The reed dance is often debated, but could it be a tool for empowerment if adapted to modern realities?
While strolling through my TikTok feed, I came across a striking video of Zulu maidens singing while dancing a traditional dance.
I must have replayed it at least five times – taken in by their pride and the undeniable sense of empowerment in their voices and movements. It got me teary, because it gave me a moment to reflect.
Recently, I wrote about the crisis of consent and statutory rape that has sadly become normal in our society. The TikTok video got me thinking about virginity testing, Umhlanga (the reed dance) and its role in shaping young women.
This particular group based in KwaZulu-Natal are planning an Amatshitshi festival in May and it made me wonder: what if the government invested more in initiatives like this? Could it make a real impact?
Maybe not the controversial maiden’s bursary which the Commission for Gender Equality (CGE) criticised when uThukela municipality awarded 16 bursaries on the condition that recipients remained virgins.
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The CGE argued that “any funding by an organ of state based on a woman’s sexuality perpetuates patriarchy and inequality in South Africa”.
And, of course, parts of Umhlanga have been controversial, especially the requirement for virginity testing. But maybe instead of dismissing the idea of these grants/bursaries, we should look at ways to strengthen it to support and empower young women.
Clearly, the practice is still relevant and holds value, because thousands of young girls flock to KwaZulu-Natal to attend the reed dance every year.
If you had asked me a few years ago, I would have said Umhlanga wasn’t exactly a progressive event. But now I see it differently.
Yes, virginity is a personal choice and as my editor pointed out “why should the government be involved in this”.
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But initiatives like the Amatshitshi festival could help promote healthier relationships, reduce unintended pregnancies and boost selfworth. They could also strengthen communities and give young girls a sense of cultural identity – something that’s important for nation-building.
Too often, young girls are roaming the streets unsupervised, but empowering programmes like this could get more girls into the movement; give them structure and mentorship.
That is what we are missing as a society.
The practice itself has a deep history. It was reportedly started by King Shaka but later banned under apartheid. It was revived in the ’80s and I wonder: has it lived up to the principles it was formed on?
If not, where did we go wrong?
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The government already spends millions on programmes that either fail or disappear due to corrupt officials.
Meanwhile, community initiatives that actually teach discipline, leadership and values to young girls get a scrap of the support.
These grants – if handled differently – could have an impact even outside the programme as many of these girls come from poor villages, far from opportunities.
One may wonder where this financial injection will come from. I suggest private sector, business people and government.
Of course, by no means does that mean parents should be left out of the conversation.
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They are an important part of the work and awareness that is missing. They need to be taught about access to reproductive health services. This means introducing options like contraceptives, STI prevention and much-needed education on abstinence. Young girls need to know their options and make informed choices.
If we approach it in a way that respects both tradition and modern realities, it could be a powerful tool to uplift young women.
