The 9 August date commemorates the day in 1956 on which over 50 000 women, led by Lilian Ngoyi, Helen Joseph, Rahima Moosa and Sophia Williams, marched to the Union Buildings in protest against the pass laws.
“Wathint’ abafazi, wathint’ imbokodo! [You strike a woman, you strike a rock]”, they sang.
I was born long after the march took place, but those words gave me goose bumps the first time I heard them, and every time since then.
The truth of that statement shines out like a beacon when I think of the women who have shaped my life in one way or another.
From my mother, a nurse and a single parent, to teachers and friends who supported me through the darkest days I’ve ever known.
I think also of the women I’ve met who have turned cartwheels in places where angels fear to tread.
These women have come through rape, abuse, violence, poverty, the destruction of all their worldly goods; women who have held down several jobs at once to put food on the table and a roof overhead… And you know what? Their smiles are warm, their touch tender, their hearts glow with life and love.
Letting my mind drift further afield, I think of birthday-sharing (22 August) Americans Dorothy Parker, a writer whose work inspired me to scribble for my nibbles, and Tori Amos, whose music drove me to take up piano lessons when I was in my early 20s.
And then there’s Edith Stein, who was born Jewish, became an atheist, later a doctor of philosophy, and then a Catholic nun whose life was ended, along with her sister Rosa’s, in Auschwitz on 9 August, 1942.
My thoughts also turn to fabulous creatures like Parktown’s Josephine Dale Lace, a small-town girl who reinvented herself, married mining magnate John Dale Lace, and then spent all his money on shopping, bathing in milk, black silk sleeping garments, and zebra-drawn carriages.
Women – elders, mothers, wives, sisters – I salute you now and always.
