In the soft light before dawn hundreds of girls and women make their way down to the river. In giggling clusters they sing, ”Wezintombi hlolwane, ake niyeke ukupreventa [girls, get virginity tested and don’t use contraceptives].” They bathe in the cold water, which will wash away bad luck. As they splash, they exchange horror stories about the ritual to come. They hang strings of white, pink, green and yellow beads over their breasts and put on the short, beaded skirts that denote chastity and signify maidenhood. Then they make their way to a nearby field where a group of old women wait.
One by one the girls and women lie down on the ground and open their legs. As the odd anxious mother hovers to ensure her child is tested fairly, the virginity tester — using latex gloves — spreads the labia and gives her pronouncement: ”Intombi nto [She is a virgin]!” Those who don’t pass are called aside with their mothers and told: ”Khona ogudlayo [someone has paved the way]”.
Those who pass the test have a white clay dot put on their forehead. The testers sometimes change the colour of the dot at the last minute to prevent cheating. Those who were raped or abused are encouraged to declare this. They get support to put the rapist behind bars. Then they receive the coveted forehead dot and can leave with dignity. The virgins are congratulated and encouraged by the elders and community leaders to preserve themselves and their traditions.
Virginity testing is a ritual practised by Zulu-speaking people to ensure that girls are still virgins before participating in the reed dance. The girls and women are placed in groups (amaqhikiza) — aged from seven to 63 — that sing and march with freshly cut reeds to the Zulu king. The reeds must be held upright. Legend has it that if a reed breaks, the bearer is not pure. The virgins file by, hoping to catch the king’s eye and become his next wife.
The pretty and the light-skinned virgins — the ones whose skin glisten with the liberal application of Vaseline — are shepherded to the front row. As a light-skinned girl from an urban school I was more celebrated than those from rural areas — it wasn’t expected that a ”Model C” girl from town would be chaste. Being fluent in English meant I was pushed forward to appear in the TV shots and to be interviewed by the media.
I committed myself to my culture by attending virginity testing and the reed dance. But what happens if you do not pass the test? Tradition allows for your family to pay a fine to the king and the other virgins for disgracing the tradition.
But why would anyone want to attend the testing if she is not a virgin? Why would she run the risk of disgracing herself and her family? Many are compelled by their parents to be there and some just want to fit in. The fear of failing the test means that even girls who are virgins put substances — such as Panado tablets and animal fat — into their vaginas to ”highlight” their hymens. What is problematic is that your virginity status comes to define who you are. We were made to feel that it did not matter what we achieved or how intelligent we might be — if you are not a virgin, you are wasted.
And the stigma doesn’t stop when you get home. Those who fail the test are not allowed to walk with the other virgins in case they teach them to be ”dirty”. No matter how respectful the non-virgins are to their elders, they are simply ignored or told: ”Uyini nje uma ungacwele [What are you if you are not a virgin]?”
While nominal testing is done for boys there is little pressure on them to pass. The virginity test for boys is even more crude — there is no hymen to look for, so boys are tested according to whether they can urinate in an arc or the degree to which their legs move when tapped behind the knee.
I preserved myself for me. I underwent virginity testing to celebrate a vow I had made to myself: outwardly celebrating a decision I made inwardly. I am a proud, young Zulu woman and I appreciate the values and customs taught to me by my elders, who have shaped me and help me become who I am.
But I believe everyone should be equally celebrated for themselves and their unique qualities, regardless of whether they have an intact hymen or not. No one should be made to that like a single action accounts for the rest of their existence, the way virginity testing does. We cannot encourage a culture of judging and alienating young girls.