There is no amount of preparation that can prepare a woman from the United States for the
gender inequity of rural South Africa. While in the village, it is a violation of Peace Corps safety
policy to be away from home past sundown. This is a needful policy as a friendly decline to
marriage proposals is often interpreted by the village men as a cute game of “hard-to-get.” I am
grateful for my host family for keeping me in a state of grace, love, and support as I surrendered
my freedom as an independent female. Once again, if it weren’t for my heart leading the journey,
I wouldn’t have made it through year one.
In my adventures, I have always found ways to cope with the inequities. I know by this point in
my life, arguing values and norms is a waste of time. The only way to get others to consider new
thinking is to first develop an understanding of why they are so adamant about their current
thinking-be it cultural practices, beliefs, or cynicism. You can’t understand what someone
believes and why without asking questions, nor without exuding a genuine appreciation for their
free offering of ideas (whether you agree with those ideas or not). It’s about building trust and
rapport with others.
When people feel appreciated, their guard subsides, stripping away the need for defensiveness,
and opening the door for an exchange of ideas. If I scurried about pontificating to the men of
traditional communities about women’s lib in America, then I would only be sending an unspoken
message to my host community about my assumed superiority over their way of life. That’s not
what I came here to do; I came here to open minds while opening my own mind, and to have a
symbiotic relationship with my host community. I can’t do that by drawing a box around myself to
magnify the distinctions between us. No, mutual growth can only be had by seeing through the
lenses of unity, and through eyes of love-unconditional love. I’ve had to get creative in my
engagements, and it has been a most enlightening challenge.
Last week, I stopped at a fruit stand to support the woman running her own little operation. We
chatted for a bit about her work and her children when a man approached the stand. The woman
excitedly told this tall middle-aged Venda man that I, the mukuwa, can speak Tshivenda. This led
to an explanation of my presence in the community. The man was puzzled at my response when
he asked how I am managing life in the village.
“It’s difficult…it’s very difficult for a white woman.” I hesitate for a moment wondering if I should
be completely candid. My instincts led me to my next statement. “It’s difficult for any woman.”
The man took a small step back and looked at me squa