Author: Chantel Mazibuko

After watching For Colored Girls, my friend & I sat and were in deep thought.  We were hurt, angry and confused. We had so many questions. We were trying to make sense of everything that we saw in the movie. How much we relate to all the women in it, either as one of them, or we knew someone close to us going or went through similar issues. Touched so much, even more worried because there were a whole lot more other issues that we face everyday and that have become part of us.

We are raped, and how a man finds satisfaction from having sex with a crying woman is a subject for another day. We are beaten up by the men whom we love, or at least make us believe they love us. We have to raise our kids by ourselves, because somehow we are all choosing the wrong potential fathers! At times we are faced with decisions of abortion. Our kids are using drugs, if we are not using too. We go to work and still have to work twice more than everybody else to be recognized, let alone be given a promotion. We can’t drive a beautiful car without gossip spreading about the sugar-daddies we slept with to get it! We can’t decide to divorce the man who stopped loving us the minute we exchanged vows, because the church and our parents wouldn’t be able to handle it. We can’t marry and decide not to have kids, your husband’s manhood will be bruised, and your in-laws will be knocking on your door every weekend for a meeting to solve this problem! We marry men that won’t support their families. He’s working, getting paid, but nobody knows where his salary is going. We marry or date cheating men, and have to live knowing that, if we are not HIV+ already, it is somehow bound to be our death sentence sooner or later, because he paid lobola for me he can’t…no, wait…he wont wear a condom!

We couldn’t find the answers to why all these painful things are happening to us. However, like most issues that we don’t have solutions for, this one also had to come down to race. Yes maybe, because we are black, wrong skin color choice!

But these things happen to white gals too!

White girls get raped. Their men cheat, yes they do! There are single-white parents. I have never seen kids that are into drugs more than white kids! White girls get beaten too. Their men are drunks, don’t support, etc. But then why does it seem so different? Why do they always look like they are handling their business better than us? Why does it look lighter on them than it is on us? Listen, my reasons may be wrong, but in our conversation with my friend I realized that there are a few things that white people do that we might learn from.

A few months ago my white colleague (let’s call her Betty) came to work crying. Her friend (we’ll call her Sarah) worried sick, went & made coffee for her, hugged her, gave her tissues & walked away.  A few minutes later, Sarah came back asked how Betty was doing, and said: “Do you wanna talk about it?” They sat together in a corner discussing whatever was wrong, made more coffee, cried together, hugged, and Sarah left. I still don’t know why Betty was crying. But I know that her surname has changed on the mailing list, and she is divorced but I still don’t know why. I can just try and add it all up because I think I am smart and can figure out but I don’t know for sure.

Betty &Sarah’s story is different from how I was brought up, from what I and my girls do, from what the society has taught us. If I were Betty (yes, black Betty), coming in the office crying, my friend will first send an sms/call one of our friends, tell them I am crying, :”uSipho choma! Uqalile ke futhi! Ngisayombuza ukuthi usenzeni ke manje, ngizokfownela later.”  For argument’s sake, let’s say she’s right; Thami has started his stunts again… She’d come to me and maybe hug, if I am lucky. Demand to know what happened. Her eyes already judging me, or showing that she already knows why I am crying! She would certainly tell me what to do, and how I should have handled the situation.

As soon as she leaves my office, she’s going straight to update her other friend! By the time I leave work, I’d almost be certain the whole building, the neighborhood, everybody knows what Thami has done to me, and how stupid I am for not leaving him! So I walk around feeling sorry for myself, not trusting anyone who asks how I am. They must have been told that I am not okay, that I am stupid, that I let these things happen to me.

The difference between how the black Sarah handles her friend’s pain to how the white Sarah does, made me aware that, blacks embrace pain. Somebody’s tears make juicy gossip. We make each other feel like we are the ones to blame for the pain that we are go through. We push. We fight that each of us carries the baggage, and when it gets heavy, and, when we see that it gets heavier, we get more excited. It gives us more to talk about. No wonder a girl who is raped finds the need to keep quiet. She rather deals with the pain of being hurt repeatedly, than telling a neighbor, because, Ma Rose will make her the cause, the reason, for her pain. And as if that’s not enough, Ma Rose will definitely make new friends from telling the story in her own version of course.

We are no different from any other race. But black girls will always be in so much pain. We will always suffer more. We will always carry the pain, the betrayal, the burden, of things that has nothing to do with us! We were taught to care about what other people think of us. If it’s not our friends judging us, it’s the society, our parents. My mother telling me to hold on to a loveless marriage because she can’t face her neighbors. The in-laws asking when am I gonna get pregnant because that’s what they expect from the bride. The church worried about me going to parties at night because that means I am not a Christian enough. My neighbors worried about how many men I have slept with, because I can’t drive a car with my salary. My relative worried about when I am going to finally fall pregnant and keep the baby because at my age when all my peers have two or more, there is no way I haven’t fallen pregnant!

Girls, I still don’t know why bad things happen to us. I am confused as you are about our men. I don’t know still, why our tradition and culture is so against us. I don’t know why we feel that what happens to us has anything to do with who we are. I don’t know why we take other people’s baggage, carry it, bring it to our houses and live with it…I know though, that we certainly make it worse. We rub the salt in it.

Black gal, today, I need you to do one favor for me. Please. When all has been said about you. When you can feel that whilst you try to put your head up high, they are watching you and giving you those disgusting pity looks. When you see the looks in their eyes, like you are already facing judgment day. When you hear anything that’s against what and how you are feeling…. . Black chick, please, be white about it! I want you to remember that it is not your fault. You did nothing wrong. You didn’t rape yourself! You didn’t leave, he did! That’s your car, you bought it! You are divorcing, because you know you deserve better and you are the best! You are raising your kids alone, but at least you are, he needs some raising and seriously you can’t raise him, too. Go partying, it’s your right. Have a drink, you deserve it. Pray about it. And move on…don’t embrace pain, don’t talk about it too much that it eventually becomes part of you. And when you are out having a drink with your friends… smile and say “I am okay.” And the nice thing is, you’ll be meaning it!

image sourced from msladycjr1106.blogspot.com

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