Do Sex Workers ‘Deserve’ to Be Abused?
Image: Indonesia Expat Disclaimer: This post has lurid details of sex. I was scrolling through my timeline on Facebook when I stumbled on a post which, under other circumstances, would have thrown me off. The thumbnail was a naked black girl on all fours with what I could deduce was sperm on her face. Normally, I wouldn’t watch such videos and would report it to Facebook to be taken down for being a sexually explicit content but the caption stayed my scrolling fingers. ‘Ghanaian girls are suffering abroad.’ Lot of thoughts ran through my head; was this a rape video? Did it talk about human trafficking? Was this a human rights issue that we should be talking about? And so I knew I had to see the video. So I clicked. The video was roughly five minutes long and it was the most chilling thing I had seen in a while. From what was said in the video, I can summarize it thus; The girl saw an ad asking for adult film (porn) actors who could deep throat. She went to the film makers and they agreed to shoot. The scene required that she has sex with two white men. The video started with the girl choking on the penis she was trying not to suck anymore. It was obvious watching it that she was in grave pains. This was expressed in the tears running down her face and the sheer look of sadness in her eyes. This was the point where the person with the camera started talking. ‘You said you could deep throat. Did you think you could just waltz in here and collect our money when you couldn’t do what we asked? You have just wasted our time you fucking bitch.’ It wasn’t what he was saying that got me angry. It was the condescendingly calm tone with which he was talking that nearly broke me. You could tell that the man didn’t think he was talking to another human being on equal footing. It is the same tone you would expect a member of the Ku Klux Klan to take when addressing a black person. I knew at that moment that the girl’s underperformance was not the issue. These were full blown racist men who wanted to demean and dehumanize a black woman. As if to punctuate that thought, the men started slapping the girl. It didn’t end there. They spat on her face and other parts of her body. They were doing all these while still penetrating her from behind and trying to get her to suck their penises. When the girl tried to hide her face in the pillows – something I think was a mix of shame and pain – the man behind the camera asked that she look into the camera. In a classic good-cop-bad-cop move, one of the other men slapped her face and the third guy slapped her buttocks. She looked at the camera, crying, and the camera man zoomed in on her face just as a large plop of saliva landed on it. She flinched but maintained her gaze on the camera. The man behind the camera continued to talk, asking her why she thought she could just come in and take their money. When she didn’t respond, one of the other men slapped her again to prod her into speaking. She spoke, through her tears, in what was the only words to come out of her mouth. ‘I don’t know.’ At this point, it finally dawned on the men that she couldn’t suck their penises anymore. So they decided to, for lack of a better word, ram her as roughly as they could. Bad cop 1 told her to touch her toes and started pounding her as hard and as roughly as he could. My spirit broke when I saw her move an inch away each time the full length of his penis entered her vagina. He taunted her, asking ‘where are you going you cunt?’ When he was done, the other guy – who was now wearing her wig – took over. He tried to get her into a position that had her buttocks jutting out at him but she kept falling; from what I would think was exhaustion. Angry, bad cop 2 removed her wig from his head and tried to force her to wear it while simultaneously slapping and pushing her. And the video came to end. I was so ashamed at what I had seen. Not ashamed because it was sex but because I just witnessed the dehumanization of another woman – a black woman – by men who thought it was okay to do so because they were offering her money. I was ashamed at the conditions that made a woman believe that this was the only way out. I was ashamed at being unable to do anything to improve the straits of the woman whose shame I had just witnessed. I went into the comment section, hoping there were many people who were as outraged by the video as I was and were willing to do something about it. I was shocked by most of the response I saw. While many agreed that it was barbaric to have kept on ‘sleeping with her’ when she was in pain, many pointed out that it was hard to feel pity for her because she chose to do the ‘job’. Others even said she deserved it because of her ‘lack of morality’. Some people asked why she continued to shoot when she couldn’t take the pain and that was the point that caught me. Why did she continue to stay? Why didn’t she end the shoot?! Whatever answer you choose to look at, one thing is clear; she obviously needed the money. And that there is the problem. I agree that she chose to do the work, but staying when she was being abused, demeaned and forcefully penetrated showed that her need for the money far outweighed the pain she
