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 10th 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 :)
