When Women Become the Drivers of Misogyny and Patriarchy
Beyonce and Serena when they were pregnant It saddens me that I have to take this stand today but it has become necessary. Let me make this assertion; in many instances, women are the drivers of patriarchy and a hindrance to other women’s advancement. Even though I have always known that many women are not supportive of each other, I get angry when people say it out loud. I believe those statements are always said in poor light and usually used to describe women as these petty, jealous and bitter beings. I also felt that it was a rhetoric meant to push the idea that we can’t be trusted to be functional outside our ‘emotions’. But even more than that, I desperately wanted to believe that the men who said things like this were wrong; just as they were wrong about our abilities, capabilities and equality. But the past few weeks has got me really assessing my stand on the issue. I knew I had to step out of the idealistic bubble I had put myself in and address the fact that women give misogyny life. While some men and their applies-only-to-women rules are a big problem, women can sometimes look like they are our ‘biggest’ problem. Here is why I am sad about it. Women are quick to put other women down. Say ‘men and women are equal’ and a lot of times, it is a woman who says we aren’t. An unmarried woman gets to the height of her profession or business or political peak and women patriarchists would be the first to classify her achievements as rubbish because she has no husband. A group of us are making the decision to keep our names when we marry and guess what? Some of our biggest opposition are women! Moving on, some women are beginning to come out of abusive relationships and marriages with evidence of abuse and women ask what they did to get beaten or abused! A woman says she is being sexually abused and other women ask what she was wearing. She says she was raped and women ask ‘What took you to his house?’ She says she wants to run for office and women label her a prostitute. In many communities, women who have gone through the pain of female genital mutilation are themselves the ones who ensure younger generations get cut. Like what the hell?! Of course there are men who do these too but our desire is that they will become less vocal as women become more aware of our rights. But how do you deal with women who are helping these men to keep the walls of patriarchy and misogyny from falling down? And why can’t they see the irony? Let me give you some examples that got me in a fix. When Beyoncé got pregnant and said it was a miracle, the backlash was quick. Many people challenged her for daring to call her pregnancy a miracle. Naomi Schaefer Riley of The New York Post even published this piece trivializing her pregnancy. I am a Beyoncé fan and could be labelled jaded but isn’t it weird that we all say, ‘The miracle of childbirth’, ‘A child is a miracle’ but when Beyoncé gets pregnant, pregnancy isn’t a miracle anymore? I could almost understand the ignorance of the men who wanted to dictate how a woman should feel about something happening to her, but for the life of me, I couldn’t understand women who felt they needed to put her experience down because she dared to call it a ‘miracle’. I am of the school of thought that pregnancy is not an achievement but I would not put any woman down who wants to celebrate it as such. I wasn’t always like this but I learned to evolve my ideologies. The same thing happened when it was discovered that Serena Williams was pregnant when she played – and won – her 23rd grand slam in Australia. Most people were excited and genuinely proud of what Serena had done. It spoke of a strength that was admirable. Well…the excitement was good until trolls reared their ugly heads. One in particular got me so pissed with her tweet. See how much engagement she got for that? It made me wonder; didn’t she get the memo that she could extol the qualities of one woman without putting down another? And dear ladies, by show of hands, how many of you would choose to pound yam at your third trimester? Or walk long distances? Or break firewood? Or do any hard work for that matter? But according to Miss Lady above, Serena’s experience didn’t matter because it wasn’t as hard as someone else’s. Well, it may not be as hard as some other women in the world but all their experiences are valid! Missy above could have done better by mentioning some of the underlying factors that force women to do these hard chores whilst pregnant but no…that wouldn’t have brought in the likes and retweets. If we were to use the logic of the trolls in Beyoncé and Serena’s cases, and in cases of all women whose ‘achievements’ are brought down, I think it is safe to say we shouldn’t celebrate anything! Anything at all! This is because, no matter what you do, say or achieve, there will always be someone who has gone through worse to achieve the same. But many of us cannot help but be crabs and it is that mentality that is keeping us women from achieving so much more than we are now. Not talking about our role and contribution to misogyny fuels it even more. We must call out women who contribute to the culture of putting other women down. It makes no sense to keep quiet just because we don’t want some man somewhere saying, ‘I told you so’. Well, I was told! I heard you loud and clear! And…I have seen it firsthand too! Trust me, it sucks! But patriarchy and misogyny sucks too! Imagine a world where
Find Your Motivation
Today I woke up with absolutely no desire to do anything. I was burned out physically and emotionally and I was beginning to feel like my life could be likened to a hamster and her Ferris wheel. I desperately wanted to just lie in bed and be morose. ‘Lazy Song’ by Bruno Mars started playing in my head and usually, when that happens, I just go with the flow. It took the whole of my will power to get up and do my daily routine. For me, that is starting by reading the day’s news and checking what is trending on social media. It ends with a shower, wearing whatever is at the top of my box and heading out to the office. The cold shower turned out to be exactly what I needed to lift my spirits! I was suddenly busting with ideas and content to put out. I couldn’t wait to pour a little of myself into the universe. Some days, you have to find your own motivation to get out of bed. There are days when it will be so hard that there seems to be no point to it. And ‘adulting’ is so difficult! But if you give in to the darkness, the sorrow, the sadness or the depression, you will be denying the universe some of the wonder that is yourself. So find your motivation today; whether it is GOD, money, food, work, family, someone, or yourself. Keep the darkness at bay. Get a spring in your step and give some of your you to us! Vrede!
