When women rise

The month of August is Women’s Month. With this, we remember and celebrate the courageous women from South Africa’s past who came together from all around the country with a signed petition and walked to Pretoria in their numbers in order to be heard. And, indeed they were. It is 2010, I am in my twenties and wonder what my generation of young women will do that will go down in history books as profound and brave. Just like Winnie Mandela, Mamphele Ramphele, Albertina Sisulu and Helen Joseph did. What will we do next? I say mothers today, nurture and mould your sons into men of influence, power and prestige to emulate men like Nelson Mandela, Steve Biko and Barrack Obama. Teach your daughters how to stand. I wonder if anyone in ‘our time’ will be remembered for doing something heroic by the generations to come ?

In the past, when our mothers came together, it was to draw strength, wisdom, laughter and advice from each other; whether it was coming together to help cook at a wedding, joining hands in prayer every Sunday or coming as a collective to mourn the loss of a loved one. Our mothers, aunts and grandmothers did not think twice about being there for each other in times of pain and of joy. The generation that was before us knew that after the birth of a child, it is your mother that teaches you the basic skills of motherhood; it is your aunt who tells you lies just to keep you away from boys for as long as possible; it is Gogo who dictates how a young woman should behave and carry herself in public. I wonder if our generation of women will grow old holding each other’s hands, or will we rather spend our time forever wondering amongst ourselves if our next door neighbour’s handbag really is the real thing?

I want to become a woman like my grandmother was, a woman with love in her heart. God in her soul and one that was not shy to take out her belt; shoe or whatever was nearby all in the name of instilling discipline. She was stern and took no nonsense from anyone and yet very loving, caring always ready to show affection. When she did discipline me it was with the hope of creating a woman of substance and value out of a naughty child. My grandmother moulded, shaped and chiselled away bad habits that would later hinder me from greatness. With the same voice she used to shout at us, she would sing to us and tell us that we were loved. She was who I wish to become.

I want Generation Y’s women not to see each other as threats; not to first look at what fibre and quality weave is on my head before saying Hello. I would like to know that the day I have a child I can trust and know that she will be safe at my “Makza’s” house. I would like to someday smile with pride knowing that I had a hand in raising my neighbour’s son into becoming the doctor that he is. I want to know that as soon as tragedy strikes I will not be alone and that my girlfriends will hold me up when I feel I can no longer stand.

I need to know that we women can stand together whether or not we know each other. I want to be at a place where I can walk into a reception area, salon, club, church (yes church!) or restaurant and not be sized up by other women when I enter. When we rise for a cause may we not just stand next to each other but become one. We need to be one in order to see the change we want in our homes, work and our lives.

Divas, sisters and Chiquita’s from ekasi, emakhaya or the ‘burbs, let your guard down. We are not here as enemies but as sisters. Remember the powerful women of 1956 and how they were sisters who stood up in support of one another and against an oppressive system. Choose to be more! Because you are more. Choose not to be dust, having no meaning, substance or any real value. You are imbokodo! Strong, hard not easily moved or broken and remaining forever