Rev. Mbulelo Dyasi, co-ordinator of SANAC’s Men’s Sector, laments the deaths that have come to characterise the traditional initiation of young men
“Fortunately, I have two girls,” said Reverend Mbulelo Dyasi, when asked if he would consider taking his son to a traditional initiation school.
Dyasi’s response unmasks the untold relief of a man who is conflicted with a tradition that he has come to know and understand as an important part of his Xhosa heritage, but is deeply tainted by controversy, chiefly because of the avoidable deaths of young men that have continued to characterise traditional initiation in recent years.
At the close of this year’s winter initiation season, the curtain also closed on the lives of almost 80 young men. Nearly 300 others have been hospitalised for injuries sustained from traditional circumcision procedures, a key component of the initiation process. It is difficult to fault Dyasi, co-ordinator of SANAC’s men’s sector, on his response.
A member of the AbaThembu clan, Dyasi was born in Ilitha Township near the tiny town of Berlin in the Eastern Cape. Later he moved to Newcastle, in Kwazulu-Natal, where his father and uncle worked in the coal mines. It was during this time that he first heard about traditional initiation and circumcision.
“Both my father and his brother used to joke that one day I must go back to the Eastern Cape for traditional male circumcision and stop being a cheese boy, because in their family they have strong men. In those days, in the 1980’s, all my cousins were uncircumcised and nobody recognised them as men. I had to go back to the Eastern Cape in 1991 when I was 22. This was due to the fact that both my father and uncle had lost their jobs, I was getting older and I wanted to prove to them that I was ready for initiation.
“Back in the Eastern Cape I stayed with my maternal family and the parental and authority figures were women, including my mother. In my area, in the former Ciskei, circumcision was used to scare boys, especially if you were seen to be immature, a so-called ‘sissy’ or unruly at home.”
In Dyasi’s case, coercion seemed to play a leading role in his going to initiation school and he didn’t have a say in it.
“My younger cousin who was 17 was ready to become an initiate at the time and I was told: ‘If you miss this opportunity you will have to call your younger cousin bhuti (big brother)’. For that reason I had to go with him. I was not prepared mentally and my father was not there to help the situation.”
Such was the pressure to become a man that he didn’t have a choice but to join his little cousin and go to initiation school. But that took a toll on him.
“It was a confusing time for me. I started drinking alcohol a lot because of depression. I was very scared. The day I went to initiation school I was drunk because people told me I will never make it there.”
He was soon to realise that his fear was not misplaced. Initiation offers boys and young men the promise of important teachings about how to become a man. But Dyasi does not recall any of these life-changing lessons. “I only remember torture, suffering and trauma. My traditional nurse beat me with a cane and kicked me and called me names saying I was not man enough for initiation school. He said I was wasting my time at initiation school because I came from a house led by women.
“I started getting sick and he wouldn’t allow me to eat. I suffered from asthma and the traditional nurse refused to allow me to use my treatment. Instead, I remember I was introduced to dagga and we were all told as initiates that it will make us strong and we will heal faster. Somehow, word got out that I was sick and a group of elders came to rescue me. They had to negotiate that I get taken to hospital because I was dying.”
Not surprisingly, he was not the only one who ended up in hospital. “We were about 100 boys. Some lost their manhood and, unfortunately, there were no arrests because we were told not to talk about it. ‘Mayibe yindaba yakwamkhozi’ – It must remain a secret,” we were told.
So much is said to be a secret about traditional initiation, but according to Dyasi the secrecy is a sinister cover up.
“There is no secrecy at initiation schools. People who continue to talk about this secrecy thing are people who protect these criminals who torture kids there. The only thing is, traditionally, initiates are not supposed to be seen publicly. But what is happening today is that they pose for cameras near highways and visit communities at night demanding alcohol or to see girlfriends.”
When he was removed from initiation school, Dyasi was taken to Cecilia Makiwane Hospital in Mdantsane, near East London, and after three weeks was taken back to the initiation school. But this was scandalous and he felt the stigma. This earned him ridicule and he had to pay a heavy price.
“For more than five years I had to build my reputation because people did not recognise me as a man. I was even ordered to buy a bottle of brandy by my peers as a form of apology for landing in hospital. As a result, I told myself that I will find another way of becoming a man if my community was not prepared to recognise me.”
Dyasi, a believer and campaigner for human and health rights and equality, says: “This tradition is still an important part of our heritage. But looking back at those experiences, I believe that initiation schools are out of control and there is no proper monitoring of that institution, especially given the health risks that young initiates potentially face. Community elders must take over initiation schools in partnership with families, traditional leaders and government. Traditional nurses and traditional surgeons must go for interviews or screening by elders.
Communities must understand that it is important to test or screen for diseases such as HIV, STIs and other chronic illnesses before circumcision because traditional nurses are not trained to take care of sick initiates, but only trained to take care of the wound in a traditional manner. And, sadly, if these boys visit clinics, their communities stigmatise them and call them names. Kids should not be left alone there without family members, without preparation and without monitoring.”
Dyasi’s call for a structured intervention emanates from his belief that young men should be protected from harm.
“Greed and illiteracy is the reason for this mess, hence, it is important to train traditional nurses for counselling and make them to understand that traditional initiations schools are not battle fields or military camps. You don’t have to suffer to be a strong man.”
He also believes that the law must be enforced to curtail the abuse and deaths that characterise initiation. “We must understand that this is a tradition within a Constitutional democracy and this country is governed within the context of human rights. I believe all traditions and religions are not above the supreme law of the country.”