The Truly Intelligent One
People read their posts And say to themselves ‘Oh! What intelligence! What intellectuals!’ They click ‘Like’ Or ‘love’ or ‘haha’ But no one knows Everything they put up Is stolen from The truly intelligent one Ramatu Ada Ochekliye 13.04.2017
She Fell in Love…With Her Best Friend
Image: Rawpixel It all started like a bad joke in a boring movie. Kayla had gone to see her boyfriend when she bumped into him. He was tall and big; exactly how she liked her men. She smiled and said hello. He did the same. As she walked past him, she mentally noted that his voice was soft, smooth…almost like he was shy. Her boyfriend introduced them later. Terver. Terver Aondowase. Like she would remember the last name. What she did remember was the array of books in his livingroom. ‘Oh my God! Your Deen Koontz’s collection is legit!’ she said as she caressed his books. Then she remembered. He was a stranger! And she just acted a fool. She blushed clear to her thick afro roots and pulled her hands back to herself. ‘It is okay. Big fan?’ Kayla nodded shyly. Kayla’s boyfriend saw the exchange, looked from one to the other and declared, ‘You book lovers amaze me. Please, before you cum all over his books, come and be going oh!’ Kayla laughed. So did Terver. They were embarrassed; but not for themselves. Kayla took ‘One Door Away From Heaven’, looked at it longingly and returned it to the shelf. ‘You could borrow it if you want. You just have to promise to return it in one piece.’ ‘Don’t give her. She is control spoil. She will return your book in tatters.’ And though Kayla’s boyfriend was right, she gave him a stink look and turned to Terver. ‘I promise to take care of your book if you promise to allow me access to all of them.’ Terver smiled and nodded. As Kayla walked out of the room, she couldn’t have been happier. It wasn’t until she got outside that she remembered her manners. She rushed back into the compound, went to Terver’s flat and knocked. ‘May I have your number? I mean…you just gave me your book without guaranteeing you can get it back. How many books have you lost this way?’ came tumbling out as soon as he opened the door. Terver smiled. He took out his phone and gave her. She dialed her number and returned his phone to him. ‘We will be fast friends, Terver.’ And she was gone. And soon they were. It started with a private message she sent to him. Soon they were talking about any and everything. Their conversations were easy, free flowing and, if Kayla admitted to herself, a battle of wits. He was painfully sarcastic and she was titillated by his intelligence. They spoke every day; first thing in the morning and last thing before they slept. And though they only saw each other once in a while, they couldn’t be any closer. Then one day she texted him; or more appropriately, sexted. It was supposed to be a battle of wits. They had to continue each sentence with the last word from the other person. Whoever got stuck first, lost, and had to forfeit something valuable. When they started, it was fun. Then it wasn’t. Kayla felt the moisture pool in her nether region as the sexts became raunchier. She could barely breathe with how much she wanted him. But he was her friend! When did this move from playful banter to full blown sexual awakening? ‘I yield. You, dear sir, are too much for me and if I continue, I may have to jump you physically. I declare you the winner. Your intelligence turns me on.’ ‘Sapiosexual.’ ‘Huh?’ Kayla wondered what he was about. ‘Sapiosexual. Turned on by intelligence. That is what you are.’ And Kayla knew Terver was right. ‘Can I be real with you?’ she typed, anticipating his response. ‘Always.’ ‘I think we crossed an unwritten line.’ ‘I think so too.’ ‘So are we going to…?’ ‘Do you want to?’ Kayla breathed in deeply and let it out slowly. A minute passed as she stared at her phone. Their sync was so good that they didn’t need to spell out what they saying. That, more than anything else, scared her. ‘Yes.’ *** Two years after they slept together, they were still friends. Best friends now. They shared everything and were each other’s support system. Once in a while, they flirted and sexted but it was more for fun than anything else. Kayla however began to notice that Terver became a bit withdrawn. The calls began to dwindle and when they did talk, he sounded cool; no…cold. She tried to get him to talk but he wasn’t forthcoming. So she gave him space. The first full day they didn’t speak to each other was torture for Kayla. She wanted to pull her hair out. She wanted to drop her pride and call him. She wanted to connect in whatever way. But she stayed resolute. And then it started. One day became a week. A week a month. A month two years. Then he called her. ‘Who is this?’ like she had not memorized his number. ‘Terver. Can we talk?’ *** He was dating someone. Had been all the time they were friends. That was not news to Kayla; she had been dating someone too. Though he loved his girlfriend, he had fallen for Kayla. And though he loved her, they couldn’t be together. She was what he wanted, but his girlfriend was what he needed. She fit the life his parents chose for him; a choice he had to get on board with because it was his duty. For them, marriage was not about love but about solidifying empires. ‘But I didn’t ask you to marry me! We weren’t even dating. Why would you think I would want that?’ ‘Because eventually, it would have gone there.’ ‘No. I wanted my friend! That is all. You were my best friend, my confidante, my support system. We may have had sex – ONCE – but you were my friend! And you left.’ And he did leave. To protect her. His father had sent him a tape with a note. ‘You know what to do.’ The tape
