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‘Don’t label us’
chaba rhuwanya
Aug 15 · 8 min read
Growing up in a polygamous family and a society that sees women as subjects was a hell of the experience to me. Worse, my mother, a fourth wife was not ‘lucky’ enough to give birth to at least one ‘precious’ child, a son. Her efforts to get one ended her with 7 daughters. You can imagine the place and position of such a wife in that polygamous family. First, being a forth wife and second, having 7 daughters with no son. To her, it was like failing to justify why she was added to the family. Each time she gave birth after the third born, the family would not go to the hospital excited because she gave birth to ‘wale wale’ (same girls).
My father loved all his 27 children, out of which 14 were boys. Each of three wives had boys, except for my mother. The household was very harsh, that it was her fault, not even my father’s acceptance of the situation was enough to harmonise the pressure to condemn her for not bearing a boy child. At one point she was given a bottle opener symbolizing that she had given birth to barmaids, or that she can not have an opinion because soon her daughters will be prostitutes and have children out of wedlock even worse will be teen-moms.To us, the daughters, it was not any better. You had to struggle to make yourself count. You had to fight to be heard, to secure a seat because apparently it is assumed, you cannot sit while your brother is standing.
It comes as no surprise that, for some of us, that fighting became our only way of pushing the ladder, to get what we deserve or be heard. While that was the language we had to painfully learn, when I grew up, I find that even responding to patriarchy the way it deserves also comes with its cost. Too often I am labelled a stubborn, rude, bold, activist, acting like men, was meant to be a man. Am I?
Where It all Started
The photo: thanks to Gombe — Stream.
I was born in Kigoma urban, North-Western Tanzania bordering Lake Tanganyika. My family is from a fishing village called Mwamgongo along the shores of Lake Tanganyika on a small bay in the valley of the river Ngonya. It is about 7 km away from Gombe National Park, a famous home for the chimpanzee, the one conservationist Jane Goodall is reckoned with. It is one of many villages along the Lake Tanganyika shore, but the most beautiful and developed one by far.
Mwamgongo is not reachable by road; the only reliable means of transportation to and from Mwamgongo is through canoes or boats. Therefore, Mwamgongo is quite disconnected and conservative. My father owned quite a number of boats. We had one for family use, another for cargo shipment to neighbourhood countries, another for passengers, and another for fishing. All boats had names, and the family one was named ‘Jua Lako’, literally means ‘Mind your own business’, i have no idea why he named it like that.
My father was regarded as ‘rich’ and by virtue of that and being a Muslim, he was entitled to marry many wives and have many kids. And this was just a normal tradition. Doing otherwise while you are ‘rich’ could raise a question about one’s manhood. His background was quite challenging, he was born in a very poor family and from a broken home. His father divorced his mother for the reasons I am yet to understand. His mother passed away when he was in his teenage and my father could not afford to buy ‘sanda’ for his mother. (Sanda is a piece of white cotton cloth for wrapping the deceased body for burial).
According to him, failure to provide her mother with ‘sanda’ was the painful life experience he ever overcomes. Because of that, he vowed not to die poor. Indeed, he did not die poor. He took upon himself to seek for wealth that took him to Burundi, Rwanda, DRC Congo and Zambia. Through his travels and encounters with people, he acquired an affluent life and business skills.
He then ensured two things; first, he will provide ‘sanda’ for free for anyone dies in the village. Second, to give his children something he was not privileged to get, an education. Indeed he supported all of his children who enjoyed books; two of brothers went to study abroad, which had a lot of influence to us to study even harder. To date, even upon my father’s death, the tradition continues to provide sanda to the needy. We could say he died happily, achieved all his wishes.
Breaking the Glass Ceiling
Taking you back to where it all started, being a girl child in such an environment, your guaranteed destiny was to be married. Thinking of an inheritance or a place in a family business was simply like chasing a mirage. I grew up attending wedding ceremonies of my elder sisters from other mothers who dropped school and succumbed to fate. Growing up in such an environment can make one either resilient or vulnerable. I am grateful it made me resilient.
