african men

i'm sure the title has got you wondering exactly what i'm going to say here. i was inspired to blog about this topic as i was writing an email to my dear friend, kristy about two very different encounters i had with african men today.

the first one was on my daily route from the bus rank where the kombi (15-passenger vans that are swaziland's main public transportation) drops me off to the faith bible school office. a taxi driver lounging against the side of his vehicle called out a cheery "good morning!" i smiled, replied "morning!" and was prepared to continue on my merry way when he grabbed my hand. if i was in a hurry or a bad mood, i would have grabbed my hand back and ignored him.

but the sun was shining, it was a warm day, and my morning had started off right with a lovely run through the hills as the red sun rose high into the sky, a warm bucket bath standing on a stone in the back of our compound, and a breakfast of warm milk and weetbix (a very fiber-full south african breakfast cereal) with my little sister, tema, who taught me the word for hot - "shisa" - as we blew on our cereal to cool it.

so when the taxi driver grabbed my hand, i allowed myself to be pulled back to face him. after exchanging greetings, he wanted to know how old i was. upon finding out that i was 20 years old, he apparantly decided it was high time for marriage and proposed to me on the spot. when i kind of laughed him off and said i was going to wait a bit before contemplating matrimony, he was genuinely perplexed. "but don't you need a swazi husband?" he wanted to know. "no thanks," i said. "ncesi" (sorry) and i reclaimed my hand and continued on to work.

honestly, i should keep a log of marriage proposals. i think i probably haven't even understood half of them, because anything men yell at me on the street is lost to me unless i have someone along to translate.

for instance, coming back from a home-based care visit with make ndzimande (the hbc coordinator at fbs), she burst into giggles at something that a passing youth had murmured. when i asked her what was so funny, she replied, "he said he wants to make love to you!" needless to say, i didn't think it was as funny as she did. again, one day i was walking with sane (she's a zimbabwean who's been studying in canada for the past 4 years and is doing an internship at fbs. she's a huge help as a cultural/language intermediate and is also an awesome person to talk to and hang out with) she "hmmfed" in disgust at a comment addressed to me by a young man sitting in front of a shop. "he thinks you're fine" she told me, shaking her head.

what followed was a good discussion about how men see women as objects that they somehow feel entitled to, especially in africa where many men see wives/girlfriends as cooks and washing machines.

BUT. soon after i got to fbs this morning, percy maphanga showed up. percy is a peer educator with fbs' hiv/aids project and volunteers to do yard work at the office two days a week. he speaks excellent english and is one of the friendliest people i have ever met. he's also an incessant "buzzer".

"buzzing" is when you call someone's cell phone, but only let it ring once, so that they don't have a chance to pick up (because then it costs you money). but your call will show up as "missed calls". at first i didn't understand this phenomenon. what happened? did they start calling me, decide they didn't want to talk, and hang up? am i supposed to call them back? what's going on?

a friend, hlonipho, explained the concept of buzzing: it's just a (free!) way to say hi, and let someone know you're thinking of them. when someone buzzes you, buzz them back to acknowledge their greeting. if they actually want you to call them (because they don't have any airtime/don't want to spend money yet they want to talk to you for some reason) they will buzz you two or three times in a row. then if you're feeling extravagant and generous, you call them back. (and spend a ridiculous amount of money! i've spent close to 7 emalangeni - one dollar - on a 30 second call. then i decided to stop talking to people and text message - "sms" - instead, which only costs .80 E)

it's taking some getting used to for me to own a cellphone (purchased on fbs' initiative, i might add). it's crazy that i had to come to swaziland to own my first cellphone. it's really convient, i must say, but i don't enjoy being a slave to my ringtone, scrambling for the phone whenever it begins playing the cheerful, annoying melody. but that's a topic for another post.

back to percy, the friendly, incessant buzzer. whenever he comes in, we always have a lovely conversation, which begins with him asking earnestly, "but how is life, my sisi (sister)?" he will go out of his way to help with anything. he washes dishes and has even been seen chopping vegetables in the kitchen, which is unusual indeed, considering the maxim that "african men don't cook". so here is the latest example of what a wonderful person percy is.

today as we were talking about how hot it was outside, i mentioned that i've really been enjoying fresh-squeezed lemonade using the lemons from the tree in the fbs yard. usually i just wait until the lemons fall to the ground and collect them, to avoid the razor-sharp lemon-tree thorns. but percy immediately gets up and without hesitation shimmies up the tree, weaving skillfully in between the thorns to pick me not one or two, but a whole bowlful of lemons. so all day today i've been enjoying homemade lemonade with ice, courtesy of percy maphanga.

so there you have my interactions with african men for today, along with a few reflections on cell phone etiquette.