Why Do Men So Easily Harass Women?
Men in Yaba Market (Nigeria) harassing a woman for demanding an end to street harassment.Credit: Market March Most women have been sexually harassed one way or the other. This could be in the market, at work, in schools or just walking down the street. Some women have come to expect it as part of their lives. Before I go on my rant – and this is going to be a rant – defining what it means to be sexually harassed is the first call of duty. 1. Sexual Harassment: Unwelcome sexual advances, requests for sexual favors, and or other verbal or physical conduct of a sexual nature that tends to create a hostile or offensive work environment Legal Dictionary, The Free Dictionary by Farlex Uninvited and unwelcome verbal or physical behavior of a sexual nature especially by a person in authority toward a subordinate (as an employee or student) Merriam Webster Dictionary 2. Street Harassment: Street harassment is a form of sexual harassment that consists of unwanted comments, gestures, honking, wolf-whistling, catcalling, exposure, following, persistent sexual advances, and touching by strangers in public areas such as streets, shopping malls, and public transportation. Wikipedia I have a couple of stories to back this up. I went to Sabo Market in Kaduna recently with my sister Enigbe. The walkways were packed full with people doing their shopping. As we passed by a man selling clothes, I felt someone pat my butt and grab my hand. ‘Baby…come to my shop now.’ I was so mad in danger of popping a vein. I didn’t care that I was in the market. I went ham and warned him to never touch me. The idiot removed his hand and went, ‘Who touch you? If I want touch person, na you I go touch?’ to which some of the men around guffawed. He went to further to say, ‘you no even happy say I touch you. As you dey like this, you no happy say I touch you.’ This elicited more laughter from his fellow market men. I kept ranting which seemed to make them even happier. The women on the other hand looked away. Not only did the man harass me and lie about it, he made a U-turn, admitted to doing it and tried to shame me for not basking in his repulsive and wanton behavior. It wasn’t until I got to the shop I wanted to go to that a woman said, ‘My sister, no mind them. Na so them dey do.’ That statement made me even angrier than I could have thought possible. In another instance, my friend Ruth and I were walking under the Ikeja Bridge to go do our hair. As we set out to cross the road, we were cut off by this bus which deliberately swerved towards us. We stood where we were and the bus slowed; almost to a crawl. The conductor was saying stuff in Yoruba – which I didn’t understand – but seemed bad enough that Ruth cussed him out. The laughter from the bus driver and conductor made me ask what was said. ‘The goat was talking about what he will do to me with his penis.’ Ruth retorted. I asked her why she had even bothered to answer them but then realized I was also playing the game of ‘unlooking’; like the women who didn’t say anything when I was being harassed. When I was in the university, we had this Chemistry Lecturer that was known for his randy behavior. Rumor had it that he chose specific types of women each semester; light skinned, dark skinned, Muslim, Christian, Tall, Short and the list goes on. What wasn’t a rumor was what I witnessed myself. We were writing examinations in 100L and he was invigilating. He would randomly walk about and touch girls inappropriately. I was sitting with my friends Grace and Hasiya when he came by us. Grace had warned us about his reputation and told us not squirm or risk becoming his victim. So when he touched Grace’s hair, she smiled and said ‘Well done, sir’. He came to me and touched my arm and I said, ‘Good morning, sir’. He moved away and touched Hasiya on her lower back and she squirmed and frowned. When he saw this happen, he laughed. Unfortunately, Hasiya’s phone was in her pocket and though switched off, the man reached in to her pockets, pulled it out and said he had caught Hasiya cheating in her exams. Knowing Ahmadu Bello University, that offence was punishable by expulsion or rustication at best. We went to beg him but he laughed at our faces. He said Hasiya should come and beg him alone or lose her phone. When Hasiya realized he hadn’t made a formal complaint, she left the phone with him and didn’t get it until after two semesters. That