How Meeting Attah Samson Igoche Inspired Me
Attah Igoche at his Office As my taxi rolled to a stop in front of the building that housed Aiivon Innovation hub, I was a bit nervous. I was supposed to be meeting – for the first time – someone I had been chatting with on Facebook. I wondered what first impression I would be giving and more than that, what impression I would be getting. I was also nervous because I hadn’t done an interview in a long time and I hoped I still had my wits about me. As I entered the building, I was awed by the sheer beauty of the place. My inhibitions began to ebb away as excitement swept over me. I suddenly became my old, fun and bubbly self. I was twirling around, taking selfies and being generally being goofy. I forgot that I was supposed to be professional and well put together. In my excitement, I didn’t know he had come up behind me. My only clue was the look his front desk officer sent past me. I turned and there he was. Attah Samson Igoche. Dressed in dark jeans, a black shirt emblazoned with ‘Aiivon’and a navy blue blazer, he was the picture of calm sophistication. I smiled, my nervousness returning. He propelled me to follow him and we went into his office. Again, I was blown away. The floor-to-ceiling wallpaper that graced the reception and other areas of the office was replicated in his office. I had to ask. ‘Did you get these wallpapers like this?’ He smiled. Satisfied. ‘We designed it.’ I was tempted to think he was showing off but his matter-of-fact tone showed he wasn’t; just stating the fact. I asked that he give me a tour and he obliged. I was ‘oohh’ing and ‘aahh’ing as we went from offices spaces for prospective clients to conference rooms for hackathons/tech brainstorming sessions to private spaces for quieter work. Everything seemed so well put together! Even the game corner and selfie wall had me feeling like home. It was the perfect nerd pad! I could imagine getting major ideas just because of the ambience, playing World of Warcraft when I was tired – though I am more of a word game person – and generally being around creatives like myself. To cover it in one sentence, I was impressed! I turned my attention to the man behind the idea; or in front. I wanted to know what he was like beneath the veneer of sophistication, the choices that led him to being the man he is today and what plans he had for the future of his business. We returned to his office and I switched personalities. It was time to be professional and serious. He offered me a nice cupcake and a drink. I smiled. I knew I was going to like this interview. The answer I got when I asked about his family threw me off. I totally didn’t expect to have tears in my eyes as he relayed his childhood. And it all started with his mother discovering that her pregnancy was high risk and could cost her life. ‘My mum kinda knew that she may not make it. She had complications three months into the pregnancy and had the choice of aborting me. Thing is, she was told the abortion may result in her never having another child. The pregnancy on the other hand presented a 50-50 chance of survival. She died on the day she gave birth to me. She chose to keep me, knowing that she was not assured of life if she carried me to term. So she wrote me a letter that I got to read a couple of years later and it showed me, even though I never got to meet her, the kind of person she was and everything that she stood for. The day I read the letter was one of the most emotional days for me. She is one reason I respect ladies a lot. I don’t know which man would do that.’ He should have had the teary eyes but he was calm about it. I on the other was about to disgrace my family. I breathed deeply, blinked back a couple of times and got myself together. Then I asked about his father. ‘I was with my grandma until my father died. I was fifteen at the time and in Senior Secondary School (SSS) 1. I had truly become an orphan.’ And things went south for Igoche after that. He knew that he had to take the direction of his life into his own hands if he was survive. Getting school fees had become a problem and even though his aunties were willing to step in and take care of his fees, Igoche knew things could get harder eventually. So, he wrote his General Certificate of Secondary Education (GCSE) examinations. ‘I finished my secondary school in Special Science, Makurdi though I was there for just one year. For some reason, I wrote my GSCE in SS1 and the results were good so I had to bust the rest of secondary school. The results came out in SS2 first term and when I saw it was good, I knew I was done with school. I felt like, going to school was no longer necessary. Dad and Mum were dead and having to go about looking for school fees was not something I wanted to do. So when I saw that the result was good, I decided there was no point to it.’ For someone who was fifteen, it must have taken a lot of courage to make that decision. And a lot of pride too. The death of his parents quickly matured him. A bit too soon I would say. Turned out that plan was not properly thought out. ‘I didn’t write the Joint Admissions and Matriculation Board (JAMB) then.