Young as I was, I knew to be relevant I had to punch above weight. I had to really excel in class. I had to kill any inferiority feeling against boys or so to say my half-brothers. It paid. I toped the region on national examination results of standard four and seven, I remember to be gifted my very first bank account for being the number one in standard four exams, i was 10 yo, it was from a Postal Bank, a little book with my photo on it, it pushed me even harder. I was doing well to the extent our then Headmaster Mr. Mollel lined me up along boys for every inter-school academic regional contests. I always lead in two out of the three subjects, which are Language and Social Studies. I was not so blessed and made for Mathematics.
Because of education my sisters and I became relevant. Kigoma being a small town then, news and rumours circulated very fast. Stories of us doing well at school went around. My father took pride in her 7 daughters doing well at school. We became a family pride, they started getting concerned about our future not as soon-to-be wives but our further education; worrying about which school to send us to, since Kigoma then had only one lower-level secondary school. It felt good, we felt human.
Our mother’s voice started to count and we could be heard. That also meant we started to be given the opportunity to attend and assist with family business something which was highly unusual for the girls. At least we added a place where we could fit in the family beyond the kitchen. The 7 girls brought multiple master’s degrees, and one PH.D home to our once condemned mother.
Should We All be Feminist?
At school, however, things were not far different from home. Still, as girls, we were treated as less privileged compared to boys. I recall, when in primary school as a top performer student I would be selected along with the top performer on the boy’s side to read the speech at ceremonies. However, being a girl, I would hold the microphone for the male counterpart to read. In another occasion, we were selected to perform a parade (gwaride), in 1992, when the national independence torch was officially handed over to the government from the signified the end of one-party rule in Tanzania. Again, it is the boy who led the parade.
When I grew up and join University, I came along the word Feminism. It did not appeal much to me. My lived experience and exposure to the realities made this label and concept less matter to me. It was until recently my husband bought me the book by Chimamanda Adichie Ngozi ‘We should All Be Feminist’ that I started to look the whole feminist thing differently. I could relate my life experience with most things Chimamanda wrote. For once, I took time to reflect on my personal experience that I never paid attention to and which I regarded as normal. It is today I wonder why the boy could not be the one holding the microphone and I read? Or why was the boy selected to lead the parade not a girl? Why my brothers mattered and I needed an extra validation to be treated as important?
I realized how my life experience has been a product of overcoming patriarchy. The urge to prove that I can do what my brothers can do was always pushing me to do more. As a result of proving that, I was later entrusted with my family’s businesses, my entrepreneurship mind-set was bolded from very young age. At the age of 18, I managed the whole Petrol station on my own, and later on as a regional agent of cement. Men dominated these kinds of businesses; it meant I had to woman-up to get things done; I was lucky enough to learn from the best; both my father and brothers. I would be labelled as ‘anachapa kazi kama mwanaume’ meaning she works as a man, a description I did not like. Can’t a woman work and delivers without being praised of being like a man?
The challenge still exists, in a better look and shape perhaps. I learnt not all men are stronger as they are labelled to be. Weaker ones exist and are quicker to label us as stubborn or feminist when we face them as equals. It is interesting that while society and culture have moulded us to earn our position at the male dominated world through fighting our way up, when we face some of these men, they play victim. I wish one day they will understand that when we raise our argument and our voice is not because we intend to fight them, rather that is the language and tone that took us to where we are.
I have never regarded myself as feminist, nor do male-dominated world mean anything to me, I only live up to my reality. To me, labels like gender; male or female matters less. What matters, is, we are all humans, interdepend and we ought to work together. We can be equal not the same. It is okay to be different.
Unfortunately, It appears to me the choice given to some of us who sound conscious is between standing up for our rights and dignity and being labelled; or be submissive and succumb to fate to be accepted as a righteous woman. However, if need be, it is far better being labelled than belittled. Rolling up my sleeves!