was just one of the harassments I witnessed with this man. While this may not classify as harassment per se, I still label it as such. Ever walked into a restaurant or hotel or event location where there are predominantly men and get stared the hell down from your very first step until you fall (thankfully) into your seat? I hear men say it is a compliment to stare at a woman like that because it shows she is hot. Ermm…NO! It isn’t a compliment unless a woman loves the attention. But even at that, it is wrong to just stare at someone when you can glance at them and look away. Staring is rude! I know even the most confident men would not appreciate been stared at if they walk into a room full of women. If a man can get uncomfortable, why do you think a woman wouldn’t? Recently on Twitter, women across Nigeria and Africa complained about the sexual harassment they have been subjected to in the office, at school, in the markets, at restaurants and just about every other place. The stories were horrifying and quite frankly, scary. It seems that where
Don’t Ask Me When I Am Getting Married. Or Else…
The pressure has begun; in earnest. ‘Ramat, when is your wedding? When will you settle down? When are we coming to eat your own cake?’ These are the questions I keep getting from family, ‘friends’ and acquaintances. In their view, I am no longer a young ‘girl’ and this means that I should be married now, settled into my role as wife and eventually, mother. I shouldn’t be traipsing about in the name of ‘chasing career’. In fact, I was told that I shouldn’t chase career at the expense of marriage and motherhood. All of this however, is not surprising. If I am being truthful to myself, I would admit that it is kind of expected. I have written about this one too many times to not expect that I would be at the receiving end as I get older. But expecting it doesn’t make it any less maddening. It always amazes me how my decision to get married (or not) affects people so much so that they think I need an intervention. Usually, when asked these questions, I have three answers depending on who you are. 1. To family, I say I do not want to rush into an institution like marriage until I am willing to go all the way and until I have found someone whose entire being and essence, including all the horrible (HORRIBLE) parts, are things I can handle for the rest of my life. 2. I tell ‘friends’ that I may not get married and get a kick out of watching their expressions as they digest what I said; and 3. If an acquaintance has the effrontery to ask when I am getting married, I look at them pointedly and ask how it affects their lives. Like seriously, how does it?! While my true answer is a combination of all these, it isn’t the whole story. I grew up witnessing only unhappy marriages. Some of them bore their cross, others left. In all these, the children suffered the consequences of their parents’ poor marriages. Even the homes I thought were happy had their problems and were sometimes just a façade. So, I really don’t want to be married at all if it means not ensuring my children grow up in a safe, loving and majorly happy environment. I also don’t consider marriage the achievement-for-women most people think it is. In my view, it isn’t an achievement, a goal or something to aspire to. I view it as a part of my life and not the whole. But more than anything, I see the level of unhappiness in marriages and I want to hold off as long as I can; that is if I do. Have you also noticed that the people who are always clamouring for your wedding are usually the ones with the saddest marriages? Misery they say… Anyway, my family always tells me that just because something didn’t work for others doesn’t mean it wouldn’t work for me. I agree with that completely. I may just be the one who gets a happy marriage (*scoffs). What are the odds of that happening? I believe that marriage is full time work and until I am sure I am ready to make the sacrifices necessary to make that work, work…I am not going to fret or oblige anyone by jumping the broom. When I say this, I am always told that time is not on my side: that when I am ready, I may not get the type of man I want, and age doesn’t flatter a woman. I must admit that in some regard, they are right. As I have grown older, the pool of men who used to ‘toast’ me have greatly reduced. It reduces further when the ones left hear I am a feminist. It reduces even further when they hear I am keeping my name (*laughing my head off) but in all, they are proving me, not my family or friends, right. I will age and lose my beauty. Should my ‘husband’ who fell in love with my youth be expected to stay when that happens? What prevents him from chasing a younger girl when I am no longer fresh and peng? I won’t stop being a feminist – contrary to what most peoplethink would happen – so it is better the guy runs away before he even gets started. And I will always be Ramatu Ada Ochekliye. If he doesn’t get it, why do I need to be married to him anyway? So, I have come to the conclusion that people will always bug me about