Tonia Orevba Roberts: Dropping Her Pretty
Tonia Orevba Image: Facebook I woke up thinking of Tonia Orevba Roberts. Tonia is a beautiful actor cum model whom I met in 2016 at the Royal Arts Academy, Lagos. I had gone to brush up my directing skills and she had come in as an acting student. The first thing I noticed about her was that she was so well put together; her hair was so perfectly groomed, her face perfectly made up, he nails perfectly painted and her outfit? Yes! Perfectly selected. I knew this was a girl that loved to make a statement with her look. Though we were polar opposites in terms of our style, we became friends. Soon, we were going home together and sharing ideas. When it was time to do our class project – a collaborative short film by all script writers, directors, actors and editors in our set – Tonia was cast in a supporting role; something I stood firmly against. I didn’t think she was fit for role or could deliver well. She was just too pretty and too put together to deliver the kind of acting I wanted. To keep the peace, I accepted the casting and kept quiet. On the day of the shoot, I was apprehensive. I am a perfectionist and it was important that my first attempt at a film goes well. I needed it to be just right. The entire cast and crew had slept in the school the night before and while it was a bonding experience, it served to increase my fears about Tonia. She didn’t do much of a rehearsal and when she did, it was always playful. I mentally prepared myself for a long day. We got the actors in makeup and I told the artist, ‘Bad makeup for Tonia. She needs to look like a poor girl who has no money to buy good makeup products but tries to make do with what she has. Make Tonia’s makeup look ratchet.’ That was not in the script…or my original plan. But I wanted to see if she would let go of her ‘pretty’. As expected, Tonia rebelled. ‘Ha ahn! No oh! I cannot do that. I am going to look good. You can’t spoil my market?’ I was mad. She was my friend and all but I felt like it would be hard working with her. ‘Tonia, I am not saying poor girls cannot be fine. I am saying that I want to portray you as a girl who loves to look good but who doesn’t know how to.’ She protested some more and soon enough, I was visibly angry. I left the room to cool off. Most people didn’t know how mad I was because I didn’t lose my cool. I decided I would be better off at the location than overseeing makeup. I didn’t see Tonia until it was call time. I was shocked! Not only was Tonia poorly dressed, her makeup was so hideous I couldn’t help but laugh. And she was laughing herself. ‘No mind this Ramat. She wan spoil my market.’ Even though she had accepted to wear horrible makeup, I kept my fingers crossed to see how she would act. I blocked the scenes and we did a dry run. Boy was I shocked! I wished I had recorded the dry run. That was how good Tonia was! Not only did she drop her pretty, she became the ratchet character she was supposed to be. Turned out that while we slept, Tonia worked hard at trying to get her lines and in character. Never had I been so impressed with a character portrayal than I was with Tonia’s delivery in that moment. It wasn’t an Oscar-worthy performance but it could have been for how excited I was. I love to see an actor morph into a character and Tonia did that for me. Tonia was a delight to work with and all the other directors I worked with on the project said the same thing about her. That moment, and her performance of one of Chukwuemeka Odumegwu Ojukwu’s speeches, forever endeared her to me as a performer. One of the hardest things a pretty woman can do is ‘drop her pretty’. To agree to become someone else, at the cost of changing the perception people had about her – and all this in the era of memes – is something I admire about Tonia. She showed me that when push came to shove, she wouldn’t let her pretty get in the way of getting the job done. Many women can learn from this. I think we spend too much time worrying about how we look. There are times when we have to get down and dirty to achieve certain goals. If we worry too much about how we look – and as a result, how people perceive us – we stand a greater chance of losing out on so many things in life. A pretty woman is just that; pretty. But a pretty woman with an intelligent mind and drive is just… wow! That performance opened some doors for Tonia. She has gone on to star in many other films in the past year and she is sure to rise to the peak she desires. I don’t know if she hears this a lot but I want to tell Tonia Orevba this; ‘You are a beautiful actor. Keep honing your art and soon, you will be where you want to be. Thank you for inspiring me’. For this, Tonia darling, you are my #WomanCrush. Contact her on Instagram @toniao_roberts. Though my first foray into film making was barely average, I am so proud to have been a part of the making of Blurred. If you haven’t seen it, do so 👇. PS: Don’t laugh oh! This is my start! I promise to make even better movies.
