
Three stories developed and crafted in The Moth Community Program: A daughter is confronted by her parent’s empty fridge, a girl struggles with her family’s neighborly etiquette, and a teacher speaks up in defense of one of her female students.
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Dan Kennedy
Welcome to the Moth Podcast. I'm Dan Kennedy. Before we get started today, a quick announcement for our listeners in New Orleans. Tickets are on sale now for the Moth Grand Slam in New Orleans. That's going to be Wednesday, March 9, featuring 10 of the best storytellers in the area. So tell your friends in New Orleans and also visit themoth.org for more details. Today on our show, we have three stories from our community program, which we started in 1999. The goal of the program is to offer storytelling workshops to people who feel that their voice is underheard. Monica Cheru Mpambawashe is our first storyteller this week. She told this story live last year in Uganda. Here's Monica.
Monica Cheru Mpambawashe
I've always been a happy child. My father was the headmaster at the school where he taught. And back in the village, my grandmother was like the master farmer. So we were not poor. In fact, we were very rich. We ate meat almost every day. Well, we had shoes, at least one pair of shoes all the time. And to us this was enough. We were always a big family and there was plenty of food. I was the last born in a family of five. And I was endowed. When I started working, I was a teacher. My father was also a teacher. On payday, he would call me up and would meet in town and he would buy me food. And then he would take me shopping for clothes. I got married. I started my own family. But I was always the baby at home. So I would visit my parents and I would take stuff. Maybe some provisions, a few presents, but nothing hectic. One day, soon after I turned 30, I went home. It was a surprise visit. I like doing that. My parents live 400 kilometers away. And I just turn up at their doorstep, maybe at 12 midnight, 1am so my mother wanted to make food for me. And I said, I'm fine. I'll sort it out in the morning. But that's just the way she was. When anyone got home, it doesn't matter what time it is, she makes food. Then in the morning, I was the first one up and I went into the kitchen. I opened the fridge door and there was nothing in the fridge except for a bottle of water and a wilting pile of rape greens. It was like my world had been shaken upside down. Like I was in the middle of a game. And suddenly someone has changed not just the rules, but the game altogether. It's a different game. Because growing up, the fridge had always been full. My mother loves margarine. You know, she can't live without margarine. And there was nothing in the fridge. And in. In that moment, I realized that my parents had grown old. And from being the people who provided for us, they had become people that I needed to provide for. It was not enough for me to bring presents whensoever I wanted. I had to take responsibility for their welfare. And it was as if I had been stripped. All my life I'd had their hands around me, their arms covering me through the pain, through the joy. And suddenly it was as if it was my arms that were now going around them. I was on the outside and.
Ruth Adong
In.
Monica Cheru Mpambawashe
That moment I realized that I could never go back home because I had become the home that they would need to go to. Thank you.
Dan Kennedy
Monica Cheru Mpambawashe is an assistant editor at the Herald, Zimbabwe's largest newspaper. And she's also the author of two short stories, Chavez Sunsets and the Happy Clapper. Up next, for our second story this week, we have Ruth Adong. And she was also part of the same moth workshop as Monica. Here's a story from Ruth.
Libo Malazani
So my early childhood happened in the village. So one of these regular days we had to walk back from school to home. And it's like a 30, 45 minutes walk. The village is like a community, so everyone knows everyone. So we're passing by a neighbor's home, she's called Mamokema, and she screams. She actually yells our names. Adong Achola. And like the good African children that we are, there was no way we could yell back. So we had to walk from the pathway to her compound and greet her. So we got there, we greeted her, the normal things. How are you? Are you fine? How is the family? And then wanted to go back home and eat. I was about five or six and my elder cousin was about eight. We wanted to go back home and eat because that we left school at about like one. So she offers us potatoes. It was half a season potato, have a season. And she's like, I know your grandmother. And she won't be mad if you just have a potato. I mean, they just freshly made. And we were hungry. I mean, we're six. How are you to resist a freshly made potato? Like boiled and all. And. Yes. So we walked home with our potatoes and we came eating our potatoes. So my grandmother, she's like, how are you? Like, oh, we're fine. Are you okay? Yes. How was school? School was fine. It was time to take a bath and we go to the bathroom, we bathe and as we're coming out of the bathroom, my grandmother ambushes us. You know, you're all wet and slick. So she beats us, she beats us, she beats us. Remember we cried to a point where we couldn't cry. And we were crying like there's no tears, just crying. So we're so sad. She's like, you're not supposed to eat from the neighbor's place. I've told you this time and again, no eating from the neighbor's. Wasn't there food at home? Why are you eating from there? Like really? Two weeks later, we went to visit my grandmother's sister. She's called Auntie Yairi. We sat and I hesitated to eat. I'm like, no, I think I'm good this time. So we go back home and my grandmother is livid. She's like, why didn't you eat at your auntie's place? It's your auntie. You embarrassed me. You're supposed to eat. Some places I can eat, some places I can't eat. So who's making the rules for I'm supposed to eat? So growing up, if we went with grandmother, the cue was sit.
