http://ruhavingagoodhairday.blogspot.com/2008/10/selling-saartjie-baartman.html

I live in a brand new residence and earlier this year we were asked to come up with names for it. A friend of mine suggested the res be named Saartjie Baartman. The response was overwhelming; some cringed in embarrasment, some plain and flat out refused, other said the name did not sound 'nice.' This is what I said:

I have never known and hopefully will not ever know what it is or how it feels to be enslaved. I have never known what it means to be so naive, so desparate, and so ignorant so as to allow myself to be used in the manner that was done to Saartjie.

I also have never known the humiliation that she had to go through, the toture of knowing that there is now way of escaping your reality.

What I have experienced though is that feeling of being trapped in your body. How many of us walk these streets with the thaught of rape or assault lurking somewhere in the back of our minds? Is this not the essence of what Saartjie's story is? The fact that, for generations, we as women, have been made to fear who we are. To apologise for our sexuality and shy away from expressing it.

From the corsets and the chastity belts women were made to wear in Europe; being forced to lock away important symbols of their sexual selves, to pretend their sexuality was never important to them Foot binding in China and female genital circumcision/ mutilation on the African continent, women have been distorted and deformed. Moulded and shaped to become what sociey deemed fitting sexually. When does it stop?

The continued existence of sexually degrading words like the "B-word" or the "C-word" and the increasing acceptance of their use in describing women is testimony to the fact that where ever ew go, whatever our race or body sahpe, men continue to see us in the same way that those men, all those years ago, saw Sara: as nothing more than objects.

It amazes me everyday how passively we receive these labels. We have become the hoes and the bitches described in the music we listen to. What does that mean really? Saartjie died a lonely alcoholic, buttered and bruised, her spirit broken. Tormented by the labels given to her. She had no way out.

How dare we, with all our education and technology, accept the very same status they made her hold. How dare we step on the throne and allow ourselves to be pimped as common and easy? I s this the legacy we will leave for our daughters?

Naming our residence after Saartjie, although it may be embarrassing for some, will mean that we are a residence made up of 73 women who refuse to be enslave, who refuse to be seen as mere sexual objects.

When we name our residence after Saartjie Baartman, we will not only be celebrating her spirit and and aknowledging her struggle. We will be telling and affirming our own.

• keep your drink in your hand, and hold your thumb over the opening if you are drinking from a bottle,


• keep an eye on your friends' drinks,


• do not leave your drink unattended at any time, even while in the toilet,


• stay away from situations that you do not feel comfortable with,


• never accept a drink from anyone you do not know or trust,


• do not share or exchange drinks, or drink leftover drinks,


• if you go on a date with someone you do not know, tell a friend or relative where you will be and what time you will be back, and


• try to drink from a bottle rather than a glass when possible, as it is more difficult to spike a drink in a bottle.
  (NHS Direct, Health Encyclopedia)

Hope this helps, keep safe guys


‘SisVic’

5 In Blindsight: Just my liddle opinion.

Firstly, I would like to say well done on a superb piece of writing. But (and here comes the but) I have some serious problems with your argument. For someone who has such a “defined identity”, it doesn’t make sense that you contradict yourself a lot. You say you “want to fit in” and yet you have a problem with people hanging out with others just like them. Is that not what fitting in is about? Another thing is that you yourself put people in categories; “the jocks with the jocks and nerds with the nerds”. Labelling people in this way is such a high-school mentality, and many people at Rhodes fall into this trap. Contrary to high-school, I have found that Rhodes is more accepting. Here, you are ‘you’, and not part of a clique. Sure, you may hang out with people who share similar tastes in clothing, music and mentalities, but unlike high-school you can appreciate that everyone is different, and stereotypes don’t fit. And here at Rhodes the playing field is more level; no-one gets ostracised for what they do or do not wear- everyone is free to make their own choice. For me, Rhodes has exceeded my high expectations and I wouldn’t change places with the girl wishing her time away at home.
Just my opinion!