Basic Chick
Have you ever been hated or discriminated against? I have! Remimah: Ermmm…this isn’t about Eminem, is it? Ramat: No. It isn’t. Remimah: Right. Ramat: Eminem just comes to mind as I write this piece. So let’s get to it, right? Ladies, have you ever been called a ‘Basic Chick’? You all know ‘chick’ isn’t the term, right? It is more like a B with an itch. If you have never been called that, you are probably wondering what this is about. Or you are one of those who call women that and in that case, thunder fire you this post is about you. I was called a ‘basic chick’ and I had to ask around to find out what it meant. Since Urban Dictionary is big on giving new words and phrases undo relevance, I went there to check. And was shocked! There are just too many definitions for the term! Like you can be called a ‘basic bitch’ for literally anything. I couldn’t find a definition that suited the situation so I chose one that was close; Basic Bitch; Somebody who is boring and unoriginal. I believe this description fits because it followed the statements, ‘Ramat, you need to do your hair more often, wear trendy clothes! Shave your eyebrows for crying out loud! And would you die if you wear proper make up? How can you not care about how you look? Your look is boring abeg. Don’t be a basic bitch!’ Hey! It is not like I deliberately remembered all the words. The thing just peppered me small. I will be the first to admit that I have no sense of ‘style’; which is basically saying my style isn’t mainstream or trendy. I wear what is on top my clothes pile and just go. Many people have said I dress like I am from the 70s – the 70s! – and though it hurts, I don’t know how to be different. I wear what I’m most comfortable in and if I am being honest, I am uber self-conscious about drawing attention to myself. You will most likely find me in clothes that are sizes too big and in muted tones. Being called a ‘basic chick’ stung a bit. Okay…a lot. The thought of being boring because I don’t ‘dress to impress’ made me feel some type of way. I want the first impression people have of me to be about my mind but I know that is idealistic. People will judge me based on what I wear, how I look, and the way I smell before they even hear me talk. And for many, an opinion will be formed on whether I fit into their sphere or not. What is it they say about first impressions again? I know this is especially true for people working in some sectors of the economy; sectors like entertainment, media, banking, hospitality etc. Many guys and girls have had to resort to switching up their looks to fit in. When they refuse to, they deal with criticism from family, friends and ‘fans’. Be strong Simi…even this will pass. The need to be considered ‘cool’, ‘fresh’, a ‘trendsetter’, or as my cousin would say, a ‘clean’ guy or girl is something that is deeply rooted in most of us. Some of us make the effort. Others, not so much. This means that there is always someone who thinks they are better than you since they are better dressed. That is why people write you off if you are not clad in designer clothes and accessories, wearing a ton of makeup, or carrying the most expensive tresses that money can buy. So what do you do when you constantly have to deal with the pressure to fit in? Especially when you see that people who fit in seem to be making more head way that you? Especially when you are in an industry where your dress, style, look and smell can get you further than your capabilities can? I want to say, ‘Be you!’, ‘Be original’, ‘You are unique’ and all those silly nothingness we get fed by people who only share their success stories. But! Does that really do anything for you? Does that make you secure when you think of that gig you didn’t get because you didn’t have the ‘look’? But then again, if you begin to make those changes – lighten your skin, wear those long tresses, the designer clothes, makeup and perfume – would it ever stop? Is there ever a point where enough would be enough? Fashion trends are constantly changing. New ideas are rapidly been picked up and others tossed out. What is in today may be meh tomorrow. So keeping up can be a full time job. I think that people have to find what works for them and let others be. You want to be trendy? That is okay. You want to be simple and maybe ‘drab’? Then do you! There will always be people who want what you are offering, no matter how you package it. And if you insist on putting people down because they do not fit into your ideals, I want to tell you something. ‘Thunder fire you!’ Images: LoveBrownSugar Expresslolah
IDPs: Seeing Beyond the Statistics
All Images: Ramatu Ada Ochekliye A visit to the Internally Displaced People’s camp in Durumi, Abuja on May 28, 2017 was everything I expected it would be; emotionally draining. We partnered with Save OurWomen Foundation (SOW Foundation) for the #1Girl1Pad project, a project that saw us advocating for menstrual hygiene for girls and women in the IDP camp. The project entailed educating these girls and women about menstrual hygiene and providing them with sanitary pads to last them at least three months. As many know, May 28 is #MenstrualHygieneDay and globally, individuals and organizations design events to ensure more women get access to menstrual hygiene education and products. As soon as we got into the camp, we were surrounded by children excited at our presence. They smiled up at us with the true innocence of children; trusting that we were good even if we were total strangers. I quickly took out my camera. The children lit up when they saw it. I smiled at them and they smiled right back. They had already begun to take poses and I was not going to disappoint them. So I clicked. And clicked. ‘Say kiss! Say kiss!’ the kids kept saying. I thought I wasn’t hearing them well. ‘Say Kiss’? Were they trying to say ‘Cheese’? I smiled. Of course that was what they were saying. “Say Cheese”! And then I noticed something else. Almost all the children put up two fingers in the air when posing for the camera. I shouldn’t have been surprised…but I was. It seemed like in spite of all the problems these people were going through, popular culture still seeped into the camp and influenced the young people and children. Even the smallest child put up those fingers when the camera was pointed at them. And