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”.

My Africa

Women Across Borders

The Amazing Contrast Between Oppression of Women In The Eastern and Western cultures.

 How do we draw the line.

Find the balance.

France tried banning the Burkha in protest of the Islamic Religion's Supposed Oppression of women.

However, i think it should be understood that mainstream Islam does not require it's female followers to wear the burkha. just like mainstream Christianity does not require its female followers to only wear skirts... it does not stop fundamentalists of both religions from taking it to the extreme.

 In India a dowry is payed during marriage. the question often posed is, whether or not the dowry does not make the man feel he purchased a woman and therefore he owns her?

My father told me he payed a Dowry for my mother as is done in the African culture.

He also told me that the boy wanting to marry me would also pay.

He explained that the Dowry in Africa lost its meaning when it became money rather than cows.

He says the dowry was invented for a man to prove what he was willing to do to marry a woman.

For example my Grandfather asked my father to pay a certain breed, color and sex of cows for my mother.

My father had to find the cows specified. Which was not Easy.

Does Culture lose its Value when Modernized?

The Most Important 431 Words You Will Read Today

In this excerpt from her latest book "I Am An Emotional Creature; The Secret Life Of Girls Around The World", Eve Ensler celebrates the power of women.


Dear Emotional Creature,
  I believe in you. I believe in your authenticity, your uniqueness, your intensity, your wildness. I love the way you dye your hair purple, or hike up your short skirt or blare up your music while you lip-sync every single memorized lyric. I love your restlessness and your hunger. You posses the energy that if unleashed, could transform, inspire and heal the world. 
  Everyone seems to have a certain way they want you to be, your mother, father, teachers, religious leaders, politicians, boyfriends, fashion gurus, celebrities, girlfriends. In reporting my new book, I learned a very disturbing statistic; 74% of young women say they are under pressure to please everyone.
  I have done a lot of thinking about what it means to please; to be the wish or will of somebody other than yourself. To please the fashion setters, we starve ourselves. To please men, we push ourselves when we aren't ready. To please our parents, we become insane over achievers. If you are trying to please, how do you take responsibility for your own needs? How do you even know what your own needs are? The act of pleasing makes everything murky. We lose track of ourselves. We stop uttering declaratory sentences. We stop directing our lives. We forget everything that we know. We make everything OK rather than REAL.
  I've had the good fortune to travel the world. Everywhere i meet teenage girls and women giggling, laughing as they walk country roads or hang out on city streets. Electric Girls. I see how their lives get hijacked, how their opinions and desires get denied and undone. So many of the women i have met are still struggling late into their lives to know their desires, to find their way.
  Instead of trying to please, this is a challenge to PROVOKE, to DARE, to satisfy your own imagination and appetite. To take responsibility for who you are, to engage. Listen to the voice inside you that might want something different. It's a call to your original self, to move at your own speed, to walk with your own step, to wear your own color.
  When I was your age, I didn't know how to live as an emotional creature. I felt like an alien. I still do a lot of the time. I am older now. I finally know the difference between pleasing and loving, obeying and respecting,. It has taken me so many years to be OK with being different, with being this alive, this intense.
I just don't want you to wait that long.

Love,
Eve Ensler

Everyone should read this whether male, female or old... It speaks volumes.

There Are No Rules To Being Me

I recently made a very drastic decision, one that seems to be puzzling the world around me. For the past week I have been constantly attacked, questioned and cornered about it. So what is this new decision? I Tshepo Jamillah Moyo have relaxed my hair. Firstly it is necessary that I explain that this blog entry is not due to me feeling a need to explain.

 I do not owe anyone an explanation. It is my hair and mine alone. I was eight when I first started keeping my natural hair. It was not a voluntary choice. My mother did not make it an option. I am not saying it was forced but even if I had said no it would have been (thus is the African culture). I wanted long thick hair like my mommy’s. I wanted glossy silky hair like my granny’s. I wanted to swim without a swimming cap like my friend Danielle. I had never seen my natural hair. But I had beautiful hair. I had long, dark black rich thick hair. And then it suddenly started breaking. Falling off when I combed it. The relaxer burnt my scalp. My mother figured I was allergic to it.

She cut it off. She told me no one would ever know I had natural hair and for years she was right. I braided my hair in singles. No one ever saw it. I was not ashamed off it. I was not bothered by it. I was fascinated with the way the blow dryer could transform it. I did not like that I could not flip my hair like my friends. I was the only girl I knew who kept long natural hair. I was not embarrassed by it. I was not proud either. It was just there. It really was just my hair. Then one day I felt brave. I went to school with my natural kinky beautiful hair. This was long ago. Before afro’s wear the in thing, when all the girls could flick their hair. They laughed. They commented. They touched it. They asked questions. I did not have answers. I was confused. I was twelve years old when I first came to defend my hair, when they first had to be a reason why it was natural. I have been defending my hair ever since.