##
Chaba Rhuwanya, holds a masters degree in Corporate Communication from IE Business School, is an entrepreneur with over 10 years experience in areas of Strategic Communication, Business Development, Relationship Management, and Marketing. She writes sometimes.
chaba rhuwanya
Aug 15 · 8 min read
Growing up in a polygamous family and a society that sees women as subjects was a hell of the experience to me. Worse, my mother, a fourth wife was not ‘lucky’ enough to give birth to at least one ‘precious’ child, a son. Her efforts to get one ended her with 7 daughters. You can imagine the place and position of such a wife in that polygamous family. First, being a forth wife and second, having 7 daughters with no son. To her, it was like failing to justify why she was added to the family. Each time she gave birth after the third born, the family would not go to the hospital excited because she gave birth to ‘wale wale’ (same girls).
My father loved all his 27 children, out of which 14 were boys. Each of three wives had boys, except for my mother. The household was very harsh, that it was her fault, not even my father’s acceptance of the situation was enough to harmonise the pressure to condemn her for not bearing a boy child. At one point she was given a bottle opener symbolizing that she had given birth to barmaids, or that she can not have an opinion because soon her daughters will be prostitutes and have children out of wedlock even worse will be teen-moms.To us, the daughters, it was not any better. You had to struggle to make yourself count. You had to fight to be heard, to secure a seat because apparently it is assumed, you cannot sit while your brother is standing.
It comes as no surprise that, for some of us, that fighting became our only way of pushing the ladder, to get what we deserve or be heard. While that was the language we had to painfully learn, when I grew up, I find that even responding to patriarchy the way it deserves also comes with its cost. Too often I am labelled a stubborn, rude, bold, activist, acting like men, was meant to be a man. Am I?
Where It all Started
The photo: thanks to Gombe — Stream.
I was born in Kigoma urban, North-Western Tanzania bordering Lake Tanganyika. My family is from a fishing village called Mwamgongo along the shores of Lake Tanganyika on a small bay in the valley of the river Ngonya. It is about 7 km away from Gombe National Park, a famous home for the chimpanzee, the one conservationist Jane Goodall is reckoned with. It is one of many villages along the Lake Tanganyika shore, but the most beautiful and developed one by far.
Mwamgongo is not reachable by road; the only reliable means of transportation to and from Mwamgongo is through canoes or boats. Therefore, Mwamgongo is quite disconnected and conservative. My father owned quite a number of boats. We had one for family use, another for cargo shipment to neighbourhood countries, another for passengers, and another for fishing. All boats had names, and the family one was named ‘Jua Lako’, literally means ‘Mind your own business’, i have no idea why he named it like that.
My father was regarded as ‘rich’ and by virtue of that and being a Muslim, he was entitled to marry many wives and have many kids. And this was just a normal tradition. Doing otherwise while you are ‘rich’ could raise a question about one’s manhood. His background was quite challenging, he was born in a very poor family and from a broken home. His father divorced his mother for the reasons I am yet to understand. His mother passed away when he was in his teenage and my father could not afford to buy ‘sanda’ for his mother. (Sanda is a piece of white cotton cloth for wrapping the deceased body for burial).
According to him, failure to provide her mother with ‘sanda’ was the painful life experience he ever overcomes. Because of that, he vowed not to die poor. Indeed, he did not die poor. He took upon himself to seek for wealth that took him to Burundi, Rwanda, DRC Congo and Zambia. Through his travels and encounters with people, he acquired an affluent life and business skills.
He then ensured two things; first, he will provide ‘sanda’ for free for anyone dies in the village. Second, to give his children something he was not privileged to get, an education. Indeed he supported all of his children who enjoyed books; two of brothers went to study abroad, which had a lot of influence to us to study even harder. To date, even upon my father’s death, the tradition continues to provide sanda to the needy. We could say he died happily, achieved all his wishes.
Breaking the Glass Ceiling
Taking you back to where it all started, being a girl child in such an environment, your guaranteed destiny was to be married. Thinking of an inheritance or a place in a family business was simply like chasing a mirage. I grew up attending wedding ceremonies of my elder sisters from other mothers who dropped school and succumbed to fate. Growing up in such an environment can make one either resilient or vulnerable. I am grateful it made me resilient.
