Awino Okech

It is 2006. We are in Green Point, a public beach in Cape Town. “Freedom” has been here for a while so all races mingle freely. A group of women having wined and dined the whole night as part of ushering in the New Year think it is a great idea to take the last bottle of champagne to the beach.

In the last one month, there has been an increase in the number of heinous and violent crimes targeted at young girls and women in South Africa.

Three years ago when Tajudeen Abdul Raheem died in Nairobi, I met one of his many Nairobi-based friends a week later. In jest, he said to me: “Awino, before you die be sure to leave a list of your friends’ names so that we call on them after you die”.

What’s in a name? For most of us, our names are signifiers of our heritage and the multiplicity of identities that course through our veins each day. They may be clear indicators of which ‘group’ we ‘belong’ to, our connections with others by birth and through other forms of partnerships.

‘We must strive every day so that this love of living humanity will be transformed into actual deeds, into acts that serve as examples, as a moving force’ – Che Guevara

‘We are going to show the world what the black man can do when he works in freedom, and we are going to make Congo the center of the sun's radiance for all of Africa.’ – Patrice Lumumba, independence speech, 30 June 30 1960

Cultural relativism has never been a very effective approach to addressing any issue including feminism or women's rights in this instance. It decontextualises and homogenises this thing we call 'culture'.

One of the arguments given by feminists in response to an overwhelming and slightly misguided developmental push for involving men in women’s rights projects has been that this has to be treated with caution.

This is an experience that is not unique to Kenya. Whilst conducting my graduate research in peri-urban Cape Town or what are popularly referred to as the Cape Flats, this is an assertion that often emerged.