Celebrating the Power of Women on International Women's Day
By Megan Haggerty Foster, H3
International Women‘s Day, a day dedicated entirely to the empowerment and successes of women worldwide, happens in the month of March each year. Attending events on my college campus, reading flyers and advertisements on the internet,
I ponder the words "international woman‖ and their meaning. What is an international woman? I completely missed the point until hundreds of Rwandans, men and women, re-introduced me to its importance.
I ponder the words "international woman‖ and their meaning. What is an international woman? I completely missed the point until hundreds of Rwandans, men and women, re-introduced me to its importance.
Feeling exhausted, I make it to my 7 AM morning meeting to be told I am going to teach women to cook nutritious food. I sigh, search within myself for any ounce of strength I have to travel the eight kilometers to teach mothers to cook. I‘m told I must take pictures, I must come. Smiling wanly as I listen to moto logistics, there are three of us and only two motos, but further there is only one driver. Similar to most events that happen in my life in Rwanda, due to a combination of my "Americanized" expectations, miscommunication or lack of communication all together, and my inability to understand Kinyarwanda at seven in the morning, or English for that matter, I entered the day unprepared.
Not looking at a calendar for several months, and shouted greetings of "Umunsi mwiza y‘abagore," require me to use any ounce of deductive reasoning skills that I may have this early in the morning to determine it is International Women‘s Day. So I grab my back up batteries, set off on a moto, and I am deposited next to a group of workers building a kitchen garden.
Smiling, I pat down my helmet hair, and am ordered to start taking pictures. I tip toe through the mud in my flip flops and brand new jeans snapping picture after picture, then, I ask for a hoe. Mouths hang open and eyes widen as everyone stops working to watch me, a seemingly mythical creature, hoe the dirt to make this garden. Granted I was not dressed to impress the gardening crew. Nice sweater, earrings, rings, straightened hair (for the first time in months) and makeup. I woke up wanting to feel "human" or physically like my US self anyways, and found myself with my hands dipped in muddy mulch, sunglasses falling off my forehead and my bare feet sinking into the muddy ground.
Chuckling to myself, I think of my freshly washed Umuganda clothes and tennis shoes just taken off the line, perfect for a day of planting. As I chuckle, attempt to keep the mud off of my camera, and snap photos, I am told we must go. The food is going to be prepared. Translating in my mind as something along the lines of "we have so much to do, we have to get to the kitchen and make sure everything is going according to plans, and is in fact going." I set off with a stuttering step as I‘m ready for the next challenge, I‘m hurrying, I can do it all. Within seconds I must stop and wait for my counterparts as I realize this next two kilometer walk is to be done at a leisurely pace, even for the typical Rwandan saunter. I weave back and forth along the road, trying to slow myself down, walking potentially twice the distance. I stop a few times to enjoy the view, yet still, I cannot find myself in this strolling, relaxing pace.
Not looking at a calendar for several months, and shouted greetings of "Umunsi mwiza y‘abagore," require me to use any ounce of deductive reasoning skills that I may have this early in the morning to determine it is International Women‘s Day. So I grab my back up batteries, set off on a moto, and I am deposited next to a group of workers building a kitchen garden.
Smiling, I pat down my helmet hair, and am ordered to start taking pictures. I tip toe through the mud in my flip flops and brand new jeans snapping picture after picture, then, I ask for a hoe. Mouths hang open and eyes widen as everyone stops working to watch me, a seemingly mythical creature, hoe the dirt to make this garden. Granted I was not dressed to impress the gardening crew. Nice sweater, earrings, rings, straightened hair (for the first time in months) and makeup. I woke up wanting to feel "human" or physically like my US self anyways, and found myself with my hands dipped in muddy mulch, sunglasses falling off my forehead and my bare feet sinking into the muddy ground.
Chuckling to myself, I think of my freshly washed Umuganda clothes and tennis shoes just taken off the line, perfect for a day of planting. As I chuckle, attempt to keep the mud off of my camera, and snap photos, I am told we must go. The food is going to be prepared. Translating in my mind as something along the lines of "we have so much to do, we have to get to the kitchen and make sure everything is going according to plans, and is in fact going." I set off with a stuttering step as I‘m ready for the next challenge, I‘m hurrying, I can do it all. Within seconds I must stop and wait for my counterparts as I realize this next two kilometer walk is to be done at a leisurely pace, even for the typical Rwandan saunter. I weave back and forth along the road, trying to slow myself down, walking potentially twice the distance. I stop a few times to enjoy the view, yet still, I cannot find myself in this strolling, relaxing pace.
Turning a bend, we are in the midst of a group of brightly dressed women whispering amongst themselves in a circle. As we pass, myself and the chief of the women, we find ourselves followed by a group of dancing women, singing "Turi banyarwanda." I clap along, as a woman, as an international woman, as we approach the town center for the ceremony. Apparently there is a ceremony. But first, we must check on the food. In a dark room, down a back alley, a fire blazes under a giant pot. The room is full of steam from the food, so I cannot see what we‘re concocting. I am told the pot is full of sweet potatoes, carrots, peas, dried fish, and a plethora of other foods,
|
which women later mash into mush, that will be served to the children. Watching these women, babies tied to their backs, their bodies bent at ninety degree angles, arms moving too fast to take a good picture, I am wishing I were one of the kids receiving this mush. It smells so good, and these women make it look easy, that, and I didn‘t pack a lunch.