Cruiser's Lac: taking the trip without trippin': What is all the fuss about????

Part of the reason that Apartheid went on for so long is white South Africa’s refusal to acknowledge the facts of the situation even when evidence lay bare and naked before them.

A few years ago, our then president, Thabo Mbeki refused to believe that there was any connection between AIDS and HIV. Our Health Minister, Manto Tshabalala took her time rolling out antiretroviral treatment to a country in desperate need, because she just could not admit that Beetroot was no good as treatment.

It pains me to see the same denialist attitude expressed in your piece. Despite hard evidence from those in the know, you ask us to look the other way and pretend we do not know that the only reason our friend lost his DP is his hard partying and hard drinking.

Apartheid stole the lives of many innocent men and women (black and white). The denial of AIDS and its treatment from our leadership did nothing for AIDS statistics; they continued to rocket.

Phrases like your “what’s the fuss” while the party goes ahead and the work is neglected cannot be good for neither our reputation as Rhodes students nor our academic performance.

It seems as though you have forgotten that there is never smoke without fire.

Clad in varying shades of brown, they wear suits with no ties and hats that do not quite fit their heads. Very much visible in the first few months of the year, they seem to disappear by May, only to resurface again in June. They are oobhuti abatsha, “new men”. Young Xhosa men, fresh from the mountain, who move silently at the back of most lecture halls, their suits like sore thumbs amongst the array of fashionable clothing.

They are the few of their generation (mostly from the Eastern Cape) who still choose to observe the full six months period during which they are expected to wear a suit as a symbol of their newly acquired manhood.

Many have gone through the same rites, but shed the suit as soon as their feet connect with Rhodes soil. They opt for the shorts that they were supposed to have left behind with their boyhood and the sleeveless t-shirts they should have given to their younger brothers. Some choose to keep the hat, most opt for a cap because it makes less of a statement. They choose to blend in.

I have often asked myself what the difference is between these two kinds of Xhosa men. What it is that the one has that is lacking in the other and I found it out recently in a Politics lecture with Professor Vincent . I will not go into the details about the lecture, just a brief description for the sake of contextualization.

A number of examples of practices were put forth, that could, by outsiders, be considered to be harming the individuals involved. The question was whether or not a person can be harmed when they have consented to the said harm. One of the practices put up was the initiation of Xhosa boys; with a picture of umkhwetha, an initiate.

Several brown suits got up and filed out in complete silence. They did not discuss, plan or plot, it was instinctive. They made no scene, did not shout or challenge. They merely left the room in the same silent manner they had entered it. I finally understood, I had finally found out the meaning of the suit.

Xhosa women do not speak of initiation, they do not have opinions on what goes on in the bush because they have never been there and never will go there. What can they talk about when they know nothing? Young men are saddled with the responsibility of booking any woman who dares talk about initiation. Professor Vincent is a woman. No one tells new initiates anything about how they should react when a white woman whose pen determines their fate, is the one that needs booking.

I have never been a man, but surely the brown suit must be a test of African manhood. It tests one; to find out if their development in the West will lead them to shun all things African. It challenges them to become Xhosa men who pursue the Western dream but never at the expense of their heritage. None of the students who stood up at that lecture are willing to fail politics1, but wearing the suit meant that they had to get up and leave.

There were many other “new men” who, in their shorts and sleeve-less t-shirts, found no offense in the lecture.

So it is no mistake that their elders call them ‘new men’, because they represent a new era, a new kind of Xhosa man that values his traditions and defines his own civilization. That walks away from those he feels look down on and trivialize his culture.

I look at the brown suit now and I liken it to the black American’s use of the word Negro, how they have taken a word that was used to oppress and belittle them and personalised it to fit their new found identity, challenging all the power and shame associated with it. So, the new Xhosa man has taken the suit; a symbol of a Western power that has oppressed his people for generations and stripped it of all its European superiority complexes and instead, wears it as a symbol of respect and of humility. It symbolises the changes in his own culture; him learning and borrowing from other cultures, while acknowledging those things that remain the same.