can you see those big smiles?! These children had a lot working against them but they were genuinely excited at having their picture taken. They didn’t even ask to see what the shots looked like. I could have been clicking the flash lights for all they cared. All they saw was a person with a camera paying attention to them. The simplicity of it all was almost my undoing. I turned away to focus on our reason for visiting. As we educated the girls and women about menstrual hygiene, we began to hear of some of the problems they were facing. One of the problems that I considered a sore thumb was the access to medical care. Most of the women and girls said they ‘managed’ their pain until it rode over because there were no doctors to help them. Again, I looked at the children – gathering at the door because they had been told the meeting wasn’t for them – and I wondered how they ‘managed’ their pain. Looking at them, you couldn’t tell they were going through anything. They were are as carefree and jolly as children are wont to be. We finished the education part and went into disseminating the pads we raised via donations. As we gave each girl and woman a package of pads and panties, the children returned, clamoring around us in the hopes of getting theirs. Older women shooed them away but the children returned as soon as the women’s backs were turned. They kept stretching their hands to get a package. Even though we insisted the sanitary pads weren’t for them, the children didn’t budge. He took a pose after I gave him the sanitary pads So I took a packet and broke it open. I gave two pads each to the little girls; even though it was clear they couldn’t possibly be menstruating yet. As I gave them the pads, the crowd around us thinned out and it was at this point I noticed a little boy in the mix, arms stretched out, face almost crumbling. He didn’t want to miss out what everyone else was getting. I told him I couldn’t give him because he is a boy. He crumbled at this point. I held his face and asked what he wanted to do with it. His reply was definitely my undoing. ‘For my mother.’ The tears were a second away from falling so I turned away into the boot of our vehicle and calmed my nerves. I breathed in deeply and willed the tears to go away. I took out two sanitary pads and gave him. He curtsied and said thank you. I knew I needed to take more deep breaths. Something distracted me and when I turned back, the boy was gone. It occurred to me that I had not asked his name. I was ashamed because until that moment, he was a statistic, a child in an IDP camp, one of many. I wished I had seen him as an individual, one with a story, possible fears and hopes and most especially, a name! I wished that I had focused more on him instead of getting shots of everyone around me. I wished I had dignified him by, at the very least, knowing his name so I didn’t have to refer to him in this post as ‘a little boy’. But he is a little boy, a child in an IDP Camp, one of many and to some, a statistic. And the longer he has to make do with the problems all the children and women in that camp are facing – problems ranging from rationed meals, poor access to health care, inadequate housing and privacy, little or no formal education and the indignity of depending on do-gooders for basic necessities – the more likely it is that he becomes an even worse statistic; one tied to crime, hate, unproductivity or even death. The children in Durumi IDP camp look better than most of those from the North East but let’s be clear, it is not in the slightest bit a ‘lesser’ humanitarian crisis. We owe it to ourselves to help out in whatever way can to alleviate the suffering of these people. It
#JusticeForChisomAnekwe: Why You Need to Join the Campaign
I was scrolling through my Facebook timeline and happened on this story by Milly Milly. This is Chisom Anekwe (nee Okereke), a young, vivacious, graceful, kind-hearted and intelligent woman who had devoted her life to helping indigent kids and giving their lives a meaning. She’s an alumna of LEAP Africa. Two weeks ago, precisely April 30th 2017, Chisom died under questionable circumstances at Magodo Specialist Hospital while trying to birth her third offspring. We believe strongly that the authorities need to ensure that lives are taken sacred in hospitals like Magodo Specialist Hospital where such avoidable deaths are recorded. Chisom was admitted in the hospital four days before she got into labour. She had previously been diagnosed of high blood pressure during the course of the pregnancy. She already had two beautiful daughters birthed in the same hospital and was there to birth her third child, a son. While at the hospital, no one attended to her when she needed the help to be delivered of the long awaited baby. She was left for hours in labour. This happened until her husband created a scene, which eventually caused the doctors to go to her ward and on inspection they found out that the baby had struggled and died. The husband at this point requested for a CS which he paid for and even signed the consent form presented by the hospital. He was then tricked out of the room to go prepare for blood transfusion and on getting back, he found out that the doctors had induced the wife and delivered the dead baby without operation not minding that the CS procedure had been paid for. This was also without his consent. During the process of delivering the baby, the uterus got ruptured and the doctors left her like that, no further attendance still. Shortly after, the husband noticed she was swelling up in her stomach area and called the attention of the doctors who said they were getting ready for a surgery, a preparation that took longer than usual. After waiting in vain for the surgical team, the frustrated husband went furiously to the reception to demand why they were wasting time only to discover the doctor had sneaked out of the hospital under funny pretences. At this point he got other hospital staff to wheel her out of the hospital and in that process Chisom died! This is the story of most young women who die while giving birth as a result of the callousness, ignorance and carelessness of inexperienced doctors. In this era, we shouldn’t be talking about Child and Maternal Mortality especially when it can be avoided. This could have been avoided but it wasn’t and now Chisom Jane Anekwe is a victim and has been added to the statistics. We demand; 1. That Magodo Specialist Hospital, Shangisha, Lagos, be investigated for their actions and the subsequent death of Chisom. 