Becoming a woman

It�s a sunny day despite all the previous week�s rain. We pull up onto the rutted, muddy roadside and park. If it weren�t for the rough dirt roads, the neighbourhood could pass for a middle-class neighbourhood in western Europe. A driveway pattern of black and maroon bricks leads up to an impressive house.

This is where Cecilia lives. I�ve been invited to a celebration for her youngest daughter, whose initiation into womanhood concludes today. Cecilia and her family are Ndebele, the ethnic group whose brightly coloured geometric painting and beadwork has come to represent South African art around the globe.

In the Ndebele tradition, a girl officially becomes a woman by participating in initiation when she is a teenager. As soon as Cecilia�s daughter finished her grade 12 exams, she began the process of initiation. She remained at home in a room independent from her family�s house, forbidden to communicate or interact with the outside world. Her companions for the first several days were five female relatives who had recently been initiated themselves. After that, she spent her days alone. For a period of two months, she was allowed to be seen by only these women and other older female family members.

I learn all of this while sitting in the empty, polished garage with some other guests. We are served fat cakes, sweet biscuits, and Sprite while waiting for Cecilia�s daughter to arrive. Aunts, grandmothers, and other female elders of the family sit straight-legged along one wall on grass mats woven with vivid yarn. Outside and around the corner, the men sit on folding chairs under a hired tent. As per tradition, the men and the women socialize separately.

Someone alerts the guests that Cecilia�s daughter is coming. We all gather around the entrance to the driveway, watching as she arrives. She walks very slowly, weighed down by the traditional clothing and accessories. Two thick sashes of black, purple, green, and blue beads, sewn into patterns, cross her chest. Electric green and pink necklaces are piled on top of this. Tight-fitting hoops of beads rise from her hips to her waist while smaller beaded bangles rest on her arms and wrists. Her skirt bears a rectangular black and white beaded panel across her front, and just where it ends, the beaded leg bangles begin�stretching from above her knees down to her ankles.

Cecilia�s daughter and her companions come to the house singing and when they reach the crowd, one of the women hands her a child�s lunch box. She opens the box to reveal sweets and boxes of Lion brand matches, which she begins tossing into the air as she makes her way up the driveway. I feel like I am at a parade as the children scramble and shriek after the treats.

When she reaches the tent, she proceeds to greet every man�starting with her father�and hand him a fistful of sweets and a box of matches. Then she makes her way to the garage, where she and her companions form a row against a wall. With the traditional Ndebele whistle in her mouth, she shuffles out towards the center of the space and performs a short, soft dance. A few of her companions and other girls take turns after her. When the dancing has finished, she makes her rounds, distributing sweets and boxes of matches to the women. Now it is time for her to sit; her companions support her arms and lower her to the ground because the leg bangles prevent her from bending her knees.

An elder makes her way to a gourd on the floor, the centerpiece of the room, and carefully removes the strips of newspaper covering the opening at the top. Tilting the gourd, she pours its contents into a calabash bowl. The initiate receives the bowl first. Raising it to her lips, she takes a sip, then turns and spits out the liquid in a smooth, deliberate motion. Again she takes a sip and swallows. The bowl is passed down the row, each woman taking a small drink. When I see the occasional slight twist of the lips�mostly among the young women, I am sure the mystery liquid is traditional beer. After the woman next to me drinks, she hands me the bowl and I take the obligatory sip of bitter, gritty brew.

For the last formal ritual, Cecilia�s daughter makes another round, shaking hands with her female elders and with the other women who have formed a circle around the room. Each woman speaks quietly to her before she moved on, as if disclosing a secret. When she comes to me, I say, in traditional American fashion, �Congratulations.� Later, I learn that each woman gave her advice for her future as a woman. Some urged her to mother a large, healthy family while others reminded her that furthering her education should be her first priority. Not surprisingly, the advice ranges from the very traditional to the progressive. But all the women know that in the end, it is only advice. By becoming a woman, Cecilia�s daughter is gaining rights. It is her choice what dreams she will pursue.

The rest of the day is filled with eating, chatting, laughing, and gift giving�those women who have played an important role in her initiation receive generous presents from her parents. At one point, I am summoned to take pictures of the initiate flanked by various friends and family members. It�s been hours since she arrived and the cameras have been following her ever since. I recall the rounds of pictures before my high school dances, how I always eventually felt as if my grin had involuntarily morphed into a grimace. But Cecilia�s daughter takes the attention well, appearing graceful until the very end of her celebration.

Today is my first time meeting Cecilia�s daughter, but I wonder if her mother and father have witnessed a new maturity in their last-born child. Although tinged with contemporary influences, it seems that this kind of initiation is one traditional practice that retains value in the modern world.