Modern feminism, for just a moment, nearly stole my ability to unconditionally love, respect and appreciate the men in my life, as well as the varying roles they occupy.
Let me explain...
Growing up, I was what is colloquially known as a daddy’s girl, I still am. It’s my dad over all of you.
Nonke! (I mean all of you). I’m not even ashamed about It.
I had an equally strong relationship with my two maternal uncles, Mbutho and Langa. These three men have been my protectors and guardians on earth.
They have even taught the men succeeding them how to unconditionally love and protect their families especially the women.
About 18 years ago or so, Mbutho was visiting us at my maternal home in Mthatha. He was a bus driver at the time and it was so exciting for my younger siblings, especially my brother Sikhu.
He loved having an uncle who was a bus driver because he would park the bus on the street and my brother would watch it from the living room.
My uncle would always instruct him: “Mtshana kungangeni mntu kulabus (Nephew, no-one must get into that bus)” and my brother would watch it attentively.
One afternoon, my uncle was polishing his shoes and lo and behold someone entered the bus.
My brother ran to my uncle and said: “Malume, ulibele kuhlala apha kukho umtu ebhasini (Uncle while you’re relaxing here, there’s someone in your bus)”.
My uncle ran to the bus with my brother to find that his overnight bag had been stolen.
He was smart and put my brother on the seat and they drove up Blakeway Road (my street). My uncle turned towards the N2 highway and saw a hitchhiker with his bag.
He offered the guy a lift – it was an ambush. The idiot entered the bus he just stole a bag from.
My brother came back and all he said was “yoh utsotsi ubethiwe ngumalume (uncle beat up the thief)”. I then overheard my uncle giving my brother a life lesson centred on protecting one’s family, belongings and teaching people who disrespect you lessons they’ll never forget.
My uncles and all the men in my family are all huge protectors, yet I fell into the trap of allowing modern popular feminism govern the way that I valued men in my life.
For just a moment I was so caught up in the initial outrage faced by all feminists when we realise the extent of the schmitt show we’re in at the hands of overtly suppressive colonial patriarchy.
For the length of this moment, I was so engulfed in the men are trash movement that I nearly lost my appreciation for the strong black men that continually and unconditionally love and respect me as a sister, daughter and niece.
At the time, I was a student activist and had been taking part in a political movement that was centred on rendering campuses safer spaces for women and LGBTIAQ+ identities.
Incidences of sexual harassment and assault, reported and unreported, were rife and we had to do something about it.
We got naked and took to protesting in the streets of Grahamstown, now renamed Makhanda, in the Eastern Cape. It was revolutionary... But I digress.
Men had become synonymous with aggression with suppression and sexualised aggression, in my everyday life.
I no longer trusted men, and this was worsened when I became the unfortunate victim of a mugging at the hands of two young black men.
Simultaneously, I was inundated with symptoms associated with ingulo yesintu (the calling). I was hardly sleeping and actually, I had actively been avoiding sleep because the dreams were too much for me to handle.
In my real life I found myself opposing men and fighting with them, calling men trash to their faces. In my dreams they were soft and nurturing. They were helpful and guided me in all my processes, ultimately ensuring my safety.
I was conflicted because I was experiencing men in opposing ways – on one hand I trusted them with my whole life, on the other I loathed them, and I needed to fight patriarchy. Men were harrasers and rapists who abused their privilege. The gag was – I remained solely attracted to men. It was the existential crisis of my early twenties.
My calling fostered a shift in me, particularly how I related to men. I started seeing them as equals for a number of reason, I supposed I’ll name but two – first, when I was an initiate esiXhoseni (in the Xhosa spiritual school of thought) I was amazed that we were essentially genderless in the division of tasks, even in dress.
The male initiates too wore skirts and were expected to assist in household chores as we were as females. They too had to have imbola emhlophe (white ochre) smeared all over their bodies while they sang and danced with us.
We would naturally rely on their strength when it came to tasks like carrying the wheelbarrow with two 25-litre bottles of water.
I started coming back into my trust and reliance on black men especially when I had to have traditional ceremonies done.
Especially in consideration with the fact that I had to have ikhankatha (a male companion) to accompany me on my journey to engetheni (the forest). I had to get the blessings of amaduna aseMazizini – I was fortunate to have utatomkhulu Mzwandile who also is intlabi (a person who has been gifted the familial spear as to be the one in charge of slaughtering animals).
My calling helped me to realise the varying ways that men can be nurturers and protectors in their own ways – like how I saw men growing up to begin with.
I have spoken in detail before about the role my brother played in my initiation.
How do you feel about men and their roles in the spiritual journey?
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