getting married until I do. Even at that, they won’t stop. The next thing will be when I give birth to my first child…and the next…and the next. That is their prerogative; as inappropriate as it is. However, as I am living my life for me and would be held accountable for all my decisions, I would do what I want with it! Thank you very much! Now…to the very stubborn people who cannot take a cue even if it slaps them in face with its tentacles, let me lay it out plainly to you. If you do not have a happy marriage, don’t ever ask me when I am going to get married. If per chance you do, I promised I will use the knowledge of your unhappy marriage to clap back at you. It would go something like this; ‘Awww…I am sure you are SO happy in your marriage that is why your husband is sleeping with undergrads at the university he works’ or ‘I am inspired by your marriage. Knowing how bored your wife is with you makes me want to marry as quickly as possible’. So the caveat here is, if want to ask about how soon I am getting married, make sure your relationship can pass through my fire. Or better still, mind your business! Thank you! PS: Dear family, I was not talking to you oh! You can ask me anytime you
Nipping That Superiority Complex Off
I used to have a superiority complex. Yes. I just said that out loud. Pheww! But…let me backtrack a bit to give this context. Growing up, we didn’t have much. Well, the big house and the flashy cars would have deceived many people but we who were members of the family knew we didn’t have much. Okay…we could eat three square meals and our mum always made sure we had nice biscuits, chocolates and sweets. We had cable TV and we went to the amusement park once. Looking at it now, we had a lot! I know many of friends who didn’t have as much. In spite of all these, I felt we didn’t have a lot. I knew early on that the big house and cars were a great façade. My belief was cemented when we were always the last to get text books, uniforms or other school stuff generally. In fact, there was this term when I was in Primary 4 or so when I couldn’t participate in Physical Education because I (we) didn’t have sportswear. One of my favorite teachers – Late Mrs. Williams – took pity on us the following term and said we could exercise but only at the back. To add to that, we were driven for school fees from Nursery one until we graduated in SS3. Every single term! (*laughing like crazy. I have always found this line to be intensely funny). Anyway, we learned early not to ask for stuff like the latest Cortina shoes, or any form of video games, Discman or Pokémon anything. We learned to make do with what we had and for many years; which meant we were not among the cool kids. Cue in ‘Cool Kids’ by EchoSmith – though they were two decades ahead of the time – and you have my biggest yearning as a child. I looked at my family, looked at the near future and decided the only thing that was going to get me out of that predicament was my intellect. So I read. Books, magazine, newspapers, pamphlets, labels on food, medicine and cosmetics, banners and whatever I could lay my eyes (or hands) on. And then I watched a whole lot of television. Do not mind the naysayers; you can learn as much from television as you can from books. Some people are imaginative while others are visual. I think it is unfair to expect everyone to learn like you. Anyway, I learned and opened my mind to the possibilities that lay beyond my immediate environment. I knew what a pizza was (even though I only recently had one. Hey! Don’t laugh!) and I could vividly describe cities I had never been to, people I had never met and events I could only aspire to attend. If you didn’t know that at that time, I had never even left Kaduna, you would have thought I was well travelled and very knowledgeable. So the more I learned, the more people were willing to be friends with me. Well, some said I was funny but I don’t think so. Anyway, while I wasn’t a rich kid, I was gradually becoming a popular kid and best of all, a ‘cool kid’. Then I got cocky. I began to measure people and choose my friends based on how ‘intelligent’ they were. I must clarify that I don’t necessarily mean ‘book smart’. I chose friend who knew stuff that was cool; like Kenny who producing music at age 13, or Nathaniel who made innovative stuff from bad electrical appliances or Shayo who could make you laugh with the most mundane things ever. I also chose friends who knew a lot of bad things (*wink). Soon enough, I was friends with almost everyone. That however didn’t stop me from mentally correcting them when I thought they goofed. It happened with everyone; friends, family, people I had a bone to pick with and those I had nothing to do with. I was so cocky in my ‘intelligence’ that I became blind to my flaws. I needed that chip pulled the hell off my shoulders and you can bet life was willing to play bad cop. The first chisel to my inflated sense of importance was my grades in school. You see, all through primary and secondary school, I didn’t need to read too hard to come out top