Ushered hurriedly from the kitchen, it is time for the real ceremony. We arrive back in town just in time as women dance and sing to the row of "nice" seats, the honored guests. Thrust down amidst the chief of women, the sector executive and several other local officials, they all turn and order pictures to be taken. Women smile at me from all directions, men tip their hats when we make eye contact. There are none of the signs of whispered secrets about the muzungu spreading through-out the crowd. I am at home amongst these empowered, happy, dancing women. Speeches are made about the importance of this day. Introductions are presented and I am given the opportunity to speak. I stand, no longer shaky in this spotlight, which has been so embarrassing, so many times in this Peace Corps journey, at church, meetings, ran-dom ceremonies, and
others.
I stand and say my name. I work at the local health center, but more importantly, I am so happy to be here today. I tell them that we also celebrate this important day in America, and that women are our future, we can change the future. Women cheer and break into dancing again as rain clouds rumble past overhead. They drag me into the midst of their celebration and laugh hysterically at my poor attempt at the "cow dance." The next speech is about good nutrition, broken up by a rainy downpour, and resumed with enthusiasm after 15 minutes. One more speech and one more downpour leads us to the distribu-tion of the nutritious mashed mush served with milk to the children.
Kids in tattered clothes, and bare feet sit upon a woven grass mat amidst a crowd of women. A basin is brought around and the children wash their hands, eyeing the giant pot and the plates being filled with food. The kids are handed plates and mothers help them eat this meal. Some eat so slowly, so carefully, while others barely stop to breath. Then, the milk arrives and cups are filled and passed around. Kids willingly share their cups of milk with each other, not fighting, but happily and rest easily on the mat with a look of fullness on their faces. They listen as more speeches are said to the mothers about family planning, about women and the fu-ture, about the importance of healthy children. The men that helped put this celebration together stand around the outside of this mass of colorful women talking proudly of the success of Interna-tional
Women‘s Day. They smile and help direct the busy women towards the mother‘s that need them.
Talking about international women‘s rights, the lives of women internationally and their trials and tribulations is an important part of international women‘s day. Focus needs to be directed to the standards of living of women worldwide, and this is how I spent many an interna-tional women‘s day on my college campus. However, being in the midst of this celebration, one that no outside party planned, no foreign organization voiced their ideas on the celebration or provided the funding, this was truly empowering. I saw women and men come together for the future and the shaping of a better tomorrow. I am honored to have finally become an international woman in the footsteps of these incredibly inspiring women, who dance freely and powerfully at the simple joy of being women.
After the celebration, kids fed, dancing done, I hop back on a moto and ride back to my main village. I arrive with twenty minutes to spare, just enough to walk to the local secondary school and start my GLOW club. Without even realizing the importance of this day, these young women spend an hour dancing and singing and celebrating who they are. They take turns leading the oth-ers in song and dance, yelling their songs from the top of one hillside into the valleys below and other hills rolling into the distance. If the future of Rwanda is anything like International Women‘s Day, this country has a very bright future to look forward to.
Ushered hurriedly from the kitchen, it is time for the real ceremony. We arrive back in town just in time as women dance and sing to the row of "nice" seats, the honored guests. Thrust down amidst the chief of women, the sector executive and several other local officials, they all turn and order pictures to be taken. Women smile at me from all directions, men tip their hats when we make eye contact. There are none of the signs of whispered secrets about the muzungu spreading through-out the crowd. I am at home amongst these empowered, happy, dancing women. Speeches are made about the importance of this day. Introductions are presented and I am given the opportunity to speak. I stand, no longer shaky in this spotlight, which has been so embarrassing, so many times in this Peace Corps journey, at church, meetings, ran-dom ceremonies, and
others.
I stand and say my name. I work at the local health center, but more importantly, I am so happy to be here today. I tell them that we also celebrate this important day in America, and that women are our future, we can change the future. Women cheer and break into dancing again as rain clouds rumble past overhead. They drag me into the midst of their celebration and laugh hysterically at my poor attempt at the "cow dance." The next speech is about good nutrition, broken up by a rainy downpour, and resumed with enthusiasm after 15 minutes. One more speech and one more downpour leads us to the distribu-tion of the nutritious mashed mush served with milk to the children.
Kids in tattered clothes, and bare feet sit upon a woven grass mat amidst a crowd of women. A basin is brought around and the children wash their hands, eyeing the giant pot and the plates being filled with food. The kids are handed plates and mothers help them eat this meal. Some eat so slowly, so carefully, while others barely stop to breath. Then, the milk arrives and cups are filled and passed around. Kids willingly share their cups of milk with each other, not fighting, but happily and rest easily on the mat with a look of fullness on their faces. They listen as more speeches are said to the mothers about family planning, about women and the fu-ture, about the importance of healthy children. The men that helped put this celebration together stand around the outside of this mass of colorful women talking proudly of the success of Interna-tional
Women‘s Day. They smile and help direct the busy women towards the mother‘s that need them.
Talking about international women‘s rights, the lives of women internationally and their trials and tribulations is an important part of international women‘s day. Focus needs to be directed to the standards of living of women worldwide, and this is how I spent many an interna-tional women‘s day on my college campus. However, being in the midst of this celebration, one that no outside party planned, no foreign organization voiced their ideas on the celebration or provided the funding, this was truly empowering. I saw women and men come together for the future and the shaping of a better tomorrow. I am honored to have finally become an international woman in the footsteps of these incredibly inspiring women, who dance freely and powerfully at the simple joy of being women.
After the celebration, kids fed, dancing done, I hop back on a moto and ride back to my main village. I arrive with twenty minutes to spare, just enough to walk to the local secondary school and start my GLOW club. Without even realizing the importance of this day, these young women spend an hour dancing and singing and celebrating who they are. They take turns leading the oth-ers in song and dance, yelling their songs from the top of one hillside into the valleys below and other hills rolling into the distance. If the future of Rwanda is anything like International Women‘s Day, this country has a very bright future to look forward to.