Any God-fearing woman is scared shitless of her. Right now, a well-respected herbs man is being paid handsomely to concoct a panacea for all the ”Home Wrecking” casualties she ruthlessly leaves in her path. She herself may not always understand her power, but knows when and how to use it, while Mr Patriarchy reaches for his double-barrelled shotgun at the sight of her, even though he knows that she ain’t no baboon.
Allow me to present the xhosawoman.
She’s everywhere. Hanging shamelessly on the passenger’s side of some tender-hungry yuppie’s Hummer, getting her weave patched at the hair salon with her airtime and ”cooldrink” allowance from her Person.
But the xhosawoman isn’t one of those women on postcards who dot their faces with calamine and wear long orange skirts. The only similarity between these two is that xhosa women mostly live in the urban areas, while the others are paraded in these spaces as authentic Xhosa women.
What essentially defines the xhosaÂÂwoman is that she understands the limitations she faces because of her exclusion from economic activity. Even though she has little chance of gaining any economic independence, she demands what she can from men in big shiny cars. The problem for Mr Patriarchy is that she is acquainted with the taste of freedom that comes with this independence and she does what she can to get as close to it as possible. While many other women may be forced to depend on material goodies from men, what distinguishes the xhosawoman is her sense of entitlement. What gives life to this entitlement is her aggressiveness; an abandonment of her socialisation in passivity, which is a pretty hard thing for most women to shake off.
She also has relatively more autonomy over her body than most women. The acts of violence women face on a daily basis not only take away their ownership of their bodies but also lead to some form of self-policing. The women who are harassed and assaulted for wearing miniskirts, for example, probably think twice about doing so again. Xhosa women, although dealing with the same total onslaught on their bodies, push the boundaries and do the most scandalous things. The point is not only that they’re believed to sell their bodies, have multiple partners or have abortions, but that their general experience of their bodies is that they belong to them.
Whether the xhosawoman is a figment of our collective imagination or just another stereotype, the point is that she is real in the minds of many, and women need to take this and run with it. The question is why? If you are marginalised from real economic activity and are lucky enough to find yourself someone who will provide for you and keep you happy, why should you be an aggro xhosawoman? The simple answer is this: being a xhosawoman is not about happiness, it’s about freedom. Besides, true happiness can only be found in a seven-step plan in Cosmo magazine and she couldn’t be bothered.
She is also tired of waiting for the proverbial ”Women’s Empowerment” project to bear fruits. For her it has come to mean an annual workshop in her ‘hood, where there’s impassioned chanting of ”Wathint’ imbokodo wathint’ abafazi!” and she goes home with a free T-Shirt, a sore throat and slogans ringing in her head.
And the more impatient she gets, the more bad jokes circulate about her. A mass shooting of a few xhosa women at a hair salon on a quiet Sunday afternoon would just be too messy and Mr Patriarchy dreads the psychonalysis that would follow if he were to consider this. So he can only discredit her in every way he can.
He probably wouldn’t have the balls to tell us why he feels so threatened or why he fears the xhosawoman only because she is fearless. But all women should listen very carefully to every shred of gossip, or scientific evidence about the xhosawoman and take note. She is one of few things that have the arrogant Mr P shaking in his boots and although it may take a lot for him to snap, the xhosawoman can at least start to wipe that silly smirk off his face.