Wathint'abafazi, wathint'imbokodo!

10/26/11, 9:17 p.m.

                The Xhosa phrase in the title translates to “You strike a woman, you strike a rock!” and it’s very relevant to the day I had today. I am ready for bed and feeling very fulfilled. All of the volunteers skipped our normal placements today in order to help the CCS staff facilitate the “Art of Healing” workshop at the Athlone Community Center. Delegates from women’s shelters across Cape Town gathered together to participate in activities led by Themba, a good friend of CCS who works in healing and reconciliation and does a lot of these workshops in South Africa (a place that needs a lot of healing for multitudes of reasons) and even around the world. We did breathing exercises, a repeat-after-me sort of game, a story-telling activity, and we hung on to his every word when he recited a poem while accompanying himself on the mbira. I think his presence there was beneficial because it’s really important for men to also take up the cause of ending violence against women and children. Being a female is certainly not a prerequisite for being a feminist—it only means you support equitable treatment of others.

                After Themba’s portion, we were all broken up into smaller groups to have discussions about abuse against women and children. Each group had a poster with a tree labeled “abuse” on it, and we had to label the roots with causes and the branches with effects. My group discussed the different manifestations of abuse, like physical, sexual, emotional, substance, and even financial abuse. We found that many of our causes were also effects and vice versa, so we showed apples falling from the tree (people raised in a society where maltreatment is rampant) and creating new abuse tree seedlings. After all, a vicious cycle as odious as this can only be broken if people actively address it. That is why we spent the rest of the day painting signs and banners to hold during the march on November 25^th that kicks off the international “16 Days of Activism” regarding abuse against women and children. I paid homage to a good friend of mine with a Ph.D., one Dr. Seuss, by painting “A person’s a person, no matter how small” on my poster because I decided to focus on child abuse. All the posters were creative and beautiful, with phrases like “Real men don’t hit” and “Respect my mind, body, and soul.” Then I spent the rest of the time helping the Salvation Army, which has a women’s shelter in Athlone called Carehaven, paint their banner. I’m so glad I will still be here for the march, because I’ll get to participate and all the CCS volunteers will even be martials. What that entails, no one’s quite sure yet, but one of the directors, Tahira, has been appointed head martial of the entire shebang along with a woman constable from the police force. The police will be making a positive appearance because here especially they have a bad reputation when it comes to protecting the rights of the abused.

                I couldn’t be happier. This is a cause in which I believe with all my heart and I’m so excited to be playing a part in the 16 Days of Activism and its preparation. I met all sorts of beautiful women today whose particular life stories I will never know but whose feelings were shared by everyone in that little auditorium today. I loved laughing and talking seriously with the women in my tree group and I got to know the Carehaven ladies well. One of the directors was excited that I would be there for the march and took an interest in me. When I mentioned that I’d probably be studying neuroscience at Harvard and tossed off, “but who knows, I might even end up in social work after a trip like this!” she said she definitely see me as a social worker dealing with children. She’s not the first person who has said that on this trip, and not even the second or third. Who knows? Also, I’m sure the workshop meant a lot to those who have probably never expressed their thoughts on abuse—verbally, artistically, otherwise. I know it was even therapeutic for me. Considering my past and my “Too Nice Weary Gene” tendency to put everyone else’s happiness before my own, I truly felt like something strengthened inside me today. There might have been steroids in the burgers we had at lunch (our poor kitchen staff was working at a furious pace all day) or I might have just had a really special experience. I returned covered in paint and a little wiser. At this point, all I know is that on November 25^th, if you strike a woman, prepare for a rockslide.