Young as I was, I knew to be relevant I had to punch above weight. I had to really excel in class. I had to kill any inferiority feeling against boys or so to say my half-brothers. It paid. I toped the region on national examination results of standard four and seven, I remember to be gifted my very first bank account for being the number one in standard four exams, i was 10 yo, it was from a Postal Bank, a little book with my photo on it, it pushed me even harder. I was doing well to the extent our then Headmaster Mr. Mollel lined me up along boys for every inter-school academic regional contests. I always lead in two out of the three subjects, which are Language and Social Studies. I was not so blessed and made for Mathematics.
Because of education my sisters and I became relevant. Kigoma being a small town then, news and rumours circulated very fast. Stories of us doing well at school went around. My father took pride in her 7 daughters doing well at school. We became a family pride, they started getting concerned about our future not as soon-to-be wives but our further education; worrying about which school to send us to, since Kigoma then had only one lower-level secondary school. It felt good, we felt human.
Our mother’s voice started to count and we could be heard. That also meant we started to be given the opportunity to attend and assist with family business something which was highly unusual for the girls. At least we added a place where we could fit in the family beyond the kitchen. The 7 girls brought multiple master’s degrees, and one PH.D home to our once condemned mother.
Should We All be Feminist?
At school, however, things were not far different from home. Still, as girls, we were treated as less privileged compared to boys. I recall, when in primary school as a top performer student I would be selected along with the top performer on the boy’s side to read the speech at ceremonies. However, being a girl, I would hold the microphone for the male counterpart to read. In another occasion, we were selected to perform a parade (gwaride), in 1992, when the national independence torch was officially handed over to the government from the signified the end of one-party rule in Tanzania. Again, it is the boy who led the parade.
When I grew up and join University, I came along the word Feminism. It did not appeal much to me. My lived experience and exposure to the realities made this label and concept less matter to me. It was until recently my husband bought me the book by Chimamanda Adichie Ngozi ‘We should All Be Feminist’ that I started to look the whole feminist thing differently. I could relate my life experience with most things Chimamanda wrote. For once, I took time to reflect on my personal experience that I never paid attention to and which I regarded as normal. It is today I wonder why the boy could not be the one holding the microphone and I read? Or why was the boy selected to lead the parade not a girl? Why my brothers mattered and I needed an extra validation to be treated as important?
I realized how my life experience has been a product of overcoming patriarchy. The urge to prove that I can do what my brothers can do was always pushing me to do more. As a result of proving that, I was later entrusted with my family’s businesses, my entrepreneurship mind-set was bolded from very young age. At the age of 18, I managed the whole Petrol station on my own, and later on as a regional agent of cement. Men dominated these kinds of businesses; it meant I had to woman-up to get things done; I was lucky enough to learn from the best; both my father and brothers. I would be labelled as ‘anachapa kazi kama mwanaume’ meaning she works as a man, a description I did not like. Can’t a woman work and delivers without being praised of being like a man?
The challenge still exists, in a better look and shape perhaps. I learnt not all men are stronger as they are labelled to be. Weaker ones exist and are quicker to label us as stubborn or feminist when we face them as equals. It is interesting that while society and culture have moulded us to earn our position at the male dominated world through fighting our way up, when we face some of these men, they play victim. I wish one day they will understand that when we raise our argument and our voice is not because we intend to fight them, rather that is the language and tone that took us to where we are.
I have never regarded myself as feminist, nor do male-dominated world mean anything to me, I only live up to my reality. To me, labels like gender; male or female matters less. What matters, is, we are all humans, interdepend and we ought to work together. We can be equal not the same. It is okay to be different.
Unfortunately, It appears to me the choice given to some of us who sound conscious is between standing up for our rights and dignity and being labelled; or be submissive and succumb to fate to be accepted as a righteous woman. However, if need be, it is far better being labelled than belittled. Rolling up my sleeves!
##
Chaba Rhuwanya, holds a masters degree in Corporate Communication from IE Business School, is an entrepreneur with over 10 years experience in areas of Strategic Communication, Business Development, Relationship Management, and Marketing. She writes sometimes.