White men — the black woman's burden

Shocking incidents of racism highlight skewed power relationships in South Africa, writes Panashe Chigumadzi

You are making your way back to your flat and walk past a group of white boys who look set to have fun. Manne, brus, okes - you're not exactly sure how they self-identify but you settle on okes.

Even as you try to distract yourself with that distinction, you are reminded that it doesn't matter. Whatever names they decide to go by, there is nothing that scares you more.

You are walking from Harfield Road station near Kenilworth to the home of your employer. You live in Khayelitsha and are a single mother of two. You are thinking about them as you walk.

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You don't think much about your surroundings. You make this commute often. You see that it is just after 9am, so you curse the late train and begin to hurry a little.

Suddenly a white man is shouting behind you. You ignore him because he is shouting something about a prostitute.

You know he means the women who the men of his neighbourhood pay to have sex with, but there are none today. At least not now, it's too early. You are not sure why he is upset by them. When they come, it is because they are wanted here.

The white man keeps shouting. He is shouting that you must "get out of his street". You want to look back but he is now beating you.

He is shouting and beating you, the prostitute who has no right to be in this self-respecting neighbourhood. You are screaming.

No one from the neighbourhood watch comes to help. He beats you until you are on your knees. He is satisfied, so he leaves you. You tell your employer and you go to press charges.

You are at a gym in Sandton. Your favourite spinning class. You are in your 50s and make a point of looking after yourself.

You are enjoying the music and you punctuate it with a "Yebo!" as the instructor puts you through the gruelling exercise. A white man nearbygets off his bicycle, calls you "bloody k*****, a cockroach and a selfish bitch". You think he will hit you. You keep quiet and do not respond.

His friend sprays you with water from his squeeze bottle, says: "Shoosh, can't you see you are upsetting my friend?"

After the class, you go to the manager on duty to complain and when that manager calls the two men to her office, they refuse to go. The man swears at you again: "You bloody k*****, you are a cockroach and next time I come to the gym I will bring Doom to spray you with."

You are going about your usual cleaning duties at this boys' residence. One of the boys beckons you and your colleagues - three other women, one man - to come with him. He leads you to a room where three of his friends wait.

They welcome you, their "squeezas", to their "initiation" ceremony. You are not sure what is happening.

One of them is talking into a video, something about the right of blacks to join Reitz residence. He explains to you now that you have to prove yourselves. You cannot recount the things you are forced to do.

You are forced to drink bottles of beer, dance among yourselves, run a race to see whether you can run fast enough for the hostel rugby team.

You are struggling, this makes them laugh. You are not sure if it is the alcohol. Some of your colleagues are laughing too. It is funny what is happening around you. You can't keep track of what is happening. The alcohol has taken full effect.

You see them bring a bowl of food. It smells like urine. They make you eat it. You want to vomit, they encourage you to eat more.

block_quotes_start Your body is not "woman", let alone human. (Their logic, not yours.) Your body is not in need of chivalry block_quotes_end

You shout "Jou gat, man!" You think the worst is over. You cannot believe your eyes. There is more food. The boy is urinating on the food, shouting: "Take! Take!"

You struggle, he forces you to eat it. They laugh. You vomit. One of the boys explains into the video: "Dit is wat ons regtig dink van integrasie [This is what we really think of integration]."

You are off nursing duties this Sunday. Your friends want to celebrate your godchild's third birthday. The kids, excited, go to the playroom.

Your daughter comes back complaining about another child. Argh, kids will be kids. You tell her to leave her alone.

Your child comes back complaining again. Your child hit the other child a little too hard. A white man advances towards you, finds you are alone, no man, starts shouting that your daughter is terrorising his. You don't take it.

He grabs your daughter by the arm and tells his daughter to hit her. You stand up, tell him to never threaten your child. Who the hell does he think he is?

He starts swearing, calling you a bad parent. You won't have it, and let him have it. He is threatening you. People around you are screaming, but only one dares to help.

You are scared as he lunges at you, the children are terrified as he shakes the table, but you are put in a spot and defend yourself to the end.

The manager tries to calm the man down afterwards, lets him leave, comes to speak to you after that. They take your number, and not his.

He said he lived in Rustenburg and you think of following him to get the registration number but you are scared he will attack you again if you provoke him. If he could do that in a room full of people, anything could happen outside.

Thixo, the things that have been done in the name of the white phallus. Your body is not "woman", let alone human. (Their logic, not yours.) Your body is not in need of chivalry.

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Your body is not in need of respect. Your body is not in need of protection. You might want to waste your time and ask: "Ain't I a woman?"

But you remember that your body is not "woman", let alone human. (Their logic, not yours.)

Your body is something quite different, something worse than that. Your body is a negation of the worst kind.

Your body negates theirs in all ways imaginable (or unimaginable, to them): your softness, their hardness; your breasts, their chests; your darkness, their pinkness; your smile, their frown; your freedom, their unfreedom; your indifference, their desire.

Your body is the memory of the stammoeder they deny. Your body is the memory that you are the mother of all white boys and men. Your body is the memory of suckling at your breast. Your body is the memory of crying for you whilst in their mothers' arms. Your body is the memory of knowing your tongue before their mothers'.

Your body is Krotoa. Your body is Saartjie Baartman. Your body is Sally Hemings. Your body is Mavis. Your body is Niki, the Madonna of Excelsior. Your body is Jezile.

Your body is a question asked by a teenage Rian Malan while testing his manhood on you, seemingly uninterested in whether you are scared or not because this is what white boys can do in the maid's quarters: "Was I good? Am I big enough?"

Your body is a question to David Lurie's problem of sex in Disgrace, of white male desire and the problems it poses for the world.

Your body is a question of power that they must answer through conquest.

You are never sure which will be the day you provide that answer, so you quicken your pace and quickly walk to the other side of the road.

Thixo, the things that have been done in the name of the white phallus.