My wife and I were recently invited to dinner by a friend of mine and his wife. There were two other young couples there and we were all having a real blast till my friend’s wife, let’s call her Gugu, asked my friend, let’s call him Munya, to please make some sadza to go with the relish which she had just finished preparing.
Now, I will pause there for a moment and give some background. Gugu is a career woman in middle management at a local mobile phone company and a self-professed feminist. Her friends are mostly strong-willed independent, driven, go-getting women. Three of them were there in the room with us, the better halves of the other three men in the room besides her husband. Yes, that includes my wife, let’s call her Dhiya.
Back to the dinner party.
There was a chilled silence all of a sudden in the room. All the women stared at Munya, awaiting his response. The men stared at Gugu, absolutely stunned that she had asked such a thing, especially in front of other people.
Then Munya spoke. “Why don’t you do it sweetie?”
Gugu seemed shocked by this response. The eyebrows of the other women in the room shot up, They turned to Gugu, almost daring her to put him in his place with the looks on their faces.
The guys turned to Munya, thanking him silently for preserving our dignity.
“Because I cooked the relish and you didn’t lift a finger to help.” Came the sharp retort from Gugu.
“So we are taking turns now?” Was Munya’s comeback.
“Oh stop being a baby, it won’t take you long. It’s just sadza.”
“If it’s just sadza then go ahead and f**ken make it then!”
It was war and we were caught in the very uncomfortable middle. I just didn’t understand it- at all. Right there and then I realised just how lucky I was. While my wife has a demanding full time job and runs her own little sewing business after hours, she has never expected me to help in the kitchen.
Yes, I will cook sometimes, help with the chores every so often and play with the kids while she creates her outfits in the evenings, but she has never demanded that I cook. Ok, when she wants me to do something, she knows how to get me to do it, but that’s a bedroom story not fit for this platform.
“Varume makajaidzwa stereki (Men are really spoilt),” came an attack from another one of the women in the room. Her husband whirled and glared at her, as if silently telling her to keep quiet.
Just as it seemed that the room would erupt into a bloody battle scene, Gugu stood up. “I’ll make the sadza,” she said.
“Oh no you won’t!” Came Gugu’s response. “Let Munya make it. He knows how to. He just wants to show off because his friends are here!”
Now if there is one thing you should never do ladies, it’s to dress your man down in front of his friends or family – in fact in front of anyone. There is some unwritten rule about how you should do stuff like that alone, the two of you, away from other ears.
“Just because I help you sometimes does not mean you can boss me around in my own house!” Munya yelled, leaping up and closing the gap between him and Gugu. I jumped between them to avoid a boxing match.
“It’s just as much my house!” She yelled back. “Don’t I pay bills too?”
In the end Dhiya, yes my dear Dhiya, made the sadza, but Gugu had stormed off and not returned. The party mood had disappeared and we ate in an awkward silence.
It’s crazy the wars out there man. I went home that night and told Dhiya just how much I appreciate her and then showed her – real good.
I am one of the lucky ones. This whole gender roles thing had never hit me the way it did that night. Now I am thinking deeply about it and you can be sure that as soon as I have an opinion about how the world should tackle it, you will be the first to know.
In the meantime, I leave you with a question. Who should cook the sadza?