure?

Dear girl whose nudes were leaked,

So you fell in love. So you trusted.

So you fell down. So you were kicked when you were down, run over and wounded.

They rejoiced.

“Now she is ruined. Not so mighty now!” They said. “All her dignity and graces have left her.”

And yet, cyber bully, all yours – your dignity and honour left you a long time before hers will.

They thought that by exposing you at your most vulnerable, to the glaring eyes of all, somehow the emptiness and insecurity in their souls would die down.

It didn’t.

As if by the whole world gaping at your feminine nakedness, they would make you smaller, a little less respectable.

Dear girl,

They say, the heart of the one who hurts is in more pain than the pain they can inflict. This won’t make you feel better. I know.

They threw stones.

One after another. Don’t pick them up.

“Why did she take them? How could she take them?” When you hear from one party to the story, you miss the other part. When you hear from no parties to the story, you miss the truth.

I hope one day, that the very thing they thought would break you, will make you rise up and say, I am bigger than the pain. I am stronger than I ever thought I would be. Though my spirit was decapitated, I built myself back up with the shrapnel and scars, with an inner peace beaming,

“So you thought you would break me, well I’m still here.”