I finally understand the distinction between those who choose to wear the suit and those who don’t. The suit tests one, it separates the men from the boys, because it takes a man not to be ashamed of being different, simply because he understands the meaning and the responsibility behind it and is committed to it. That is the difference between those who left and those who stayed.

Everyone knows that Rhodes has a reputation for alcohol abuse; when you hear the word ‘Rhodent’ images of rowdy drunken students parading in purple overalls immediately spring to mind. Not only alcohol, but other substances are used (not necessarily abused), leading to the Botanical Gardens (Bot Gardens) being affectionately called the ‘Pot Gardens’. But is this because all students who go to Rhodes would have been the kinds of people to get involved in substance use and abuse anyway, or is it the actual environment of Rhodes itself that leads students down Lewis Carrol’s metaphoric Rabbit Hole?

Being a first year myself, and experiencing the enormous changes between high-school and university I feel I can shed some light on this matter. Firstly, I will start off by saying that everything ultimately comes down to the individual. Putting a cat into water is not going to make it swim. That being said, I do believe that your environment plays a huge role in shaping your choices, behaviour and actions. Many students come from restricted backgrounds where parents, rules and schools are sternly in control. The freedom one experiences at Rhodes is a vast change. The liberty can be exhilarating and prompt first-years to behave in certain ways ‘just because they can’. It is very tempting to get caught up in the use of substances when your physical body becomes the only limit you have, and we all know how resilient our bodies are at age eighteen, nineteen or twenty; sleepless nights, drunken dazes and hash-induced hazes hardly seem to have a lasting effect.

It also comes down to the question of availability. At Rhodes, it is so easy to acquire large amounts of alcohol. You only have to be at Peppergrove on a Friday afternoon to witness the hordes of students walking off with packets of clinking bottles. When I am at home, no matter how much I would like to buy alcohol, it just isn’t as easy. Firstly I live in a ‘dry’ suburb; we do not have any liquor stores and Woolies is not even permitted to sell wine. Secondly, I do not own a car, so to drive to another suburb to buy alcohol is out of the question. But at Rhodes, these ‘problems’ are easily solved. Everyone can get to Peppergrove without a car as it is so close. The bars and clubs are within walking distance too, and there is at least one place open on every day of the week. The question of availability applies to drugs too. If you know who to ask, weed, pills and acid are just a person away. And if you don’t know who to ask, you will invariably find someone who does. There are widespread connections of people who have what you need to transcend the boundaries of your mind. Campus is such a small area that it is not a mission. Chances are the dealers go to your lectures, party at the same places and wear the same clothes as you. Psychologically this makes it less ‘dodgy’ or ‘scary’ to acquire drugs, as it feels safer to buy from someone you ‘know’. This is not always the case in a larger university or town.

Another consideration is safety. At Rhodes, there is an illusion of safety that is hard to burst despite the many muggings and rapes. Where else can you go out, get so drunk that you forget your own name and still make it home alright? With New Street being so close, students can almost crawl home after hitting the infamous ‘Cane Train’. Although the Campus Protection Unit (CPU) does not always come to students’ aid in time, they provide a psychologically comforting presence. And when engaging in more illegal activities, they are equally easy to dodge, you can go to the Bot Gardens if you’re feeling ultra paranoid, or else just keep your distance from the men in blue.

My last and main argument would be the reason for the use of substances. The stresses and pressures of university often find an outlet in what is seen as an easy escape route: the suspension of your mind through the use of uppers, downers, round-abouters. The culture at Rhodes contributes to this as many students have a ‘party-mindset’. A drink comforts after a test goes badly, yet also celebrates achievement. This perception is primarily why I believe Rhodes is conducive to substance abuse.

Therefore, although not a given that every student who comes to Rhodes will be like Alice in a wonderland of drugs, or do serious damage to their livers from binge-drinking (because I do not believe that to be true of everyone) the environment that Rhodes provides is certainly more of a help than a hindrance to substance use.