“I sometimes remind myself of how blessed I am to be where I am today. Not that many years ago, the sports governing body of my own country of South Africa wouldn’t have allowed me to run in the Olympics because I am Black. I was born in 1991, just a few years before the first democratic elections in 1994 would finally begin to unravel that insidious and dehumanizing system of government that defined people and even ripped families apart based on the color of their skin and other physical features. My parents, older siblings, and extended family lived through this time. They were not allowed to travel or live where they wanted; some were forcibly relocated. Black people didn’t have access to higher education. And unlike me, so many great Black athletes never got a chance. There is still so much trauma in our communities from the brutality of apartheid. I carry that history of discrimination and resistance and the yearning for freedom within me; they are there in everything I do.

“When I can no longer run, either because of time or more regulations targeting people like me, you will still see me on the track supporting the coming generations. I am a proud South African woman born in a tiny village to people who loved me. They have survived more humiliations than I could possibly know. It is from them that I know about maintaining dignity in the face of oppression. It is my hope that by telling my truth, I inspire others to be unafraid, to love and accept themselves. May this story contribute to a more tolerant world for us all.

““So, it looks like you were right. I would be hearing your name. Caster Semenya.” He smiled and held out his hand. I took his hand, and with that simple gesture we began an easy friendship that would last several years. Oscar and I began to train together, we pushed each other, and gave each other advice. Not that long ago, Oscar and I could not even eat at the same restaurant, much less speak or train as equals on a running track. Herenwe were from completely different backgrounds. He was a middle-class Afrikaner boy from Johannesburg, and I was a Black girl from the most impoverished province in the country. Oscar was twenty-two years old when we met—barely an adult himself. We were linked by something that went beyond running. We were drawn to each other and found comfort in each other’s presence. Maybe it was because of the way the world looked at us—our difference written on our bodies. Our conversations will stay with me and me alone. No one could foretell how our lives would eventually play out. Each of us would come to be seen as both heroes and villains, admired and scorned by the world.

“My story is different from these women’s stories for many reasons. I was lucky in that I had a newly democratic country that wrapped its arms around me, I had the protection of the university system, a great legal team, and a supportive loving family. I will forever be grateful for Greg and Benedict’s incredible efforts on my behalf during this time, even if I didn’t truly understand the scope of the process. These people saw an injustice and stepped in to help a young village girl, free of charge. They fought like warriors.

Chapter 1: Umntu Akalahlwa: The Months Before

“It wasn’t enough to see that something was wrong, her grandfather taught her. It was imperative to do something about it.

If you ask my mum today when she first became aware of apartheid, she will tell you it was a teenager, when she became involved with the Black Consciousness movement. But some of her earliest memories are of white police raiding homes in her neighbourhood looking for Black men who did not have permission to be in the area. At eight years old she watched as long lines of men shackled to each other were forced to walk the streets of the township, before being loaded into police vans.