2. That both the Nigerian Medical Association NMA and the Medical and Dentist Council of Nigeria, MDCN ensure that supposed Specialist Hospitals who claim to have a resident Gynecologist are verified. 3. That there be justice for Chisom Okereke Anekwe! #SaveTheNextVICTIM #Justice4Chisom #Fight4OurDaughters Cc: Ihunegbo Ikechukwu Moses This hurt me so bad when I read it. There are lot of questions that ran through my head while reading. Questions like; 1. Why no one attended to a woman who had pregnancy induced high blood pressure? If she was admitted four days before she went into labor, didn’t that mean her impending birth was high risk?; 2. Why the husband had to cause a scene before the Magodo Specialist hospital staff deemed it fit to do their jobs?; 3. Was the negligence the cause of the baby’s death? If so, shouldn’t the hospital be brought to book for TWO deaths?; 4. If the request for a caesarean section by the husband was considered unnecessary or out of his area of expertise, why did the doctor acquiesce and have the hospital collect his money?; 5. Is uterine rupture a real thing? The answer is yes! So if that happened to Chisom, why was she left unattended?; 6. Why did the doctor run if he done his job as ethically and professionally as he should have? While I am cautious about calling out and blaming doctors, especially because I don’t know what extenuating circumstances precede their decisions, I think this doctor and the staff on duty were negligent on many grounds. This story is not unusual as many of our hospitals – public and private – are hubs of pain infliction instead of the other way round. Our doctors are overworked and tired, nurses are apathetic and in many cases, downright cruel, and other staff seem immune to the suffering of the sick. A life was lost because we run systems that allow incompetence, negligence and apathy for people’s suffering. Chisom is dead as a result of this failing system but we can prevent the next case of death-by-malfeasance. There is a campaign going to now seeking justice for Chisom and we can be a part of it. Join the campaign hereand help prevent another senseless death of that mother, sister, wife, cousin, aunt, niece, friend, colleague or neighbor. We pray that Chisom’s family finds strength in this trying time. And beyond that, what needs to be done to improve our health sector so there isn’t a continued waste of Nigerian lives?
Men-Hating Feminists
Image: Ebony Magazine As more women are finding (and using) their voices, the dark forces of patriarchy seem to be retreating; albeit slower than a slug’s pace. Oh, there is still a long way to go before we can confidently say that women share the same pedestal with men but for the most past, we are not where we were one hundred years ago. Women in some climes can work, vote, run for office, choose their life’s paths, and receive inheritance. Though the strides are small, women are becoming visible; and not just as walking vaginas for the pleasure of men. What do we have to thank for it? A lot of it is hinged on ‘Feminism’. Of all the definitions of feminism that is out there, the most appealing to me is the one postulated by Bestselling Author, Chimamanda Adichie. ‘Feminist: a person who believes in the social, political and economic equality of the sexes.’ From the definition, we can infer that feminism calls for the equal treatment of men and women in all spheres of life. Feminism wants women to have equal access to education, health care, job opportunities, equal pay for same work done, protection from sexual predation and abuse, lack of discrimination based on gender to mention a few. Women want to be able to make the choices for their own lives, their sexuality, their reproductive health, whom they marry or even if they marry, their education and career choices, whether they want to be in governance or leadership etc. These are some of the core values and principles of feminism. However, easily ascribed the term ‘feminism’ is her twin, misandry. Misandry is; mɪˈsandri/ noun ‘dislike of, contempt for, or ingrained prejudice against men (i.e. the male sex).’ (Wikitionary) At the core of misandry is deeply rooted hate and prejudice against men. For many, this has stemmed from being repeatedly bashed by a system that favors men at the expense of women. For others, it is the men themselves that evoke this hatred and bitterness. The sheer disrespect, the overbearing ego, the unabashed entitlement and the callous treatment of our emotion and person can become too much to bear. It is no wonder that many of us become so filled with hate that we become misandrists. I know…because I was one of these women. The men in my life weren’t the best models for me and each man that came into my life affirmed my resolve to hate men. All of these men seemed to be cut from the same cloth. I got to see spousal abuse, child sexual abuse, rape, a constant reminder that women’s opinions didn’t matter, and even worse. Around me were women dealing with so much from the men in their lives that at an early age, I knew that I wouldn’t take it lying down. I made up my mind to never give any man that much power over me. Like me, most feminists came to this conclusion. Some of us went a bit further though. We delved into the ‘Men are scum’, ‘Men are trash’ and ‘Women are better than men’ groups. As we became less docile to the men in our lives, we became more hateful. While being less docile is fantastic, being hateful is not! Yes! I said it! Misandrists are almost as bad as patriarchists/misogynists in this regard: these broad groups are both fueled by hate and/or prejudice; they both undermine the importance of the other gender; they think the development of their societies lies squarely on their gender; and they overestimate their independence and are both bullishly stubborn in their prejudice. Hating the other half of the population doesn’t bode well for anybody. And this is why I believe feminists need to do better. We need to, as Michelle Obama so eloquently put, ‘go high when they go low’. We cannot reflect hate and prejudice and expect to stimulate