Pad Drive Curator: @TembisaPadDrive

Location: Tembisa, City of Tshwane

@TembisaPadDrive

Tembisa Pad Drive on Facebook

tembisapaddrive on Instagram

The Tembisa Pad Drive collects pads to give to underprivileged girls while also sharing education on health wellness specific to bleed week. Lebogang and Boitumelo took it upon themselves to do what the government isn’t – to award young girls their right to go through their period with dignity – by giving them free pads.

“…no one must regret being born female.”

Twice a year, the Tembisa Pad Drive hosts young girls in the community for a discussion on challenges faced by the girl-child to offer them advice and motivation to strive for a better future for themselves. The objectives are simple, among others they want to:

  • Help young girls improve their self-concept
  • Educate them on the importance of self-care
  • Give the girls comprehensive sex education

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You know the saying, “No good deed goes unpunished.” I wouldn’t say they are punished per se, but they have challenges. They don’t have enough pads, they can’t travel as far and as often as they would like to and they don’t have a consistent list of donors. Thus, your help would be greatly appreciated!

Contact them via these details and give some pads, money or more pads and more money.

tembisapaddrive@gmail.com

073 607 8885 / 071 035 0346

Drop off points (Please don’t show up unannounced)

  • 894/30 Mashemong section, Dorado Street, Tembisa,1632 (Next to Tembisa station)
  • Unit 0308 Myer’s Place, 72 Trevenna, Robert Sobukwe Street, Sunnyside, 0002 (Next to DTI)

Pad Drive curator: @RedWings_CT

 

Location: University of Cape Town Lower Campus, Cape Town

@RedWings_CT

The Red Wings Project: Cape Town 

The Red Wings Project is run by students who aim to use their knowledge, experience, skills and privilege to benefit young individuals in a meaningful way. The project aims to create a sustainable future for young individuals in the Cape Peninsula, who are gifted but disempowered through poverty.
Our aim is to promote dignity and combat absenteeism.
The Red Wings Project Cape Town aims to assist school learners in disadvantaged communities by:
  • Instilling self-worth and self-love
  • Guiding learners through puberty and menstruation
  • And by collecting and providing free sanitary care
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The Red Wings Project launch at Matthew Goniwe High School

“We aren’t merely a pad drive, we are a sisterhood programme. On our monthly visit, we host workshops where we discuss topics such as menstruation and puberty, post-matric options, gender and sex, to name a few. We aim to bridge the gap in whatever way we can between ourselves and the school learners we are working with. The schools which we are working with are Langa High School and Mathew Goniwe High School, where we are providing sanitary pads for approximately 1100 young females.”

 
Email: kwanza.mncwango@gmail.com

TRIGGER WARNING: ANGRY RANT ABOUT RAPE

And so I became a ho (Part 1)

One day I realised that for way too many of the wrong years I wasn’t having sex but I’d been raped most of the time. It sucks. I was so shocked, I was feeling like maybe I should just die.

I couldn’t believe that I consider myself a person after people had just violated my body and raped me like I’m not a whole person to say no and be left alone. I wanted to die. I still feel that way sometimes, like I should just die because every day, everywhere I exist – not everywhere I go but wherever I dare to take up some space and exist – people rape me.

I grew up being made to feel like if I express my explicit desire to fuck, I’m gross. I’m wrong, I’m not doing what ladies do. Makes me wonder if that means ladies must be raped and never have sex?

I had q’wuestions.

I started to wonder what the fuck kind of fucked up shit is this? After all that time I’d spent being violated. I thought that the way “sex” happens is that someone kinda forces me to do it, that’s what they mean when they say that we shouldn’t come out right and want to fuck. I stopped hanging out with rapists a long time ago; I stopped chilling out and talking to men like they’re not some kind of “psycho” who’s just plotting to rape me eventually.

That previous sentence isn’t even a lie. Every time a nigga steps to me I think he’s just trying to buy time before he can rape me. Then people want to talk shit and be insensitive about rape like we’re talking about someone breaking your windscreen – a whole human life being treated like some fuck thing from a bin?

I am angry, I’m angry and bitter as fuck! And whenever a dude is trying to talk to me about MY body and what to do with MY self?! As if it is not my very existence the reason that I’m being raped – not that I was drunk out of my mind and wearing tight clothes.

What’s rape got to do with love?

Some time ago I told y’all that I was going through some things, failing to ID myself post-rape because I don’t want to feel defeated but I also can’t act like nothing happened. I should’ve titled it “What now” but I didn’t. Anyway, read it here.

Yesterday, I was thinking about this lonely feeling I have sometimes, a gap that requires some kind of romantic companionship with someone who’ll be the same person to fill that gap when it grows again. But the girl don’t play that, and I’ll explain to you how the first man who raped me has contributed to this.

This person who loved me until I was out of my teenage years raped me.

