Feminist: Not with a Capital F but capital FEMINIST

Last night I lost my first friend due to being a FEMINIST, and yet i feel no remorse or saddnes or the littlest bit of disdain. Since my return from the Young Women Botswana Feminism Leadership Course I am terribly intolerant of any form of misogyny, sexism, racism or even homophobia in my personal space. Something I find extremely funny because on the second last day I told a girl she would lose friends now as a self proclaimed feminist. I told her her world had changed. I was so unawares that despite identifying as a feminist since the first time the word was spat at me this course had changed me. I thought I had long ago reached the peak of being a feminist. That I was at the highest level of understanding. That I understood what needed to be done but I had no idea that this course would make me face patriarchy without fear. I did not even know I had ever been afraid till last night.

When I applied to the Young Women Botswana Feminism Leadership Course I was confident I would get in, I immediately began making arrangements to make sure that the 9 day program in Francistown would not inconvenience my school work or projects. I was excited because I thought the course would prepare me to lead my team. But it changed so much. Firstly I felt a bit proud to find out I had been accepted out of over 90 nation wide applications, I felt both honored and a bit intimidated when I found out that the 25 or so other participants had real cvs while I was going on "I am a feminist cause I was born this way" vibes. 

The one thing I hated about the trip from the moment I applied till the moment I arrived back home was that I would be leaving my family, my free wi-fi, my airconditioned home, and most importantly my personal space for a whole 11 days. It was terrible for me to have to have a roommate. The sad part is my roommate is actually such an amazingly nice person to live with, unfortunately I am not. I've always had my own room so to fall asleep with someone else in the room was difficult for me, so I spent a lot of late nights in the garden. To write poetry or work while someone is in the room also extremely difficult so I got no writing done in 11 days. I also got sick at one point and having to buy medication I had at home was just terrible. Also I got fucken bit by bed bugs in case you wanna stay at Tati River Lodge. But the staff took care of me when I was sick so my scars and I forgive them.

activities

mentally emotionally and physicalle exhausted

But francistown was an amazing experience. The 9 day course was extensive and intensive. We covered entire modules in one day, with multiple activities and large content. On some days I wanted to nap more than anything but it didn't happen. It was like nap rehab. But they weren't just extensive academically, they were emotionally exhausting modules and on one particular day I found myself calling my best friend crying while wishing his white t shirts were available to ruin with my mascara. In fact by the fourth day he could hear I wanted to come home. 

But I didn't really, there was too much knowledge to consume, too many brains to pick, too many women to love and lil zero and I did love them. I felt like this was a place i belonged, not francistown, not that hotel, not with those women but within the African feminist movement. I got to learn from some of Africa's greatest feminist contributors. I mean I met Doo Aphane (Google Her) who is probably King Mswati's least favorite woman, Maude Dikobe (Google Her) a lover of African diaspora and african literature who gave me receipts to pre colonial references of feminists. I also met Isabella aka Bella (Google Her) who produces at least 80% of all the food she eats a goal I have. I also met Elsie Alexander (Google Her) who is actually my best friend Brett Pearmain's grand aunt and a woman in politics. Got fascilitated by Alice Kanengoni (Google Her) who innitiated the gender department in OSISA. Irene Ramatala (Google Her) an activist for arts and culture in botswana who also recognized me as the daughter of Alla Moyo and put my mother on the movement in Botswana wall as one of the feminists who have made a difference. 

A few of the fascilitators were also age mates if I could say... they included Lorato Mpelega, Portia Loeto and Lillian Moremi who I had already met in Young Women Rising as well as Mandipa Machacha who I might possibly wanna be when I grow up. Her or Doo I think. It's impossible to ever be able to put this entire trip and the effect it has had on my life into words. The only thing I guess is for me to show you. It's a monday today but this should have been last week's #feministfriday post so here you go...

Also because she might kill me if she doesn't get props. Thank you to the beautiful Analyn for continuing to bother me about putting this up. You can totally be my woman crush this Wednesday.

Also another thank you to both TAWLA and OSISA for giving me the opportunity to meet the beautiful sisters I shared my space with in Francistown. You are all such amazing women in your own right. 

Signing out, 

FEMINIST also known as Tshepo Jamillah Moyo. 

