There is a group of women who are considered female only physiologically and see themselves other than the fairer sex. They call themselves lesbians and so indeed they are. We have all heard of them, but meet Nomaziwe.

Epitome of a Lesbian – Nomaziwe 

She has the curves that befit a woman of child-bearing age. She has breasts enough and voice to fit into the mould of femininity and, of course, she carries the monthly curse, but she doesn’t consider herself a woman.

I meet Nomaziwe at a club. It’s a regular hotspot for her and those of her inner circle. It’s here that they feel at ease, without fear of retribution. What is it you know of lesbians? That they love women and that their sexual orientation is inclined towards their own sex? It is with interest that one learns that rules apply as they do so readily in the heterosexual world.

Nomaziwe is of medium height with a clean-shaven head. Dressed in shorts and a T-shirt and men’s brand slippers, she is without the ornaments of femininity. There is no manner of grace that allows her to settle into a chair, but rather sit in loud ownership. Her legs spread apart, she sips on her Heineken – a quart which she passes around the circle. They share a cigarette, holding it loosely between the thumb and forefinger and their conversation is peppered with words such as ‘ndoda’, ‘mfana’  or ‘mfowami’ meaning ‘man’, ‘boy’ or ‘my brother’.

Men Without Penises 

There are no people of the opposite sex in the circle, or rather those who have penises as we can understand. It is women with vaginas who wish they didn’t have them and who look on their periods as nature’s sleight and breasts as something to be made discreet behind sports bras. They look unfavourably on feminine lingerie except on their women and will only wear men’s underwear – Y-fronts, boxer shorts or briefs. If you look closely the T-shirt is from Dickie’s or Lacoste, the shoes are Converse or Levis, although Adidas is also greatly favoured.

‘Ngiyi Les,’ admits Nomaziwe, ‘and I am proud of it. My family accepts me as I am.’

There is another group of women who sit with them in the club as they sip the rather mellow ciders or alcopops, while curled next to their ‘men’. These women, known as ‘aboCherrie’, are their lovers, partners and girlfriends. In skinny jeans, heels, sporting weaves, bold tops, make-up and sucrose-toned voices they are the perfect accompaniment to a lifestyle that is real.

Lesbian Talk 

‘I knew from a very young age that I was lesbian. My parents tried to dress me in girls clothing and they succeeded for a while, but just before my teenage years I rebelled and insisted on wearing pants. You will never see me in a skirt or dress.’

‘What happens if you go to a funeral?’

‘There’ll always be people who complain, especially the older generation, but if my family, even my own grandmother, can accept me, then who are they to tell me different? I am a man and I wear trousers.’

The Childhood of a Butch Lesbian

Her home is in the midlands of Kwazulu-Natal, just outside Ladysmith. It is a very rural region, with cows grazing quietly at the side of the road and goats and sheep frolicking in the nearby fields. An informal cemetery has been created away from the village, across the road, and while the main roads are tarred into the village, the intersecting channels are rocky dirt roads with deep holes.

It is a place so far removed from a metropolis like Johannesburg, where everyone knows one another, the elders are accorded the respect they demand and dogs stray from yards into taverns where many villagers meet in the evenings and over weekends. There is always high excitement, great affability and concerned amiability. The water supply comes and goes and sometimes one washes in a plastic tub and uses the bath water to flush the toilet.

Here, too, the stars shine brightly. Above, there is the belt of Orion, the design of Scorpio and Taurus and if you concentrate you will notice the Southern Cross. At night all the animals find warmth and comfort in the corners of outside ablution rooms or hidden chicken runs and the voices of the neighbours call to all who are in the vicinity. This is where Nomaziwe finds it easy to let her hair down and truly be herself.

This is where she can sit with her aunts and cousins and old neighbourhood friends to drink ‘ingudu’, smoke a few cigarettes and catch up on the latest news. This is where under the glare of a hot summer sun, and dizzying temptation, she will take off her T-shirt, bare her breasts and not be the least embarrassed. She is a man merely displaying her torso as any man would do.

Relationships 

‘I don’t trust girls that tell me they like me. In my eyes they seem “loose”. I have to be the one who makes it clear to iCherrie that I’m interested in her.’

There doesn’t seem to be any worry that a woman might be straight or gay. In fact, it is often that they are undeterred by the girl’s preference, almost choosing it for her as they circle around her, making known their own feelings.

At the club, one of the group, a small woman or is it girl, or man, Mancane looks across the room to meet eyes with a beautiful woman who is there with her boyfriend. In no uncertain terms, Mancane makes it clear to the stranger that she has feelings for her. She takes opportunities to brush her rough callused hand against the woman, bumping into her purposefully as they dance, winking her intentions. The pampered woman is not amused, but she is aware she is the attention of a man other than the one at her side.

I turn to one of the Cherries sitting next to me.

‘How do you refer to your lover? Do you call them your boyfriend, your girlfriend?’

‘I use whichever one comes to me at the time,’ she says melodiously. ‘It really doesn’t matter to me or my man.’

Sex in a Relationship between Two Women 

Nomaziwe loves women. She loves the way they look, the way their bodies feel underneath her own, while her hands caress their skin. She loves kissing them, holding them close and she is not afraid to hold their hand affectionately in public, and she loves making love to a woman.

However, they are not allowed to touch her. They can touch her upper body, perhaps wrap their arms around her waist or her neck, but when making love iCherrie cannot touch her breasts or kiss them nor must she be inclined to go down on her or finger her.

‘If iCherrie touches me then I’m no longer a man. I become a woman, just like iCherrie. I’m a les.’

‘But what if she wants to touch you?’ I ask beleaguered.

‘No, I won’t allow it,’ Nomaziwe says vehemently, taking the quart of beer from her companion to her right. I notice that none of the women touch the quart nor do they get up to buy a round of drinks, nor do they worry if they are hungry. It is all brought to them.

A young fellow looks across the room to Nomaziwe’s girlfriend sitting demurely at her side. Nomaziwe sees the look of fleeting interest and promptly plants a long, sensuous kiss on her girlfriend’s lips in a show of ownership.

A Man and a Woman 

‘If you so badly want to be a man, then why don’t you have a sex change?’

‘If I had the money, I would,’ Nomaziwe responds, looking at me seriously.

Her companion juts her elbow into her side, signalling the arrival of Bongani, a male friend with whom the ‘boys’ all share a close friendship.

‘That’s my boy,’ laughs Nomaziwe loudly, confidently. ‘I trust him with my life. I know he would never hurt me or take advantage of me. He would never rape me.’

‘What would you do if you were raped?’ I ask, curiously peering through the haze of smoke.

‘I’d kill myself,’ Nomaziwe says seriously. ‘If a man took my virginity that would be the end of who I am.’