My first defence was that it was healthier that way. I don’t know when the defence became because I was not fake. Then it was because I was African and I believed in my roots. I was proud of my natural hair. I have never been ashamed of it. Just like I am proud to be African and I have never been ashamed of it. But why did the two have to define me? What do I mean by that? I am ashamed to say this, but truth is I moulded myself into my hair. I moulded my personality into defending my hair. I dressed to suit my personality. My personality suited my hair. Yes, I believed in my principles. I believed what I preached. Yes I have never tried to be some one I am not. Yes I absolutely hate weaves with a passion. Yes I can’t stand make up that looks like it was plastered on your face. You know what I am talking about, those girls which you have no idea what they really look like. Yes, I believe in the black conscious movement. I believe in the principles off the Rastafarians. Yes i dance to home talk-mango groove every morning.

But I no longer want kinky hair. I no longer need to advertise my beliefs to the world. I no longer need my hair to define me. I do not want to be a book that is easy to read. I believe that my personality is so strong that even without my hair; you will “get” me. I, Tshepo Jamillah Moyo have come to realise that when it comes to being me, there are no rules.

And I am happy to say “i relaxed my hair. I did it for me”.

My hair is finally JUST MY HAIR again. And I love it.

African Women Take More Power

Firstly i apologize for having taken leave in the past month. I have resumed my studies at the University of Botswana, which leaves me with little free time to do the things I love (another reason I hate my current education status). However i will update that blog i promised. in the meantime bare with me. Visit, this post i just found. It made me smile... hope it brings happiness to your feminist ways. :)

"One Love? "Alfarita Marley

Alfarita “Rita” Marley was or rather is the wife of late reggae legend Robert Nesta Marley aka, Bob Marley. She is also the mother to his children. Not only the ones has she given birth to, but even the ones that Bob had out of wedlock. That he gave other women, and told her she couldn’t possibly have all the children he wanted and therefore he was saving her the pain. Sure maybe I pulled it out of context. Maybe I am just a wee bit bias. Ok I lie I am very bias. In fact reading Rita Marley’s book “My Life with Bob Marley; No woman, No cry”http://www.reggae-reviews.com/nowomannocry.html has completely changed my opinion of the man. Not that I had a very great one to begin with. I have never really idolised the man, only recently did I start to enjoy his music. (By recently I mean around 14years old).

 In case you have not read the book, the Marleys were married for about 15years. For those 15years Rita Marley shared her husband with a large number of concubines. (Not really concubines but sleeping with a married man makes you one. #JUST SAYING) She probably would have continued to do so had he not passed on. #GOD RESTS HIS SOUL. I know better than to attack a man that a woman loves. And loving Bob Marley is what Rita did best. So why does a feminist like me put a woman like Rita Marley who according to traditional feminists (I consider myself a modern feminist. Promise to explain difference in the next blog.) Is a weakling for not divorcing Bob after his countless PUBLIC affairs, on my list of inspirational women?

It isn’t because she is “Bob Marley’s” wife (that however does automatically make her noteworthy). It is not even because she is a great singer. It isn’t even because of her charity work in Africa or her choice to take Ghana as her home. It isn’t even because she had really sexy kids with him (yes I know they are old now but the pictures of young Ziggy are more attractive than Justin Beiber #FACT).     But because and I now will quote Rita;                                                                                                      “when I found out about this new situation (bob’s now public cheating) my first thought was that I need to stand on my own two feet.  Even though I still loved Bob, and I was glad to see him and for the time being wanted to remain his wife, I realised I could not completely trust this man anymore with my life and my children. I really had to try and forget him for a while _ even if it was hard to do_ and focus on the four children.” Rita Marley makes the list of women who inspire me because of her unbeatable strength to love a man who needed her love. She put away her own feelings for Bob and supported him because he needed her and that right there requires:

a)      A prominent ability to be selfless.

b)      A sense of strength to be able to still put her children first.

 I don’t know really. It’s hard for me to describe. Because I in my beautiful opinion, really believe that women these days lie to themselves. Its one thing to say “I will leave him if he cheats on me” and it’s another when it actually happens. What I adore about Rita is that she never let Bobs affairs stop her from being the woman she wanted to be. She never let it stop her from doing the things she wanted to do for herself and for her children. I come from a country where women’s rights are constantly being violated by men. But what is painful for me is when a woman who is able-bodied and whose husband no longer cares sits, and wallows, and does nothing for her children. She waits for her husband to feed, them to clothe them, while he lives his life. Rita was faced with a situation. She did not know whether Bob will care for her children so she took charge. I am compassionate to the women in Botswana, the women in the world that are abused by men. Do not misunderstand me. It is just that some women are in situations that allow them opportunity to care for their children yet they choose not to.

Rita Marley put her love for her children first. Not because she loved Bob any less but because they needed her more. It is just Rita Marley’s story touched me. It really touched me.  For some people Bob’s behaviour is repulsive, but when you read that story, their story, in Rita’s eyes you realise that Bob really loved Rita. And maybe not the way women expect to be loved but the way Rita was okay with being loved.  Official Bob Marley Page Rita Marley"s Foundation site