"If I Were A Boy"

If I were a boy even just for a day

I’d roll out of bed in the morning

And throw on what I wanted

And go drink beer with the guys

 

And chase after girls

I’d kick it with who I wanted

And I’d never get confronted for it

‘Cause they stick up for me

…

 

If I were a boy

I would turn off my phone

Tell everyone it’s broken

So they’d think that I was sleeping alone

 

I’d put myself first

And make the rules as I go

‘Cause I know that she’d be faithful

Waiting for me to come home, to come home

 

-Beyonce Knowles

 

It seems like Beyonce did her song writing at my site or at least did her research in South Africa…

 

Men.  Boys.  Call them what you will.  I feel that “men” is a term reserved for gentlemen, so I’ll use the term loosely here.  When I first came into the Peace Corps, I expected my hardest days to be caused by a myriad of reasons: homesickness, a rough day at school, no running water, spiders bigger than my hand, a lack of good coffee, a lack of chocolate, not being able to run, etc.  Although some of these have been the case, I did not expect what actually has proven to be, and continues to be, my biggest struggle in my Peace Corps service: sexual harassment.  I don’t enjoy writing serious blog posts, because the light-hearted and funny ones are easier to write and I’m sure a hell of a lot more fun to read.  However, I think this is an important issue and topic to discuss.  It’s time to get real kids.

 

When I first came to South Africa 20 months ago, I remember walking back to my host family’s house with my language group.  The walk from the school where we studied and observed a South African school in session to our host families was a short one, no more than 10 minutes.  I enjoyed the walk because we could finally relax after a long day of translating English to Xitsonga and we could just be ourselves, and learn about each other pre-Peace Corps life.  However, there was one part of the walk home that I always dreaded.  There was a “car wash” at our mid-way point (a concept that still confuses to me to no end when dust is unavoidable and water so scarce) where a group of 5-10 adolescents and men hung out and “worked.”  The girls in our group would always get cat calls and whistles; this seemed to be the majority of their daily work.  Even the one male in our group would be pestered, always asked by these guys if he could give up one of his wives, as if we were things to be given away rather than people.  One time, one of these “men” even dared to kiss my friend’s hand.  I was aghast.  I couldn’t believe that they had the audacity to behave in such a manner. Little did I realize at the time how minor this offense was.  I comforted myself knowing that our Pre-Service Training was a mere 8 weeks and that I’d be moving to a small, rural village where I’d spend the majority of my service.  After that, aside from a visit or two to see my host family during training, I wouldn’t have to worry about these hooligans. 

 

Fast-forward.  Ask my Mom about the reasons I call home, crying (don’t worry, it doesn’t happen every day!).  She can count the reasons for my unintelligible, teary-eyed phone calls on one hand.  One of them is homesickness (yes, I am a homebody).  The second reason is that every time I go to the pit latrine, it’s a war between the mosquitoes and me, and a race not to get bitten.  The third, and the majority of those phone calls, is caused by unwanted attention.  I am very lucky as I do not have to deal with this issue in my village.  Again, it is small and rural.  It’s kind of like “Cheers.”  Everyone knows my name, and I’m getting close to knowing everyone else’s.  Everyone knows me and takes care of me.  Since I have three younger host brothers, I’ve become like the older sister to the guys in the village.  The people in my village have become my family, my friends.  I am one of them.  (Integration – check.)

 

The unwanted attention I face is when I travel, even just to my shopping town that is less than 50km away.  I’ve had marriage proposals, pregnancy proposals, and creepy text messages.  I’ve had men grab my hand, I’ve had men try and kiss me, I’ve had men say vulgar things to me.  I’ve had men tell me that it’s okay to be unfaithful, I’ve had men ask me to take them back to America, I’ve had men stroke my hair.  The whole shebang.  (I’m one of the fortunate ones, too.  I’ve heard much worse.)  It is very unfortunate, but I can no longer let my guard down and trust men here to help me since I always assume they’ll want more.  Usually, they do.  And, if you give them a centimeter, they take five miles.  I’ve faced this issue with black men and Afrikaner men, old men and young men, fat men and skinny men.  They run the gamut.

 

In the South African culture, at least in the villages, men are on a pedestal and women are far, far beneath that pedestal, hardly able to even see or reach the pedestal.  The men are served their food, they are served their drinks, and their clothing is washed for them.  At funerals and weddings, the women cook until the wee hours of the morning and then serve the food come morning as the men sit around getting drunk off of the traditional beer.  (The drunkenness only amplifies the problem of unwanted attention, hence why I stay clear of big social gatherings.)  The list could go on and on, and it does.  One Gogo even suggested that I take my boyfriend home and bathe him!  I was very confused, as was he.  Very different culture, and certainly a culture shock for the both of us.  In this very same culture, there is also the belief that polygamy is the norm, even in 2013.  Men have multiple wives while it is not considered normal for women to have multiple husbands...double standard?  Nowadays adultery is kept on the hush, hush.  But everyone knows it is going on.  First wives befriend second and even third wives.  Sometimes they even help in the selection of the next wife.  The President, President Jacob Zuma, has four wives himself!  Talk about setting a standard.