change. Yes, we should be angry when we are discriminated against, when we have do not have equal access to healthcare, education, and job/leadership opportunities. We should refuse to watch women suffer the debilitating effects of domestic, emotional and sexual violence, human trafficking and forced prostitution. We must speak against inheritance, religious and cultural laws that disfavor women. We must cry out against female genital mutilation and child marriages and promote the choices women make with their bodies, clothing and sexuality. We should not become doormats to men who think we are not equal to them but we can do all this without resorting to hating men! Hate is a blinding emotion. It prevents us from seeing people’s humanity. Once that is firmly rooted, we treat people poorly and hurt them. They in turn treat us poorly and we have an unending circle of misunderstanding and dysfunction. Are some men scum? Yes! Are there men that are trash? Yes! Are some women better than some men? Oh yeah! But…are all men scum, trash or less than women? No! Also, there are women who are ‘scum’, ‘trash’ and despicable human beings. Men and women are equal! No gender is better than the other. We are both important to the advancement of our societies. We ALL need to contribute to moving the human race forward. Men couldn’t do it on their own. Women also can’t do it on our own. So why not join forces? So dear men-hating feminist, I know that we have gone through so much and have suffered a lot from men but can we ditch the hate? Can we give each man we meet the benefit of doubt and blank slates, judging them based on their own ideologies, belief systems and how they treat us rather than lumping them together in the negativity of their gender? Can we try to show these patriarchists that we are better, not because we are women, but because we have better understanding of the complexities of our humanity? Can we change the rhetoric? This may sound idealistic but I honestly believe it is doable. Do you?
Choosing Your Female Role Models
Growing up, I only had Oprah Winfrey to look up to. Yes, I wanted to be a neurosurgeon who found the cure to cancer but whenever I saw Oprah on TV, I totally connected to her. I was barely seven when I knew I wanted to be like her. While there were many white women presenting and influencing lives, Oprah was the only black woman I saw and what a black woman! She was dark skinned, thick and could hold her own. She had genuine empathy for her guests and whatever situation she was talking about. It wasn’t hard for people to connect to her. And as two-way streets go, she got to leave a little of herself in all of us. I love that woman! By that age, I had started acting and though my parents would have nothing to do with an actor or the profession, I took every opportunity to act. When I couldn’t, it wasn’t unusual to write elaborate stories in my head that I could star in. Those stories were my escape from reality and the happiness I felt in my stories spilled over to my reality. As I got older, I began to see more women role models. From Late Mrs. Williams, my Primary 3 teacher, who taught me to see people’s humanity first before their tribes, religions and beliefs, to girls like me who were topping their classes. Because I didn’t have a good relationship with my mother, it wasn’t until I got older that I realized just how much of a role model she was to me. Though she would not admit it, she was the closest definition of a feminist to me at that time. Oh, I didn’t know that word then but her stance on equal treatment of people molded my thoughts on equality. And then, when I was in secondary school, I stopped looking at black female role models. My role models became white women; Julia Roberts, Danielle Steel, Agatha Christie, and a host of M&B and eHarlequin writers. One day I woke up and wondered why I didn’t have black female role models. It wasn’t like I wasn’t learning a lot from these white women. I just felt I could also learn as much from women who had my skin tone and could possibly have shared my kind of experience. So… I looked! In music, in films, in education, in health, in politics, the arts, literature, construction, engineering, law, broadcast media and what not. And I found women! Everywhere! Every field! Every profession! Doing great things. Black women, white women, women of Asian heritage, Latina women, Arab women, all women! What helped me find them? Books, television, radio, the internet and my imagination! Everywhere I looked, there was one black woman doing inspiring things for her community and humanity at large. I wondered why these women weren’t celebrated more, why their achievements always seemed to be tied to the men in their lives and why young girls like me who felt different from the crop of conformists didn’t think we had models to look up to. And the answer was in the question. We ARE DIFFERENT from the norm! We are women who understand our worth and would not kowtow to popular opinions about who or what we should be! It was easy to connect to Oprah Winfrey, Whitney Houston, Beyoncé Knowles, Genevieve Nnaji, Kemi Adetiba, Mo Abudu, Shonda Rhimes, Ava Duvernay, Taraji P. Henson, Debra L. Lee, Ngozi Okonjo-Iweala, Amina Mohammed and many more because we are all strong black women living our dreams and influencing our societies. I don’t agree with all their opinions but what I have taken from each of them has made me the woman I am today; Ramatu Ada Ochekliye. We all need to choose female role models to draw our strengths from. There is absolutely nothing wrong in choosing women of different races, religions, tribes, ideologies and beliefs to be your role models. I chose black women because I can relate to them in many ways. I am still inspired by women who are not of my race; Hillary Clinton, Christiane Amanpour, Angela Merkel, Ellen DeGenegeres, Angelina Jolie, Malala Yousefzai to mention a few. Find women who resonate with your principles, your dreams and goals and emulate the better qualities they present as you strive to become the woman you are made to be. So today, our we celebrate every woman doing her thing, carving a niche in our world, inspiring the next crop of women to do and be better and contributing that umphh to the world that is gradually making the world better than it was yesterday. You rock!
