Women's Month: 'I don't need a man'

A single mother is one of the many women doing things for themselves and changing our idea of family, writes Jackie May

We stop on a short, dusty street in Ivory Park, Alexandra. It overlooks that often described view that sweeps across RDP houses and shacks towards the glistening new high rises of Sandton. It is a view that captures the inequalities of South Africa, a fact writer after writer has mentioned.

The midwinter Johannesburg smog is about to turn orange in the afternoon sky when Thandi Moyo, dressed in dark blue jeans and a brown jumper, greets us warmly on the corner of the road. She has been on her cellphone guiding us through Alexandra to her home in what was once the village for athletes during the 1999 All-Africa Games.

Moyo recently participated in a survey of women living in the townships surrounding Johannesburg. Conducted by the marketing and communications agency Draftfcb, the results of the survey into the needs, wants, desires, and values of this target market surprised the agency. In its media release Draftfcb stated that "a fierce desire for independence is the driving force behind today's 'township mom'. Independence defines her, she doesn't rely on men. In fact, a man is just a nice-to-have".

Rita Doherty, head of strategy at the agency, is quoted in the release: "Many of today's township moms believe the nuclear family is over. They think women are stronger than men, and that it's up to them to look after themselves and raise their children.

"In fact, unlike the previous generations of working moms, who often sent young kids home to grandmothers, these new moms are increasingly choosing to raise their own children. The pride they feel in providing for their kids keeps them motivated, despite hardships."

Curious about this generation of women, I contacted Moyo to arrange to meet and find out who these women are who are shaking up society. Who are the women defying stereotypes and creating new ones?

Moyo is 28 years old. Her age in itself is startling. She is a confident, highly capable woman who is not only the mother of three children, but has also for the last five years been the primary caregiver of her disabled 26-year-old sister, and of her two younger brothers, one of whom is still at school. With her dependants she shares a small, immaculate three-bedroomed apartment with her aunt and niece.

Moyo's current boyfriend is the father of her one-year-old. She dumped the father of nine-year-old Kgopotso and five-year-old Siyabonga when she found him with another woman.

Her boyfriend is, she says, a good man, but "you never know. I thought the first father was a good man".

Although she doesn't live with her boyfriend, he takes her to work every morning and fetches her when she knocks off at the call centre at 11pm. I wonder if she pays him to transport her. No, he does it for love, she said.

"One day we will marry."

Moyo seems in no rush though. There is quite enough for her to do in the meantime. She is up every day at 5am to prepare her children and her siblings for school and work, and to tidy the house, before she goes to work.

"I am independent. I don't like taking money from anybody. If I move into my boyfriend's house - only once we are married - then we will have to go half-half on everything."

Until then, Moyo is determined to make a success of her life and to look after her dependants. While we are chatting, her sister, Portia, is dropped off after her day at a disabled centre. The slight, pretty woman walks in, greets us, and sits down next to Moyo to watch TV.

"My mother's generation used to respect and depend on men. Even if the men hit them. I am totally opposite. I don't beg. I ship out very quickly if a man does something wrong. I always say that I can manage without them. I don't need a man," Moyo said.

"I can manage on my own."

Her boyfriend, she admitted, "is good for a bit of fun. A bit of love".

Yet, when Moyo is out having fun with her friends, she does not invite her boyfriend. Her salary goes into looking after her family. But occasionally, she forgoes paying a bill, and spends a little money on going to a club.

"We have a few drinks, dance, make a noise. I don't take my boyfriend. He gets jealous. And anyway I don't want to stare into his eyes all evening."

For her children, Moyo wishes a better life, a better education.

"A better environment than where I am living. I don't want them to live in Alex."

For herself she wishes for: "My own house. I would like to take my kids and my sister and leave the boys here. And when my last child is finished with school, I want to buy a car."

More immediately, Moyo dreams of a job which will allow her to be home earlier in the day to do homework with her children.

"I am privileged because my brothers went to good schools and they help, but I want to do the homework myself."

Driving back to Rosebank along London Road, through the busy evening traffic, I wonder about Moyo and about how she is successfully getting on with her life. South Africans are bemoaning the breakdown of the nuclear family. All kinds of social ills are blamed on this breakdown. But perhaps we should celebrate, support and acknowledge that there is another way. Women like Moyo have found this way through sheer determination, independence and commitment. I also wonder how representative Moyo is.

When I speak to Doherty, she's confident Moyo is not alone, or just one of the sample of women participating in the survey. There are many inspiring women in Johannesburg townships positively changing the way we think of family. These women are happy to be working, contributing money and time to their families.

They don't need men, especially not bad ones. They are happy, though, to have a good one for a little loving.