It’s a constant companion these days. Shame can be seen parading on the grey streets; proud to be so existent and thriving in the lives of many women I seem to speak with. Shame takes credit for feelings of fear, inadequacy and regret. It knows it can never die because it is constantly been produced, reproduced constructed, deconstructed and reconstructed with a verity that no pastor can fully conjure. Shame of the body, shame for the body, shame of sexuality, shame for sexuality, shame for wanting, shame of wanting, shame for needing, shame of needing, shame for hurting, shaming for been expressive in eyes, lips, tongue, hands and breasts. Shame, a companion that allows us to feel sub-atomic and expect sub-atomic influences in our lives because time and time again we question our self worth. We shame because we are told to shame. We embrace shame because a sense of innocence and wonder is deemed lost in an abyss of ‘woman-hood’ and ‘looseness’.
We begin to draw lines and draft territory and space in 'female land'. Divides erect as we chase penis’, hate penis’s and draw on our phallus of seduction in a terrain so fraught we invite patriarchy to thrive in the bodies of matriarchy. We create our own walls, nations, boundaries, categories and systems of ‘us’ and ‘them’. ‘Virgins’ and ‘non-virgins’. ‘Easy’ and ‘non-easy’. ‘Wholesome’ and ‘wild’. Satanic verses arise and the jungle of competition and exclusion breathes so loudly that the sirens of peace and inclusivity become a mere whimper.
I feel as though I exist in such a jungle, a subaltern were trains of shame travel and stop traffic everyday. A world of hurt, a world of distrust, a world of disfranchisement, a world of embodied experiences all too scarred and unable to extend open arms to new arrivals in the world of ‘woman-hood.
fambul dem this is how we do...
