I need a man.


Apparently.


People’s faces overshadow with obvious perplexity and concern when they ask if I really truly live alone, without a man. It seems that the mere fact that I can breathe outside of marriage is a wonderful feat of westernization. Sometimes I am even consoled; “Don’t worry Maggie, we will find you a husband” with the touching reassurance; “even if you are almost 24”.


It’s a strange thing, marriage. Amongst the top five questions that are asked of me* is the confusing “Are you a girl or a woman?”. In what sense I might wonder... It is sometimes asked because the level of respect you give to somebody depends on it. And apparently you are not a woman (ie, worthy of respect) until you are married. When I replied to somebody that I was a woman last week, a friend listening in burst out laughing, grabbed my hand in front of the other guy and said “Maggie! You are so funny! Of course you are not a woman! You are a girl!”. Absolutely hilarious indeed.


I thought I was meant to be propositioned night and day, suitor after suitor begging me to ease the way to my dad so that my hand in marriage could be sought for and gained. Not so:
“Maggie, do you have a friend who might marry me?”.

Is it because I am not the highly prized blonde? Is it because to marry me would really be beneath them? Are they confused about my gender? I mean, I not only hurl myself around on a motorbike and wear trousers but I also don’t shirk a tackle on the football pitch. What am I?

Maybe my problem is that I am too fat. “Maggie, you are sooooooooo fat!” said my nice employer, the District Directrice of education. “Oh yes, so so fat!” with such glee on her face it makes me swallow my pride and limply reply ‘Thanks. That’s...very kind”. All intended to be complementary. I’m still hoping it just means ‘healthy’ in an African sense, seeing as by now, I’m actually used to being called a fatty by Tanzanians and Senegalese alike.

So maybe that’s not the reason for the lack of marriage proposals. I’m hoping it is from finally having broken some sort of boundary to the point where they know me as me and not as Issue 1 Type Muzungu. Who knows.



*The other four questions/demands consist of;
Give me money.
Donne-moi l’argent.
Where are you going?
Where are you coming back from?