Abuse always comes with more questions than answers. Why stay? is the violent question that most victims of abuse are confronted with when they open up their wounds to either be spat on our nurtured. As art has created a name for itself, with its ability to pull open silence and answer questions that sit in the mouths of all of us, Zubayr Charles has once again used his craft and talent to provide understanding of experiences often shied away from.
The title of The Battered Housewives’ Club speaks for itself, but this production had so much more to say, so much that the audience found themselves letting off reactions of discomfort. I was left asking myself, why do we laugh at pain dressed in addiction? Why do we humour trauma just because the victim has developed it as a coping mechanism?
Five housewives played by Cara Rossouw, Nana Bulabula, Sbonga Nduli, Irmah Tiemie and Bokang Ntsutle take their places on the stage. One takes centre stage presenting a well-put-together woman. She announces, “WE are the battered housewives club” with an enthusiasm that made me certain I must’ve misheard what she announced. Two of the housewives are laughing and teasing each other while one sits silently, her body slowly sinking deeper into itself.
Taken into the memories of the sinking woman, she stood over a pot, stirring the contents as quickly as possible, while her husband hid his identity behind a newspaper, but it was the smell of burning food that brought him to the forefront. Anger took over his face and quickly found its way into his hands as he choked the sinking woman. Her pain was violently yet gracefully depicted by the squashing of the newspaper and the veins of her throat pulsating. Charles shows us the abuse of this relationship without a physical touch occurring, but it is the body language of the sinking woman that moved me – a reminder that after violence has been inflicted on us, it lives in our bodies and it lives in the words that we say when sharing our stories.
As another housewife took centre stage, she laughed and repetitively spoke about her job and how important it is to keep your job if you’re lucky enough to have one. We are reminded of the need we as women feel to present ourselves in a certain way as her story took us into her house where she sat applying lipstick. As the woman covered herself with a new identity, I was reminded of how much we prioritise having something to hide our experiences.
The room was filled with excitement and laughter when her partner entered onto the stage in a bright green outfit. He stumbled around the stage until he found himself next to the housewife. I entered an out-of-body experience when my attention was drawn to the fact that the audience found the drunken state of this man humorous. I wondered, is this too close to home for most of us? We all sat facing the truth that this might not happen to us, but it is a human nature all around us. He left the stage, “take your clothes off, I’m waiting”. The audience laughed. “Voetsek,” she said, and the audience laughed once more, forgetting that this is an act of fighting back.
Zubayr Charles tells the untold stories of women being abused, but more than that, he puts on a production that causes the audience to expose their true understanding, or lack thereof, of what these experiences mean and in what manner these women fight for their lives. Has our culture made it humorous? For myself, The Battered Housewives’ Club was an opportunity to reflect on the state of empathy in this country.
Kirsten Deane (PEN South Africa) obtained her Honours in English Literature and MA in Creative Writing at the University of the Western Cape. She is working on her first poetry collection, reflecting on living with her physical disability (Left Hemiplegia). Uhlanga Press is interested in publishing this young and brave poet’s work.
