Blog reviewed by George Esunge Fominyen
Is it easy to be an African woman? Always having other people deciding what you do, have, like or say; and how you should feel and act. Except if you are a woman like Joyce Ashutantang; a Cameroonian literary academic, actress, playwright, scriptwriter and poet.
In a series of poems posted on her blog –Batuo’s World – she masterfully brings out women's innermost feelings about love and life that some of society’s “protectors” in her country and continent of origin would want gagged and buried inside.
One of those issues is whether to allow women choose to keep or terminate pregnancy within given conditions. In “Sarah Palin: A Poem for Women” Ashutantang writes: “She can kill a moose, I can’t / She touts a gun, I hate guns / She derides abortions; I stand by them; my body is mine…”
Recently in Cameroon, persons who speak for women (and who seem to know better than women about choices they should make) got thousands of men and women to march on the streets against the parliament’s decision to ratify the Protocol to theAfrican Charter on Human and People's Rights on the Rights of Women in Africa which simply provides that right to choose.
How many contemporary Cameroonian women would hate to be given the choice to terminate or keep a pregnancy they got because a group of brutes (in that insecurity infested country) stormed into a home, asked the “head of the family” to hand-over the Njangi money he just received,sexually abused him, gang raped his wife and three daughters and asked him (father of the house) to have sex with his own daughters under the pressure of a gun to his temple?
The protestors were told it (the protocol) was ratifying homosexuality (I didn't see that in the Protocol) and murder.
Article 14, paragraph 2C of the Maputo Protocol simply requires of states to: “protect the reproductive rights of women by authorising medical abortion in cases of sexual assault, rape, incest, and where the continued pregnancy endangers the mental and physical health of the mother or the life of the mother or the unborn child”
If a woman’s body is hers, to paraphrase Ashutantang, isn’t she entitled to decide whether it is a gift from heaven or hell to carry (for nine-months) the foetus from a violent sexual relationship with an HIV infected gangster or live to nurture a child born of one’s own father?
Beyond what meets the eye
The rhythm, tempo and colour of Ashutangtang’s poems on Batuo’s world are so entrapping one may miss the undertones.
In “Asoreh Love” she writes: I wanted the asoreh to stay/Stay in my room, in that corner/Right above my ‘embo/So when I turn at night/You’ll be there, right there/You, my Asoreh love,/But they broke it/So I can be ready for another/ Will I be ready? When will that be? /I am broken, like our asoreh/ But our love remains, Our Asoreh love”
On face value it is the pain of the widow whose only link to her husband has been taken away. Put this within the context of African society where widows are forced to marry their husbands brothers, or are thrown out by "in-laws" so they do not inherit because they are free to marry elsewhere, and the questions: “will I be ready and when will that be?” take another perspective.
The Maputo protocol provides in article 20 that “States Parties shall take appropriate legal measures to ensure that widows enjoy all human rights through the implementation of the following provisions: a) that widows are not subjected to inhuman, humiliating or degrading treatment; b) a widow shall automatically become the guardian and custodian of her children, after the death of her husband, unless this is contrary to the interests and the welfare of the children; c) a widow shall have the right to remarry, and in that event, to marry the person of her choice”
Is that such a bad prospect for women?
Coloured by Manyu Culture
A host of the poems are heavily stipped in the poet’s home - Manyu division in Cameroon’s South West region. They either portray her admiration for certain facets of life which have disappeared with modernity -as in Ngbogondem - or the disdainful side of cultural practices especially towards women as in Obasinjom.
In Obasinjom, where a woman is accused of mystically destroying the farms of other people by turning into an elephant, Ashutantang uses irony to deride such traditions. She writes: “She answered “yes” to all charges /To flee the hemlock platter /After all she was an elephant / Big above man and woman / Bountiful harvests in years /Reaping guilt for poor neighborly yield / She claimed her title “witch” / If it made them happy / Then went back to her farms, only wiser.”
Isn’t it true that in parts of Africa old or single or barren women are always accused of witchcraft? Often, it is the handiwork of men who sit in traditional councils and whose verdicts may have been driven by vengeance against such women who may have turned down their amorous advances.
Surely, Ashutantang would agree with article 17 of the Maputo Protocol that, “Women shall have the right to live in a positive cultural context and to participate at all levels in the determination of cultural policies.”
A woman's right to say how she feels inside
Of course, Joyce Ashutantang’s poetry is also one of engagement - when she reflects on friends killed by cancer in "I Don't Get It!". There is also a lot of tribute to the art of poetry.
Yet there is a penchant for love and sex: "The Voice", "Talk To Me", "Yes", "Memories", and the list is long. The choice of words is reveals sex scenes in a picturesque manner which conveys the pleasures and discomforts of this act in a stark way.
In “ Sleep deprived (When He’s Not Near)” she writes:
"Once more you come between me and sleep /Placing a wedge in my sheets / You climb my mountains /You rest in my valley / Sleep runs to you /And I am soaked in July rain"
In Monikim Dancer, she’s got a poignant description of a man’s lust (or is it desire?) for a woman:
“Your legs keeping the beat / Took me to your feet / I saw beads jingling in sinc / Foot work artfully paced / I felt you then in my waist / Not just there but below / As my man hit my thighs from side to side / So I tugged my sanja / And fixed my man in shape / Yes I’d seen you somewhere / But that dream was really vague / When I bathed in the stream / Caressing my man / You came again in full view / The white tattoos enhancing your chiseled face / Your pointed breasts like arrows / Shot straight into my heart / I clutched it and could swear / You had seen me in the act /The nipples dark and round / Called my name not once / Or so I must have thought /And so I answer “yes”/ I worship at your shrine…”
Some may argue that she reinforces the image of women as objects and toys for men’s carnal desires.
However, by the simple act of writing (too much?) about sex, Ashutantang crushes another taboo area for Cameroonian (African) women: the liberty to freely speak about sexuality.
In a context governed by men’s (hypocritical) rules of social conduct, women are not supposed to be seen as interested in lovemaking but men can tell their exploits and laugh about them. For years, women have caved in and appeared as if such is not one of their interests.
Reading poems on Batuo’s World, it is evident that Cameroonian women think differently inside. They want to take decisions about themselves to their advantage and are ready to express their feelings about sensuality, sexuality, love and life. Can they dare to speak out of set conventions?
Joyce Ashutantang's poetry seems to be an example.
Maybe a collection of her poems (in print) would be a useful addition. She could follow in the steps of Dibussi Tande in moving material from blog to book. The bridge is hers to cross.
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