Ruth Adong
If she eats, you eat.
Libo Malazani
If she doesn't, don't you try it. Take water. When I was about 10 years old is when we understood the story of paranoia. When I was 10, they told us the story of the person who I am named after was poisoned on the day she was getting married. Like she had gone to see her co wife. We had this ritual where you have to see them and make sure it's okay with them because you're coming into their space. And she got poisoned. So it did explain a bit of my grandmother's paranoia, like why she was so icky about us not eating everywhere.
Dan Kennedy
Ruth Adong is an anchor and reporter for Touch fm, a radio station in Kampala. She also keeps a blog called Rabila's World, where she covers a variety of social justice issues. Our final story this week is from Libo Malazani, and she told this Live in Washington D.C. in 2015. The theme of the night was Vital Signs.
Ruth Adong
Thank you. When I became a teacher, many, many years ago, I decided to go and teach in the rural areas of South Africa. This is where I thought I could make the proverbial difference. See, I was born and raised in the rural areas. I went to school in the rural areas. My primary school was about 5km away from our house. It was during apartheid, and with its Christian principles, the teachers were not shy to use the cane if we arrived late. Our primary school was a row of mad huts. The winters were harsh, very cold, so our teachers made wood fires to keep us warm. Looking back, I realized just how hard life must have been for those teachers in those rural schools. So when I started teaching a few years later, well, many years later in my high school, I was one of the few qualified teachers because most qualified teachers would choose to teach in the urban areas where the resources were much a little bit better. Because I was the youngest in my school when I started teaching and one of the few qualified ones. For some reason, this pitted me against my older colleagues. So I tended to Be marginalized. I would observe silently the goings on in the staff lounge. For example, one of the things that stood out was just how rampant corporal punishment was. Over the years, the first years of my teaching, I observed how it would be the girl children would be brought into the staff lounge and how their punishment would almost always focus on their looks and what the teachers regarded as sluttish behavior, immoral behavior, by the way they dressed, but by what they did. But it was always the girls who got this kind of punishment. One morning, I was sitting in the staff lounge, having just finished teaching, and two girls came running into the staff lounge. Miss. Miss so and so has fainted in the classroom. So I stood up, ran to the classroom. We brought the girl back to the staff lounge. It transpired that she had just been told that her boyfriend had died in a terrible car crash. That morning, most of the teachers were back from their classes, and upon hearing the story, they began attacking this girl. She was a husband's nature. She doesn't deserve our sympathy. She didn't deserve to grieve for this man. His rightful widow would grieve for him. It transpired that the man she was grieving for was notorious for having many girlfriends and that earlier that year, he had married one of them. Not surprisingly, nothing was said about the man's behavior. I was sitting there thinking, why is there attention on this girl? And at that moment, I flashed back and thought to an incident that had happened to me when I was a young girl. I was walking home one day, and upon meeting two women who were walking across from from me, I heard them talk about me along the lines of, who's that girl? And the other one says, that's Labu, but she's no child. She's a slut. And that rumor had started because I was friends with boys. And from that day on, because I was labeled as slut, I would spend my next years trying to prove just how not a slut I was. What this meant for me was. This robbed me of my voice. I became shy. I became withdrawn. I wanted to please all the adults in my community to see how good a girl I was. But inside the staff lounge today, I thought to myself, how long will I keep quiet? How long will I let this happen? I let this happen to myself. Will I go on letting it happen to the children in my care? At that moment, something just snapped. I stood up, went over to the girl and said to her, you feel like grieving for your boyfriend? Go right ahead. You have every right to grieve and here is money for pass fare. By the way, go home and grieve as much as you want and come back when you are ready to come back to school. That moment marked my journey to reclaiming my voice and I was to dedicate most of my work to making sure that the girls in my care were spoken for when it was necessary, but more importantly that they were empowered to speak myself. From that day on, I vowed never to be silent again.
Dan Kennedy
Is a professor in Rural Education at the University of KwaZulu Natal. Thanks to all of you for listening and we hope you have a story worthy week.
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Dan Kennedy is the author of the books Loser Goes First, Rock on An American Spirit. He's also a regular host and performer.
Dan Kennedy
With the Moth Podcast production by Mooj Zaidie. Moth events are recorded by Argo Studios in New York City supervised by Paul Rue west, and the Moth Podcast is presented by prx, the Public Radio Exchange, helping make public radio more public@prx.org.
Libo Malazani
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Podcast Summary: The Moth - "Monica Cheru-Mpambawashe & Ruth Adong & Lebo Moletsane: Stories from The Moth Community Program"
Release Date: March 1, 2016
Host: Dan Kennedy
Featured Storytellers: Monica Cheru Mpambawashe, Ruth Adong, and Libo Malazani
In this episode of The Moth, host Dan Kennedy introduces listeners to three compelling stories from The Moth's Community Program. Launched in 1999, this program aims to amplify voices that often go unheard by providing storytelling workshops to individuals from diverse backgrounds. The featured storytellers—Monica Cheru Mpambawashe, Ruth Adong, and Libo Malazani—share deeply personal narratives that explore themes of family, cultural expectations, and personal empowerment.
