35. Every Dog Has His Day (And women get 8th March)

In England, there is a saying: ‘Every dog has his day’. It means that, if you are a dog, then sooner or later your time of favour will come.

For at least one of your 4,000 days on the planet, you will not be made to sit or do tricks; you will be permitted to eat that deliciously decaying detritus you found under a bush; and humans will understand the honour you are bestowing when you mark your territory on their trouser leg.

However, I have to say that for me, the jury is still out on the value of this saying as a piece of proverbial wisdom to pass down the generations:

“Don’t worry, son, every dog has his day!”

“Oh thanks Dad! Does that mean that soon I will stop being bullied, and instead will start being appreciated by my teachers, will then have my talents nurtured, and eventually will conquer all injustice and settle down to a life of peace and plenty?”

“Er, no, son. It means that today, on a special deal which I can offer for one day only, I won’t scold you if you chase our cat.”

(It is no surprise to me, by the way, that this adage might be of little worth, given that it was popularised by Shakespeare in his play, Hamlet. We are talking about a play in which the hero is named after a cigar or small town; when he’s not talking to himself, he talks to ghosts and skulls; and yet he feigns madness by speaking Mediaeval English. Then everyone dies. This is not the output of a rational mind.)

It is not for its edification, then, that I began thinking about this proverb on International Women’s Day last month, but for its subliminal implications. Every dog has its day? All the women on earth get one day on 8th March, but dogs get one each?

But here is an extension of these musings on canine quotas. Being 'a bit of a dog’ is something of a backhanded compliment, so I'd be quite content with the comparison, and would get on and have my day. However, if there were a parallel axiom for the female of the species, it would not roll off the tongue quite so well. “Every bitch has her day” doesn’t really work as a pick-me-up for the downtrodden. Dog = fine. Bitch= insult. Where does this all come from?

It seems that right from Saxon times and before, the males of commonly encountered animals had names to be aspired to, macho and manly: stallion, bull, cock, buck, stag, ram, stud, etc. Much of this Teutonic nomenclature legitimately derives from the tendency of male mammals, in due season, when they stop fighting, feasting and farting, to exhibit something of an appetite for cocking, bucking, stagging, studding, ramming, and the like. Fair play. We are who we are. Those Saxons called it like they saw it.

By this argument, however, the female Saxon species-names should reflect, by contrast, some feminine qualities. A bull’s mate might have been a ‘Feeder’, or ‘Carer’. A carthorse’s companion could perhaps have been a ‘Toiler’. A fox or dog’s life-partner maybe a ‘Rearer’:

Instead of which, we have ‘cow’, ‘nag’, 'vixen', and ‘bitch’. To which we could add mare, sow, nanny, and hind.

I have a theory as to how this derogatory naming-system came about. Given that Saxon tribes did not speak the same language as Romans, Vikings, Gauls, and others around them, it follows that there must have been a time when they were inventing the words for the world they lived in. This presumably happened around the campfire at night-time, when the menfolk got back from procuring, protecting, plundering, and perhaps a touch of extempore procreating. 

The women would then of course be tasked with preparing the cerf-en-croute, and would only get a fleeting chance for a chat. Even the hen-pecked warrior would hesitate to be late for the nocturnal naming-fest, no matter how much he valued his spouse’s view.

So you might imagine a conversation like this:

Woman: “O Hunter-man!”

(This is before they had names even for themselves)

Man: “Yes O Broth-But-Sometimes-Stew-Woman?”

Woman: “Tonight, men at fire are naming our horned-milk-beast!”
Man: “Yes. And me got good idea: Me say call it: ‘Bob’ …”
Woman: “Hmm… Me no like ‘Bob’. Not very female. No. You must call it ‘Succa-Succa-Life-Milk’.”

Man: “If me call it ‘Succa-Succa-Life-Milk’, Hunter-War-men hurt me bad …”

Woman: “If you love me, you call it ‘Succa-Succa-Life-Milk’ …”

(later, after naming fest):

Woman: “O Hunter Man! Why you got only one eye?”

Man: “They’re going with ‘cow’ …”

As then, now. A barely noticed inequity and imbalance, and yet one which defines and destabilises the very basis of our lives: Men, (well, actually, males, and even then not all of them), when given the authority, the power, and a free rein, tend to have a more violent and openly confrontational world view. The result has been a world in which war is more important than water, and cruelty is a stronger currency than caring.

(By the way, if you are a woman reading this, don’t get smug. If women alone had the authority, the power, and a free rein, the world would still be unbalanced and unstable:

“My Lady!!! Even now the enemy are at the gates of the Tower of London!”

“Then haste! Summon my Personal Guard!”

“The Tofu-Eaters are already in position, Ma’am!”

“Have they their needles?”

“Ready at your command, Ma’am.”

“Then let the Tapestry begin!!”

This is nonsensical stereotyping, of course, but it made me laugh, so I couldn’t resist. I just want to say that we share the same differences. What we need, but don’t have, is balance.)

But to the serious point: Balance. Yin and yang. Competition and cooperation. Determination and concession. The view of those who are running the country; and the view of those who are running the home. The perspective of those travelling miles for work; and that of those travelling miles for water. The old customs; but the new understanding – of society, of family, of health, of disease, and of why so many mothers die in childbirth.

Look, it’s far, far too much of an over-simplification to suggest that war and violence are a man thing. But you can’t help feeling that many of the most unspeakable excesses that currently plague our news-streams would not be occurring in a world where women had a full say.

What is certainly true is this: in rural Malawian villages where women have found a voice – with the blessing, participation and encouragement of the men – truly wonderful things are happening. The desperate toll of death in childbirth is finally reducing. Please watch again:

http://vimeo.com/12427420

Florida Banda and Mikey Rosato, two of the key players in this transformation, are fully signed up to the EMBRACE-Tushikamane project to spread the development of women’s groups into rural Tanzania.

Even as I write, I am waiting for finalisation of the inaugural meeting of Florida with EMBRACE’s Tanzanian partners. The conference will celebrate the success of community participation and women’s groups in reducing deaths of mums and babies in the villages of Malawi. Its main focus, however, will be on how to spread the lessons to other countries – especially neighbouring Tanzania, which shares so much in culture and deprivation.

I will have to play my part in catalysing where I can, but my main role must of course eventually be to make myself entirely dispensable. I’m working on it.

Meanwhile, I am not a woman, I’m not from a village, and I’m not even African, but I do hope I get to see the tragedy of death in childbirth beginning to be a rarity in rural Tanzania.

Maybe I will.

Every dog has his day.