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

A War is Coming *warning graphic images will follow*

TOO MANY WOMEN DOWN

I read another angry blog today. This One is by a pretty black South African lesbian woman who lives in Johannesburg and writes poetry. She is angry about a number of things, white privilege, the ANC, lesbians and homosexual stereotype, and the common women battles. She is so angry; she uses vulgar language when she passionately rants on twitter. You know what, it’s scary. I’m not out here to judge her being angry. I don’t even care that she is black lesbian and an activist. I don’t know her. I have no title deed to be able to say anything about her. But it sure scares me that she isn't the only Angry woman out there. Blog posts by so many young ladies are talking about the anger and how they're affected by it, from SiyandaWrites to That Cracked Black.  It is even scarier that they have every reason to be. They're also tiring of writing about it. 

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IT BEGINS HERE.

Statistics show an increase in rape. It’s being recorded and sent around as porn in South African high schools., it’s being used to teach women lessons, as weapons in war, or for the fuck of it and the sad part is whole town’s are covering it up. I’m in tears as I type this because we’re losing the battle. I don’t know why I was sitting here thinking that if I sit on my lap top and I type about these things somewhere somehow I would save the world. I’m crying real tears because despite spending the morning reading tweets about how perpetrators should alone be left with responsibility of their actions; I’m sitting here thinking I’m not doing enough. I’m sitting here thinking how unfair it is that I grew up in a home were my father is a good man and my mother is treated like a goddess while majority of my friend’s have sad childhood memories, missing fathers or battered mothers. I’m not angry anymore. I’m sad and scared.

I’m sad because every time I walk down the street and a man whistles and hollers I say hi because I’m scared he might consider me rude and decide to rape me because of it. But then again he might rape me because my “Hi” was flirtatious. Well, he might also just do it for the fucks of it. Literally.  But I’m also scared that it might be one of my friends on a night out, when I've had a few too many so I’m quitting drinking this year. But then it could be a cousin. You know what I feel like right now? My friend recently became a father to a very pretty little girl, when he told me it was a girl my heart sunk. I got sad because that is one more burden for me. That saddens me. Because I love being a woman but I’m still feeling like the moment I was born and I had a vagina. Well I was screwed.

IT IS COMING TO AN END

But women are getting angry. They’re getting angry and they are mobilizing the troops. There is a storm brewing, there is a war coming world. It is going to be messy. They won’t fight with their muscle like you men do. They won’t use brutal force. They will use your seeds. They will take your daughters and they will teach them to hate men. They will take your sons and teach them to hate themselves. We've seen the race wars, the tribal wars, civil wars; tell me how will we survive when the women rise to the goddesses they are? How will you protect yourself from your mother? Will you kill them all? Will you beat them into submission? There is a war coming and I fear the future generations that will be born in its times. How will man and woman survive without one another?