Etiquette for Semi-Formal Meetings
Hey! Hey! Ramat is in the building! So by now, you must have heard I did a post about what turned out to be a horrible meeting BECAUSE I didn’t get food. I don’t play with my food at all! But more than that, I believe that etiquette is important! There are certain things people should and shouldn’t do and I dished on it in the new video log. The video is called ETIQUETTE FOR SEMI-FORMAL MEETINGS. Watch the new video below! Whoot whoot!
‘1 Girl, 1 Pad’ Campaign
Shades of Us is a forum for open discussions on issues affecting Africa, Africans and people of African descent, with a view of changing the ‘dark continent’ narrative of Africa. Since our inception in 2014, most of our work have been online campaigns for or against social issues and dysfunction. At the start of the year, we pledged to start doing more people-to-people work to affect our society; one community at a time. It is in lieu of this that we are partnering with Save our Women (SOW) Foundation for the ‘1 Girl, 1 Pad’ campaign. Save Our Women (SOW) Foundation seeks to help young girls be their best in everything they do. Also partnering with Save Our Women (SOW) Foundation is Women Regaining Value, a not-for-profit organization aimed at empowering women lost to social degradation. Here is what you need to know about the project and how you can be a part of it. WHAT IS ‘1GIRL 1PAD’? ‘Project 1Girl 1Pad’ is a campaign that is aimed at reaching out to young women in Internally Displaced Persons camp in Kaduna. This campaign would involve engaging women in Kaduna and its environs to donate a single pad towards the success of the campaign. Our goal is to ensure every female in the selected IDP camp has enough pads for the next 3 months assuming she has a menstrual period of 3days. WHY ‘1GIRL 1PAD’? Girls in IDP camps have had a hard time maintaining menstrual hygiene during their periods due to the inability to have and purchase sanitary pads. So ‘1Girl, 1 Pad’ project seeks to help these girls by providing pads through building a culture of giving back and volunteerism among women. WHEN IS ‘1GIRL 1PAD’? The campaign ends with a visit to an IDP camp on the 28th of May, 2017, in commemoration of International Menstrual Hygiene Day. The build up to the campaign will run all through May with campaign awareness visits to schools in Kaduna. HOW CAN I BE A PART? Make a donation of a pad today. You can also ask your friends and followers to be a part of the campaign by sharing posts about the project using the #1Girl1Pad and #May28 hashtags. To donate a pad, contact the following people; LOCATION SOW CONTACT PERSON PHONE NUMBER ABUJA Elizabeth Doo 08080905888 08167225202 AKWA IBOM Justina 08130994549 ILORIN, Kwara State Peace 08161260737 JOS, Plateau State Dela Tsintop 08130400344 07034509602 KWARA Olawale 07036462896 LAGOS Bukola 08034790750 MAKURDI, Benue State Natasha 09054895775 NSUKKA, Enugu State Mildred 07060900075 PORT HARCOURT, Rivers State Progress 08068884561 SAMARU, ZARIA Sadiya 08095963818 SHIKA, ZARIA Blessing 08136514860 ZAMFARA Fatima 07068243199 Or make cash donations to; Account Name: Fali Zephaniah Account Number: 0084234503 Bank: Diamond Bank With one pad, you help a girl in an Internally Displaced People’s camp come one step closer to good menstrual hygiene. We implore you to join us in this campaign and help us ensure that girls at Internally Displaced People’s camps have one less thing to worry about. Thank you!
