Raised Apart: Behold, there stands Woman

It was not until my teens that my sexuality became an issue. All along my best pal was Eddah. She played for our five-aside team. She could hit the ball just like any of us. We had been playing football together since we were eight or nine. She was the only girl in the group. It did not matter- she was our pal. The other boys accepted it.  When we played against boys from the other 'landhies' or blocks of houses, she played goalkeeper. They usually raised hell about a girl playing in-field. I tell you they all feared coming up against girl power- it can be very embarrassing for some people if a girl dribbled past you or charged you down. 

Why this? Today I am plumbing into gender. That is polite for women.The politics of gender make me rather fearful of the subject. I could be planting ruin. Most of us men keep off the subject rather than risk rubbing women the wrong way. Some will stick to the politically correct themes. That is, they will play it safe. I will do neither. I will simply talk about my experiences- those experiences which have moulded my approaches towards women. Eddah is one of them. We made toy cars out of cans with her and raced. We fought and came to respect each other. If you asked me Eddah was just a person- like me.

Of course the first woman in my life is my mother. To be honest it was not until much of her hair turned grey that I looked at her as a woman. All along she was the most resolute, insightful and the most inquisitive person I had known. Then her hair turned grey. At first she asked us to pluck out the grey hairs. We did it after school in the late afternoons when it was hot and humid. Then the grey overtook the black on her head. My sisters and elder brothers had always dyed their hair black simply because in our family the hair tends towards brown. Here at the Kenya coast we call it- ‘red’ hair. Jet black is cool, red is not.

So when my Mother had to attend a cousin's wedding she insisted on dyeing her hair. She would not go with her white cloak. Everyone ignored her- she looked just fine, we said. The lady was not amused. Eventually Dad bought some dye for her- I was in college then. She dyes her hair jet black to this day. Hitherto I had not associated her with the common practices of other women- she is a special person. 

The Family Matriach watching over her grand-daughters

My mother was taken out of school to marry my father. She wanted to be a nurse. She made up for the injustice by making sure we all shared household chores.  There was no boy or girl in her house. We were all children. The older ones helped with cooking, washing and cleaning. She drew up a duty roster. She made sure the chores were rotated around so everyone got to do the dish-washing or toilet cleaning. There were no sacred cows. We all went to school and two of my sisters hold Master’s degrees- they have gone further than all the boys in the family.

But high school came and I had to go to boarding school. The girls had separate tables in the dining hall and left evening preps some fifteen minutes before the boys. They took their evening break before the boys were let out. Weekends when we were allowed out of school; the girls stayed whenever the boys went out. Likewise the boys remained in school when girls were allowed out. Only the junior boys in Form One and Two were allowed to join the girls on Entertainment Sunday. That is when we had a disco or movie show. Cuddling or kissing was not allowed- not that we were very interested.  Suddenly girls became a mystery.

Our parents became overly concerned about the long hours I spent with Eddah during the holidays. Mostly, we talked about school and little else. When we did kiss, it was just to explore. We could not go beyond there. We cared so much about school to venture beyond a smooch. Eventually we kept off each other. Boys hang around with boys and girls with girls.

Then I had to go to college. All restrictions were lifted. It was time to get laid or be laughed off. There was also alcohol and peer pressure to lower any inhibitions. I can remember one night when after a night of dancing and drinking  a girl asked me to promise not to have sex with her even though we had to spend the night together. We had been sentenced to a night together by the couple refereeing the night. It turned out my mate also had to make such vows to his woman of the night. In college you had to conform or freak-out.

By the time I was old enough to be with woman, we had not only grown apart but I was also confused. Who is this woman? Is she a person like me? Why then are there rules and norms governing our interaction other than mutual acceptance? 

I have gone about it in a round-about way. So today if a woman knocks on my door it is not just a person knocking. My response will be couched with reference to the many influences. There is tradition to contend with- unaccompanied women who are not my relatives are generally not allowed in my place. Especially, married women cannot venture inside my house unless escorted or I have company. There is the law to contend with- in my work with communities, for any forum to be legal it must include not less than a third of either gender. Usually that means at least a third must be women. If we cannot raise the number we hunt for it. I know there is a history of exclusion and oppression. That is what the law seeks to address. But there is the history of separation that no one wants to address.

How shall we be one if from childhood we are raised apart? We end up like the branches of a tree- joined at the trunk but never to rub each other again. For us to make meaningful headway towards gender equality we should change the way we raise our children. The law can bend our will but not our hearts. It is time we bend our hearts to achieve meaningful change.