It’s obvious that when he raped me, he was not doing it to rekindle our long discarded love affair, nor was he doing it because he missed making love to me. (I used to tell myself that he did it because he wanted to remind me of how much we love(d) each other. It didn’t make sense that he raped me, I loved him.) He did it because he wanted to make me feel like trash.

I wonder now, and on other days when I think about him/it, if there ever was a time when he did love me. Rape is evil, disgusting, and dirty. I don’t think you can give such a horrid experience to someone you love.

Yeah, so what does he have to do with my decision to never be “loved” by a man-person?

  1. I don’t think men are capable of love.

This conclusion is based on that experience, and other encounters with people who raped me, and with man-“friends” who ill-treated me after I refused to fuck them. 

Also based on the news of men who rape their own children, beat their wives, ill-treat their family members and attack stranger-women every day, everywhere over anything.

  1. I am a cishet woman, so I am going to be lonely forever and ever.

The only people I trust, and believe can love honestly are the same people I’m not romantically attracted to. I will never have a happily ever after and I’m going to die alone because I would rather be lonely than let man sneak his evil ass into my life and try to kill me when he’s satisfied that I have served my purpose I his life. Shonda said it, “I don’t want a husband in my house.”

  1. I hate men.

Men are evil, disgusting, selfish, untrustworthy and full of shit. I hate them. Their whole existence is an inconvenience to me and I wish they would all die so that we start afresh and raise boys properly.

So yeah, I guess the people who raped me won. If they wanted no one else to ever love me, they win. They’ve ruined my life.

So I have this problem, right?

This has been a great year for me, btw.

I’ve decided to take the #KillAllMen approach of feminism, which I will explain to you in the future. But first I should tell you about this problem I have which led me to join the #KillAllMen battalion of the feminist army.

I have learned that all oppressors and people in privileged positions know exactly what is going on, and therefore I need not waste my energy educating anyone about their oppressive ways, nor about the advantages they enjoy at the expense of everyone else. THEY KNOWWWW BETTER. This started when racism became a thing to me (Only after I moved to South Africa  did I see white people treating indigenous citizens as though the latter’s presence in their own home is a disturbance to the former’s life..) Anyway, I surfed twittersphere to get a feel of racism from people who’ve been living consciously with it much longer than I have. 

Silent tweeting, twatching, scrolling and getting lost in this world I saw some very interesting people and I found exactly what i was looking for – critical discussions about race, call out culture on fleek and Black Twitter getting racists fired from their jobs. So many insights and leads for me to follow to find great writings on the race situation in the world. It was great. When I was satisfied, I had to find out how these spaces behaved around feminist conversation. 

Okay, so the problems now. Confusion. Self doubt. WTF-ness all around.

When I saw these women’s liberation conversations happen, I noticed something strange. That the same people who don’t want to be racisted want to sexist women.

Hau? Guys?

Weren’t we fighting for everyone to be free?

When did it become a fight for your freedom alone? 

I was doubting myself. Is feminism really a thing that is necessary? Maybe they’re right, I’m trying to break up the black family so that I run away with a white man and enjoy the economic benefits he reaps from [my] black man’s sweat. Maybe feministing is just another tool of white racism to divide and conquer the black community. Maybe feministing is just another route away from my culture, the way things should be. I’m running farther and farther away from my roots. Maybe through feministing I have lost my way… 

That is how the black man made me feel about wanting to be released from under his foot – that I was betraying my blackness. That was my problem.

A quote from Toni Morrison

“They were not young girls in whores’ clothing, or whores regretting their loss of innocence. They were whores in whores’ clothing, whores who had never been young and had no word for innocence.” – Toni Morrison, The Bluest Eye (1999 : 55)

He opened his hand and he touched me on my face. On the same place he used to touch when he said I was beautiful. He touched me on my face on the very same cheeks his used to kiss and he hit me. Three times.

Three times across my face he wiped away his gentle touch, he hit me. I didn’t feel it. I couldn’t feel it. I was numb. I had an out of body experience when he did that I didn’t feel it he hit somebody else. I cam to tell him that now, finally, now that we both knew that we’d both been bad I could talk to him, like normal people. I could finally talk to him and he didn’t want to listen? WHY WON’T HE LISTEN WHY WON’T HE LISTEN I CAN FINALLY TALK TO HIM HE WILL LISTEN, TO ME.

Like normal people.

I can talk to him now.

He used to touch me everywhere. On my forehead, on my cheeks, on the backs of my neck and my knees. He used to poke and squeeze the bulges on my belly, and he told me that I deserved to be loved all over by any one who wanted to feel me. He taught me that I am beautiful, and wrote it everywhere he touched me but then he folded that same hand and shut my eye with a blue & black manifestation of his hatred. I didn’t feel it. I saw him hit someone but it wasn’t me. He was angry at the world and I was his world but it wasn’t me who’s face his fist landed on. He didn’t.

He did, and I healed but he’d shut my eye so I was to never see him again.