 

As much as the unwanted attention by men and the treatment of women by men in this culture perturb me, I haven’t let it scare me off (obviously, as I continue to write these blog posts from my rondavel, hoping some of you will be willing to read on).  I’ve learned to stand up for myself since being here, and I hope the young girls I teach and work with will learn to do so for themselves.  When I started to feel more comfortable in the village and when I started to feel more at ease with the people I now call my family and good friends, I began speaking up.  When my hilarious, goofy, and brilliant 19-year old host brother, Tumelo, told me he’d be upfront with his two girlfriends prior to marriage, I told him that was not okay, just as I know he realizes deep down.  As I watched him help his mother with the family’s weekly washing, it was hard for me to believe that come 20 years he’ll be willing to sit back and let his wife do all of the work.  When my co-worker, my counterpart for Scouts, and my best friend in the village, Sylvia, told me about one of the teachers who has both a wife and a girlfriend of 10 years, I told her that was not acceptable.  This is a woman who failed the 10^th grade three times all because she would not sleep with her teacher.  She said “South African men are different.  It isn’t simple.”  But, they’re not and it is.  Just like it is not okay for women to be sleeping around or courting three or four boyfriends (who knows what would happen if that were the case), it is also definitely not okay for men to have a wife cooking, cleaning and taking care of the gaggle of kids at home while having a younger girlfriend on the side.  It is also not okay for us to continue accepting this behavior and to continue making excuses for the men.  This, my friends, is why the HIV/AIDS rate is so high in South Africa: multiple partners, unfaithfulness, and worst of all, a refusal to use condoms in the midst of it all.

 

Beyonce, if I were a boy, my Peace Corps service would have been much different.  Sure, the harassment wouldn’t be a huge issue, but I’m sure I’d still have my struggles.  The guys in our group try their best to teach the men and boys they work with how to “be a better man.”  This, I’m sure, cannot be easy.  I mean, my boyfriend is constantly told he needs to get a second girlfriend, that one is not enough.  As much as he tries to talk sense into these guys, it sometimes seems fruitless.  It upsets the both of us. In the end, despite the discomfort, the disgust, and the countless tears I’ve experienced on more than one occasion, I’m glad to be a female Peace Corps Volunteer.  As much as it sucks to be called racist when you stand up for yourself when you’re being sexually harassed, it feels good to be empowered and to instill empowerment in others.  Maybe I was meek and didn’t say anything when I first arrived, but now I put my foot down.  Sexual harassment is not acceptable, and I for one won’t stand for it.  I’m hoping that a few girls, a few women, and heck maybe even some guys have picked up on my actions or our conversations.  I’m hoping the tide in gender relations in rural South Africa begins to turn.  Not because of me, just because it needs to and because the generation now is becoming more educated and more aware of what is right and what is wrong.

 

Now, why am I telling you this?  I don’t want any of you to worry about me.  Maybe it is better that I’ve waited towards the latter part of my service to talk about this.  I just want to put it out there.  I’ve learned to appreciate the gender equality we have in the states.  I’ve learned to appreciate being appreciated as a strong female in the states.  I’ve learned to cope.  In addition to my one-sided weeping phone calls to my Mom (thanks Pammycakes), I muddle through the more difficult times by talking about the issue with other female PCV’s, by having the support of the Peace Corps staff, and by having the support of my very caring, very American thinking boyfriend. (My teachers’ jaws always drop when I tell them, no I’m not cooking.  Nick is.  I’m sure my village is confused as he helps to do the dishes and does his own washing on the weekends he visits.  And thank goodness for that!)

 

Here’s a fair warning to all American men.  In about 6 months’ time, my group, SA24, will COS and fly home.  Other groups before ours will already have returned.  When single female PCV’s return stateside, they’ll realize just how good we’ve got it back home.  Get ready to be pounced on, gentlemen of America!

 

**Side note – I want you to know that not all interactions I’ve had with men here have been negative.  There are great men here.  I work with many men in South Africa who are caring and hard working. Sure they expect me to make tea for them, but they know me well enough by now that that just isn’t my culture. **

 

I promise you a lighter blog post next time my readers.  For now, stay well and stay safe.

 

Le rata,

Meg :)