of my class. All I needed to do was attend lectures and I was smooth sailing. Then I got to the university. I was so confident in myself that I didn’t even go to class. Then my first semester result came out. What a wawu! I knew I had goofed. Instead of correcting my mistakes, I buried myself in even further. I was at every social event and partying into the early morn. My results kept getting worse. When I finally got the party girl tamed, the deal had been done. Now, while school results are not a true test of intelligence, it would have been good to apply myself to my books. I graduated poorly – don’t worry, I will give you the full gist someday – but my mind was open to the possibility that I was not as intelligent as I thought I was after all. Then I got a job on radio. I was an on-air-personality shaping the minds of listeners in Yola, Adamawa State. Apart from my problem with ‘R’ – damn you letter ‘R’ – I thought I was fantastic on air. Yes, that was told to me a couple of times but even if it wasn’t, I would still have felt fantastic. And no; it wasn’t self-confidence. After a year doing what I love, we had a training on Presentation from a consulting firm that is a really big deal in the country. Our trainer listened to us on air and told us that our pronunciations were barely there (at best) and horrible at worst. She said even the best of us
To Africans in Countries That Don’t Want Them
African man being attacked in South Africa.Image: Reuters It started in South Africa. Well…it didn’t really. It was however one of the first times I had seen something so disturbing. So for me, it started in South Africa. It was sometime in 2015. The news was flooded with gruesome images (and videos) of angry mobs chasing a man, capturing him and beating him to death. The mob was made of men, women and children who seemed eager – too eager – to kill this man. There was no justification for the scene that played out but I needed to know why these foaming-at-the-mouth people decided to take a man’s life in such a deliberately wicked manner. I found out his crime; he was an immigrant. Just that. But for many South Africans, that was enough. That incident wasn’t an isolated case. It was however my introduction into the word categorized as xenophobia. I wondered how people could be so brutal and decidedly evil. There were nights when I couldn’t sleep because of the images and videos I had watched. I tried to understand the rationale behind killing immigrants. Some South Africans said these immigrants were the dregs of society and brought with them a life of crime and criminality. If that was the case, why then did they only seem to attack affluent or middle class people who were doing well for themselves, who had their own shops or businesses or who were students? Another rhetoric was that these immigrants were taking jobs away from citizens. Again, that rhetoric was flawed because in many cases, immigrants worked the dirtiest, most degrading jobs that citizens didn’t want. So if you didn’t want to do them, how could they have been ‘taken away’ from you? As I mulled over these problems, even more disturbing stories began to come out. From America, Europe, South East Asia, Northern Africa and even our neighbors in other parts of Africa, there seemed to be a whole lot of hate for African immigrants; especially if they are from Nigeria. Recently, I watched another really disturbing video showing how policemen from a Northern African country – I cannot remember which – treat black Africans in their prisons. This police man in particular beat an African prisoner so bad that he could not cry again. He just grunted every time a blow or a kick landed on his already bruised and broken body. Not satisfied with what he had done, the policeman pulled out a pocket knife and repeatedly stabbed the victim’s back with quick jabs of pain. The victim cried out again but the sound was lost in his throat. Only the agonized expression on his face explained what he had been trying to do. I was sick to my bone at the images I had seen. I am very visual so I really guard my eyes from these kinds of images but I stumbled on these two and was glued to my screen; a testament of how horrifying they were. My question then is, why do Africans go to other countries when they are obviously not wanted there? Why risk mob action, police brutality, racial or xenophobic discrimination, robbery and even death? And worse, why do they still stay in such countries after witnessing the hateful way with which their kin are treated? The answer, though glaringly obvious, still hurts. Our countries are not working! It is 2019 and many African countries are still dealing with poor infrastructure, communally entrenched corruption, sub-par education, poverty, religious and tribal discrimination, firmly rooted patriarchy, a myriad of preventable and curable diseases, unnecessary wars of power and supposed superiority etc. We are still lagging far behind! The rest of the world is championing new fronts in all spheres of life. We can’t even access basic necessities if we are