Gender mainstreaming

Gender mainstreaming was a term we learned in training before starting the placement. I think it means taking the question of gender – or rather, gender equality, from the backwaters of political correctness to an everyday role in one’s work and professional relations. Simply, given that gender stereotyping tends to leave girls and women at a disadvantage, we should do all we can in our professional roles to undo this stereotyping, ensuring that girls, for example, receive as much attention as boys in class; or, choosing non-stereotypical roles for girls, in writing or speaking. In teaching the interrogative in English, one might use,

“Mary, park your HGV in the truckers’ bay, will you.”

 or, with the passive tense,

“Julie, those hods will need to be shifted before the girls can lay any bricks today.”

That sort of thing, I think.

Tanzania needs some gender main-streaming. Tanzanian culture is one of fairly strict and strictly observed gender roles. And there is little deference paid by men to women. One could argue that this should be liberating for women. No more smiling demurely as doors are held open or seats offered. Women are expected to be at least as strong as men and it is normal for women to carry loads rather than men. In our induction training last October, we learned that 40% of Tanzanian men believe that it’s right to beat your wife. That would have been alarming had we not also learned that 60% of women believe that wives should be beaten. There are some disappointed women out there.

It’s complicated though, because, unlike in the UK, Tanzanian women never give up their names; professional women rarely give up work after having had children; command equal pay for the same work; and are reasonably well-represented, for instance, in Parliament. How much this translates into women’s lives when it comes to the majority of poor, ill-educated Tanzanians, I am not sure. Boys are more likely to attend school; boys are more likely to stay on to Forms V and VI (A Levels) ; men are unlikely to undertake domestic duties at home; and so on, and so on.

It leaves us in something of a quandary sometimes, as to what to do for the best. Do I give up my seat on the daladala to a pregnant younger woman and risk derision or do I remain seated and accept the silent approbation of passengers unanimously respectful of age and wisdom? It is after all in these daily experiences, rather than in lofty policy pronouncements that we can truly change things.

This week, whilst walking in the hills near the Makonde plateau, we came across a small stream in which a group of people were washing clothes and collecting water. It wasn’t wide and it wasn’t deep, but Caroline is nervous and timid when it comes to taking a stride across water. I waited. She hesitated. I encouraged. She told me to help. I looked around and saw the enquiring faces. What should I do? Help her? Walk away? Shout at her to hurry? Risk being mocked by the onlookers?

“Just put your damn foot on that stone and step across,” I said. “And don’t be so ridiculous.”

“Don’t you shout at me.” Caroline replied, in very un-Tanzanian fashion.

Eventually, using my hand to guide her, she stepped gingerly over the one firm rock in the middle of the small stream and, with my help, crossed. Already the group of onlookers were talking; one woman laughed. As we said good-bye to them and strode up the hill, we heard them guffaw. My kiswahili is not so good, but I could swear I could hear them talking about us. What might they have been saying?

“You see Musa. The mzungu cares for his wife. That is the future for Tanzania.”

I think not. More likely it was a pronouncement on my machismo which translates roughly as,

“No-balls Babu.”