Timestamp: [02:52] – [06:09]
Monica Cheru Mpambawashe opens her story by painting a picture of her affluent and supportive upbringing in Uganda. "We were not poor. In fact, we were very rich. We ate meat almost every day," she reflects, highlighting the abundance and warmth of her family life.
However, her narrative takes a poignant turn when she revisits her parents' home unexpectedly after turning thirty. "When I opened the fridge door and there was nothing," (04:15) Monica describes the shock of discovering her parents' diminished circumstances. This moment serves as a revelation of the inevitable role reversal between parent and child.
Monica conveys the emotional weight of this transition: "It was as if I had been stripped. All my life I'd had their hands around me... and suddenly it was as if it was my arms that were now going around them" (05:30). This realization marks a profound shift in her perspective, forcing her to take on the responsibility of caring for her aging parents.
Notable Quote:
"That moment I realized that I could never go back home because I had become the home that they would need to go to." (06:09)
Monica's story encapsulates the universal experience of witnessing and adapting to the aging of one's parents, highlighting the resilience and strength required to navigate such life changes.
Timestamp: [06:49] – [09:53]
Ruth Adong shares a vivid childhood memory that underscores the strict cultural norms she was subjected to. Recalling a seemingly simple act of accepting a freshly made potato from a neighbor, Ruth reflects on the severe repercussions enforced by her grandmother. "She beats us... we were crying like there's no tears," (08:00) Ruth recounts the physical punishment that followed, emphasizing the rigid boundaries imposed on acceptable behavior.
As Ruth grows older, the narrative delves into deeper family dynamics and cultural paranoia. The story of her namesake being poisoned adds layers to understanding her grandmother's strictness: "It did explain a bit of my grandmother's paranoia" (09:00). This backstory provides context for the harsh discipline Ruth and her siblings endured.
Ruth's reflection on these experiences reveals the lasting impact of authoritarian parenting: "I'm supposed to eat? So who's making the rules for I'm supposed to eat?" (09:30). This question highlights her internal struggle with authority and conformity.
Notable Quote:
"If she eats, you eat. If she doesn't, don't you try it." (09:09)
Ruth's story is a compelling exploration of the tension between cultural expectations and personal autonomy, illustrating her journey toward understanding and challenging the norms imposed upon her.
Timestamp: [10:16] – [16:52]
Libo Malazani delivers a powerful account of her experiences as a teacher in rural South Africa during apartheid. She begins by describing the harsh conditions of her early education: "Our primary school was a row of mad huts. The winters were harsh, very cold," (11:00). These vivid descriptions set the stage for understanding the challenges faced by both students and educators in such environments.
As one of the few qualified teachers remaining in rural areas, Libo encounters widespread corporal punishment and gender bias. "One of the things that stood out was just how rampant corporal punishment was," (12:30) she observes, highlighting the systemic issues within the educational system.
A pivotal moment occurs when a student, grieving the loss of her boyfriend, is harshly reprimanded by fellow teachers. This incident triggers Libo's introspection about her own past and the rumors that once labeled her unfairly. "I was labeled as slut, I would spend my next years trying to prove just how not a slut I was," (14:15) she reveals, connecting her personal trauma to her professional resolve.
This reflection empowers Libo to take a stand: "I stood up, went over to the girl and said to her, you feel like grieving for your boyfriend? Go right ahead," (15:10). This act of kindness marks the beginning of her commitment to fostering a supportive and empathetic environment for her students.
Libo concludes her story by affirming her dedication to empowering young girls: "I vowed never to be silent again." (16:00) Her narrative underscores the importance of voice and agency within oppressive systems, both personally and professionally.
Notable Quote:
"How long will I keep quiet? How long will I let this happen?" (15:00)
Libo's story is an inspiring testament to the impact one individual can have in challenging and transforming entrenched injustices within the education system.
This episode of The Moth showcases the profound and diverse experiences of three storytellers from The Moth Community Program. Monica Cheru Mpambawashe, Ruth Adong, and Libo Malazani each navigate complex personal and cultural landscapes, offering listeners a window into resilience, responsibility, and the quest for voice. Their narratives not only entertain but also inspire reflection on universal themes of family, societal expectations, and the power of individual agency.
Additional Information:
Monica Cheru Mpambawashe: Assistant Editor at the Herald, Zimbabwe's largest newspaper, and author of two short stories, Chavez Sunsets and The Happy Clapper.
Ruth Adong: Anchor and reporter for Touch FM in Kampala, and blogger at Rabila's World, focusing on social justice issues.
Libo Malazani: Professor in Rural Education at the University of KwaZulu Natal.
For more stories and live events, visit themoth.org.