A poet, writer, and Super Hero. 

A sister in the Movement.

XOXO

Me and Gender rights pioneer swaziland's Doo Aphane

Slut Walks

I picked up on this topic a little too late, perhaps a lot too late. But I however felt the need to inform you guys, or rather discuss the wave of Slut Walks that hit Canada and other countries in the beginning of 2011 (told you I was late). So what are slut walks? I’m absolutely sure that the African media just did not give this enough coverage for all of you to be aware of it.  And I am an African blogger.

The Slut Walks started in Canada. They are a protest against the legal system, as well as society’s concept of what a proper lady should be. They consist of women all over the world taking to the streets dressed as sluts. The protest was triggered when a detective (not even a rapist) defended a rapists saying that some women were dressed as sluts so he was not surprised that they were raped. This wasn’t a private statement. This was public at a press conference.

Let’s start with the concept of the word Slut. It’s a dirty word isn’t it, nasty. I’m certain it tastes bitter in your mouth. The word slut belongs amongst the other derogatory words used to describe a woman. I googled the word slut: a woman who is promiscuous, a person who lacks ability to exercise sexual restraint, a saucy girl (really?), a prostitute, a girl that is provocative in her dressing and behaviour. The list is endless. The saucy one really surprised me though. Personally I’m very conservative. I flinch a bit when I see butt cracks, or cleavages or thighs.  My friends are annoyed by my obsessive need to cover up their bras, or pull up their pants. But I wouldn’t call them sluts. I wouldn’t call any woman dressed provocatively a slut.

For a man to rape a woman, then stand in court and have his lawyer argue that she was dressed as a “slut”, absolutely disgusts me. Really? She wore a short skirt so you raped her? You shoved her in a bush, stripped her naked, and raped her. You didn’t care that she cried and screamed and kicked. You just raped her. You took her gift and made it yours, stole her right to pick when and how. And then you stand there and call her a slut. Such men are pathetic. They really are, but even more pathetic is the “justice” system that allows these men to use that ridiculous excuse.  

I was going to give you facts. I was going to write to inform. This blog post was me telling a story. It was supposed to be me evaluating the effects that the slut walks have on the systems, on women. But I can’t. I’m too emotional a creature for that. I got angry as I did my research I got upset. So I can’t be objective. I would ask you to forgive me but the reason you read my blog is because I’m opinionated and emotional. So I have to call out the men that abuse and rape women. I have to tell you guys that they are not men they are creatures. But they are not the danger to our society. They aren’t. Not even in the tiniest bit. The danger to our society is the men and women who are friends with these creatures. The ones that do nothing; that defends them like that detective in Canada. Or even me.

Me? Yes even I have played a role in women abuse. I have a story to tell you guys. About a boy, I don’t know if I can say names or the whole truth. I want to. I want to post his picture here so I can protect all the girls in Botswana from him. But it would be termed cyber bullying or defamation of character. Anyway, back to my story. I know a boy who hits girls. He hits his girlfriends. I don’t associate with him. I cut all ties with him when I realised how abusive he is. But I did the worst thing after that. I kept quiet. Even when one of my friends started dating him I kept quiet. I thought she would think I was bitter. Like most girls in Botswana would. But that is no excuse I kept quiet and he abused her for 11months, almost a year. I knew nothing about it then of course.

Silence is the death of all women out there. Saying something to my friend wouldn’t have put him in jail but it would have saved her 11months of pain. That is what speaking out is about. His friends know he is abusive. They say nothing, they laugh when he cracks jokes about “disciplining women”. They are cowards when he is pulling her by her hair outside BnB. People like this are what is wrong with our society. People like me, who blog about him without saying his name cause they are scared of petty laws. We are the problem here because we have the power to stop these monsters. Yet we stand on the side lines and say “she was dressed like a slut.” Or “she aggravated him”. Or even worse we say nothing at all. We give them power. We supply the victims.

So I beg you don’t stay silent. Warn your friends. Defend them. Don’t be a coward like me. Because it sucks to hear your friend’s horror stories and know you could have saved them. You can’t help the monsters but you can help the victims, by saying something. So thank you to the women who participated in the slut walks and said something.

In the words of Mam’Ruby of generations, “you could be naked, and no man has the right to touch you”.