not among the wealthy or middle class in our countries. Affluence divides the line of people in all countries, and it is a problem in Africa because many of the affluent are where they are because they shortchanged the rest of the population. So I want to tell my brothers and sisters to come back home and away from those horrible countries but… what are they coming back to? To failed systems that lets them down all the time? To governments that do not even care for them? Or to a no-dream country? Because you see, people would rather risk everything they have, even unto death, if it means a chance at a better life. That is why many Africans still try to cross the Mediterranean even though people are dying DAILY at sea. That is why we have immigrants doing the most disgusting jobs to survive. That is why our brothers and sisters return to communities where a brother was killed, hoping the sharp looks of hatred are just that; knowing that one day, they may transcend into something much worse. This is the reality of the continent we call home. And this why we have to, collectively, rewrite the entirety of our lives as Africans. We need to make our countries work! When each of our countries works, our continent will work! Europe is probably the most stable continent in the world because they have created systems that improve the lives of their people. Even Tunisia, which is a bedlam most of the time, works. Why can’t we have effective systems for ourselves? Why do we seem so keen on imploding first before finding ourselves? When will we catch up to the rest of the world? We need to take a cue from Nehemiah’s wall; a system where everyone worked to fix their own wall as they added to the grand wall of Jerusalem. We don’t have to wait for our nobles and leaders to start causing the desired change that we want. We can start from ourselves and our immediate environment. Educate ourselves and our children, love our neighbors as we do ourselves, work hard, clean our environment, refuse to be corrupt or
Overwhelmed Mothers Raising One Too Many Children
Image: Kiwa There is this woman in the neighborhood I currently reside in. She has a shop where she sells provisions, food items and…wait for it…even fuel! Her shop is right at the corner and every time I have passed her shop on my way back from anywhere, there always seems to be a myriad of people she is attending to. Let me put this out there…I like her hustle. She is a mother of four kids, with a bulging belly that announces a fifth. A first born son, a second daughter and twin girls make up her brood. Her son should be maybe six while the twins are just learning to walk so I will peg them at less than a year. This is what I don’t like. Every single time I have had reason to pass by her shop or buy something from her, I have taken note of something off with the way she handles her children. First with the twins. They are always so dirty-looking. Their hair – what little they have – is almost always covered with mud. Their clothes are a study in filth and because you can bet they are never wearing diapers, their panties are always an eyesore. What completely freaks me out is that I have never seen either of the girls with both pair of shoes. One twin is always with the right pair and the other with the left. I cannot imagine the kind of callouses those babies will have, seeing how bad our road is. And those babies are alwayson the road! I can count the number of times I have seen bikes and tricycles and even cars break quickly to avoid hitting them. When this happens, the mother just screams for the older brother who gets his sisters out of the way and gets back to whatever has his attention. The son worries me too. He is always playing – which isn’t a bad thing – but his level of disregard for people is alarming. It isn’t unusual for him to shove people aside (without as much as an apology) when he wants to get into the shop. And when he gets into his play time, he forgets he has baby sisters. Yes, he is a baby himself but you can see he doesn’t seem to care about the twins. He can watch them play with fecal matter or walk towards the road where a vehicle is approaching and would only do something when his mother, or a neighbor, shouts in alarm. The person I worry most about is the second child who takes off for hours and returns when she feels like. I know this because I have seen her mother beat her couple of times for going somewhere and only returning at night. She reprimands her and the very next day, the child is out again. This is scary because of the number of sick individuals we have out there. Someone who knows the girl can go out and return when she likes may set an ambush for her; an ambush that may be lead to her kidnap or sexual abuse. What does the mother do in all these? Apart from the occasional shout, she seems to just let her children be. There are times when the babies are crying and she looks away. I must say I believe she cares for her children; she gets them food and changes the babies clothes when it is super dirty. But she is overwhelmed. Managing