Being Soweto-raised and living in KZN comes with a set of challenges. Chief among them is the language barrier. Growing up in eclectic Soweto exposes you to all the colours of the black-language rainbow. You grow up knowing all the languages around you. That’s a serious advantage. The disadvantage is that though you can converse in all of them, you can’t speak a single one properly.

So there I am, drawing attention for ‘speaking funny’. People can’t wait for me to slip up and use ‘mara’ instead of ‘kodwa ’in a conversation. I’ve been caught out so many times people teasingly call me Mara Lou.

It was on the day of the first funeral here that I learned that my Jozified IsiZulu was the least of my problems. Having been eager to fit in with my new environment, I partook in the funeral processions with intention of doing in Rome as the Romans do. Rome was not built in one day, right? Well, neither was KZN. But unlike Soweto, where graves are not dug in one day (the excavation happens from as early as Monday – and it’s done by help hired by Funeral houses), I was shocked to learn that the digging happens first thing on the day of the funeral.

Now I generally am not a garden-hoe-and-spade guy. You will not find me in the garden – unless it’s to harvest. The only pick I know to use is for my teeth. I was raised in a house full of women. Dunk a shirt in cow dung and I’ll return it to its spotless, snow-white, former self. No one grates onion and cabbage finer than I can. And let me tell you I use a normal kitchen knife to carry this function out.

However you will be surprised to learn that I have never partaken in food-preparation in any way (unless I was part of a company catering at a funeral) – not even in my Soweto neighbourhood, where my grating skills are legend. I have tried. I have just not succeeded.

“What are you doing amongst women?” an irate uncle would hasten to call out to me if he ever saw me with a kitchen knife and a carrot. A man has got no business peeling, grating and even cooking food at black funerals. He can braai recently-slaughtered meat for the enjoyment of the slaughtering team of men. That’s how far a man can go. Not an inch further. He can’t even prepare a cow’s head or iskobho, which only men should have the pleasure of devouring.

On the day of the first KZN funeral I attended, I learned that when it comes to funerals, men and women are expected to fulfil the same roles as those I was accustomed to. Men should handle the ‘hard’ labour: they should kill and slaughter a cow, move heavy three-legged pots and gas cylinders around, and –  this important in KZN – dig a grave. I misguidedly thought I’d be spared this duty owing to being a softie from Jozi. I figured since I couldn’t handle the hard IsiZulu consonants, I couldn’t be trusted to handle digging implements. But, long story short, my attempts at helping with food-preparations were frowned at even by women.

“There are the men!” –  someone would always point me to guys having a time of their lives drinking sorghum beer.

I wish I could have been allowed to perform functions of my choosing, those I know myself to be strong in. I have always been lousy picking soil with a shovel and dipping it into a grave. I was worse with a pick.

My friend Nombulelo was raised in rural Nkandla.  She tells me that growing up, she did all the things meant for boys to do, like herd and milk cows, and dig pit latrines, to mention a few. Like me, she is always itching to fit into the functions she is strong and comfortable in. She was as miserable peeling veggies and cooking as I was swinging a pick.

“I should have given you my pants and beard in exchange for your skirt and doek,” we jested after our ordeals.

Funerals are a way for communities to come in and help ease the load of death on a bereaved family. With that said, people should be able to help whichever way they feel comfortable with. Imposing roles on people based on gender is wrong. The world is fast moving with the times. We should rethink our attitude to how we take help at funerals.

 

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Do you understand what sexual fluidity means, if not read more about it here

Tell us: Do you think Zithulelele should be allowed to help in the kitchen at funerals?