“Mizungu, you are very beautiful, where is the husband?” “Ah! You are my size!” “May I escort you?” “I will give your father cows so that I can marry you.” “Mizungu, I want to sex you.” As a female volunteer, I am pretty much over hearing these horrible Ugandan pick up lines at least once or twice a week. They make me want to scream, punch, kick or never leave my house again.
I wouldn’t say I’m a bra-burning feminist, but I mean I like women’s rights. I understand that I am a stranger and that the culture here is different in that women and men have very specific roles in society. In college, I remember reading a lot of books on cultural relativity applied to human rights in my African Studies classes and found it fascinating. I guess after coming from a small, close-minded town it was refreshing to be introduced to a new way of forming one’s morality.
I know that as an American, my views on human rights are individualistic. That’s right I like privacy, being able to own things while having ovaries, and I like being able to choose what type of birth control is right for my body as an individual, not after being told to do so by a man.
So why are those convictions constantly questioned here? Why do I find myself scared to go and get air pressure in my bike tire without my boyfriend to accompany me and do all the talking? Why do I recoil when a newspaper salesmen comes up to Christopher and I having lunch and says, “Yes, big man would you like to buy?” and completely overlooks my presence, my ability to read, or a common interest in world news? Why is it that after I do these things, I am then at home, in tears, questioning the principles that make me, me?
Now I’m not boasting when I say that, generally, I view myself as a strong, individual woman. Its perfectly normal for a woman to feel empowered enough to say that. I mean my Mother says that I’ve been asserting myself as a woman since I was 5. I don’t think I have ever been one to back down from a challenge, especially if that challenge was posed by a man.
So, again, why am I backing down to a newspaper salesman with holes in his sandals? Have I been in Ugandan long enough now that I have begun to take on the submissive role of a Ugandan woman? Do I let Christopher do all the talking because it’s his role and I am just supposed to shut up and pop out a few babies one day?
And subsequently I ask myself, do I look down on Ugandan women then? I mean if I am thinking that I have lowered myself to submission, what does that mean I think of the women around me? Here follows guilt and sadness.
Yet it is not ALL Ugandan women that submit to the whim of men. I know this. I have friends that constantly lift my spirits when they discuss reproductive health openly or assert their rights. But they are few. I guess I get beaten down by the constant repetition of how amazing it is to be a man in Africa. I am constantly hearing men assert their rights or things that they want or need to live comfortably. Rarely do I hear this from a woman.
In a world full of attitudes like that, no wonder there are only a few women who feel comfortable enough to assert themselves! No wonder I am feeling their affect on my own sense of self. I can only imagine the daily struggle girls and young women go through to try to be successful. It is such an uphill battle.
I think I am in the midst of such a dilemma because I am half way through with the girls’ empowerment camp I am running. In trying to empower young girls within a traditional culture, I am bombarded by questions from them and from myself. I try not to lose hope that by working with them and teaching assertiveness I am helping the future generation avoid those horrible pick-up lines, but it is overwhelmingly hard. It’s hard because when I look around I see nothing but prostitution and sickness.
I wouldn’t say I’m a bra-burning feminist, but I mean I like women’s rights. I understand that I am a stranger and that the culture here is different in that women and men have very specific roles in society. In college, I remember reading a lot of books on cultural relativity applied to human rights in my African Studies classes and found it fascinating. I guess after coming from a small, close-minded town it was refreshing to be introduced to a new way of forming one’s morality.
I know that as an American, my views on human rights are individualistic. That’s right I like privacy, being able to own things while having ovaries, and I like being able to choose what type of birth control is right for my body as an individual, not after being told to do so by a man.
So why are those convictions constantly questioned here? Why do I find myself scared to go and get air pressure in my bike tire without my boyfriend to accompany me and do all the talking? Why do I recoil when a newspaper salesmen comes up to Christopher and I having lunch and says, “Yes, big man would you like to buy?” and completely overlooks my presence, my ability to read, or a common interest in world news? Why is it that after I do these things, I am then at home, in tears, questioning the principles that make me, me?
Now I’m not boasting when I say that, generally, I view myself as a strong, individual woman. Its perfectly normal for a woman to feel empowered enough to say that. I mean my Mother says that I’ve been asserting myself as a woman since I was 5. I don’t think I have ever been one to back down from a challenge, especially if that challenge was posed by a man.
So, again, why am I backing down to a newspaper salesman with holes in his sandals? Have I been in Ugandan long enough now that I have begun to take on the submissive role of a Ugandan woman? Do I let Christopher do all the talking because it’s his role and I am just supposed to shut up and pop out a few babies one day?
And subsequently I ask myself, do I look down on Ugandan women then? I mean if I am thinking that I have lowered myself to submission, what does that mean I think of the women around me? Here follows guilt and sadness.
Yet it is not ALL Ugandan women that submit to the whim of men. I know this. I have friends that constantly lift my spirits when they discuss reproductive health openly or assert their rights. But they are few. I guess I get beaten down by the constant repetition of how amazing it is to be a man in Africa. I am constantly hearing men assert their rights or things that they want or need to live comfortably. Rarely do I hear this from a woman.
In a world full of attitudes like that, no wonder there are only a few women who feel comfortable enough to assert themselves! No wonder I am feeling their affect on my own sense of self. I can only imagine the daily struggle girls and young women go through to try to be successful. It is such an uphill battle.
I think I am in the midst of such a dilemma because I am half way through with the girls’ empowerment camp I am running. In trying to empower young girls within a traditional culture, I am bombarded by questions from them and from myself. I try not to lose hope that by working with them and teaching assertiveness I am helping the future generation avoid those horrible pick-up lines, but it is overwhelmingly hard. It’s hard because when I look around I see nothing but prostitution and sickness.
And that’s what my girls see too.