one kid is a lot of work, managing four hyperactive kids with one on the way can be too much. In the three months since I have been in this neighborhood, I haven’t seen a father figure who should be helping out with the kids. Apart from members of the community helping out here and there, she is basically doing all she can on her own. Here is what I feel. Parents should be able to care for their children or provide the means to have them cared for. Those children are at great risks because their mother is overwhelmed. Though the road is bad, it does not stop a reckless driver from going fast if (s)he chooses. Also, any number of things can make a vehicle skid out of control. What happens if these kids are waddling across the road when something horribly bad happens? And these are babies! They shouldn’t have to live in filth when there are a myriad of diseases they can contract from the harmful microorganisms that abound in dirt? And though I mentioned the possibility of sexual assault for the second child, the truth is, all the children are at risk. While I advocate for minding your business, there are cases where we just shouldn’t. Here is my dilemma. How do I convey this worry to the mother without coming off as a ‘busybody’, ‘akproko’ or ‘gossip’? How can we get parents to space their birth so they are better able to deal with raising each of their children properly? Would it be fair to report to social services, knowing that the woman cares for her children but is overwhelmed? This has been plaguing me for weeks now and I would really like advice. What can a sister do?
Why We Should Refine Our Speech
Image: Rawpixel on Pinterest English is my first language. Though my father is Idoma, my mother Ebira and my birth place a chiefly Hausa region, English was and is my first language. I have studied English as a prerequisite from nursery school until I dropped the book I was just reading. I used to get turned off by people who didn’t speak well, especially if they were in the eye of the public. I could write a person off if they mispronounced a word. A whole speech could mean absolutely nothing to me if the speaker’s diction and grammar was not up to par. I used to correct people in my head while having a conversation with them. At a point, when a person didn’t speak well, I would flinch; literally! I knew I had an ‘r’ problem but I felt I was better at speaking correctly than most people. I used to pride myself on speaking well until something happened in 2014. I was attending a communication training for media personalities; this was when I worked on radio and television. The trainer – whom I respected very much – critiqued my spoken English so much so that I almost cried during the session. She told me how my pronunciations were fair at best and that I needed to go back to the books. The only thing that kept the tears in was the last vestiges of pride that I desperately clung to. When I got home, and looked beyond the sting of the criticism, I realized that my spoken language started getting bad when I started speaking a whole lot of Pidgin English. To make matters worse, the American English depicted in the kind of movies I loved was not helping me. It took a total stranger to point out the fact that I had no reason to boast in something I wasn’t really good at. Talk about humbling that pride! To many, it would seem like nothing. But to anyone who knows that a media person has to sound right at all times, you know that particular criticism was well needed. Every time I had been wrong in my pronunciation, someone listening also flinched! That thought alone had my skin crawling; what with being a perfectionist and all. So, I went back to the drawing board and started learning my language again…even if it meant from the scratch. This brings me to another problem. Many people say that English is not their mother tongue in excusing how poor their grammar is. I think that argument is lazy. You cannot spend 14 years from nursery to secondary school studying one language and then come back with, ‘it is not my mother tongue’. Admit that you are lazy and no one will beat you. I think the onus lies on us to be correct in our pronunciations and sentence constructions. We cannot afford to mix our tenses and fuddle our grammar. This is especially so if you are a media personality, teacher, or public speaker because you are in a better position to educate and influence the public. Nobody wants to listen to someone who does all the ‘tiauns’ and the ‘gbagauns’. Everyone wants to listen to someone who is flawless in sentence delivery and who has a great, commanding diction. Having said that, it is important to note that speaking well doesn’t necessarily mean donning accents that are not yours; which is what many people do these days. Think of Pete Edochie, Joke Silva, Chimamanda Adichie, Amina J. Mohammed and even many of our parents who were or are educated. They speak so well without losing the essence of their indigenous accents. So…let us go back to the drawing board and refine our speech! Image: Rawpixel on Pinterest
