December 1929– a ceasefire is reached between the Igbo womxn in Calabar and Owerri, and the British colonial administrators who issued special taxes on market womxn. Their independence crippled, and their livelihoods at stake, thousands of female entrepreneurs gathered before the Native Administration centres to protest unfair taxation and the lawless rule of warrant chiefs (Igbo men who served as proxies for the British under colonial rule). After a two month period of demonstrations, prison break-outs, and the physical destruction of European institutions – including 10 Native Courts and several European businesses across Calabar and Owerri – a truce between the Aba market womxn and British colonials was reached. An estimated 25,000 womxn rallied for this cause, and 50 womxn died in the process. The Women’s War, as it is commonly referred to, set the precedent for feminist and anti-colonial uprisings across the continent, and earned womxn the right to serve on Native Courts and be appointed as Warrant Chiefs. Thirty-odd years before independence, Nigerian womxn proved their capacity as effective and reliable leaders in governance, battle, and community organization. So how is it that 60 years after our independence in 1960, only 7 womxn are members of the senate in a nation that is 49.2% female ?
Aba womxn’s war 1929. Photo credit – libcom.org
The short answer? Control. Even as certain parts of the country continue to advance in terms of access to education and technology, archaic gender roles continue to dominate the Nigerian psyche. Under the guise of ‘proper upbringing’, elders impose upon young girls a prescription of humility, malleability, and blind obedience that is rooted in a chauvinistic desire to keep womxn in perpetual servitude to the men in their lives. I sat down with 5 Nigerian womxn between the ages of 19 and 29, for a discussion about the weight of being a “good womxn” and its effects on their personal and professional lives.
For both men and womxn, the enforcement of gendered roles begins at home. Mouna, 29, remembers as early as age ten feeling a “heavy sense of responsibility” for cooking, cleaning, and washing, while her three brothers slept in. Now an independent adult, her responsibilities have shifted from domestic chores to matrimonial duties. In both cases, there’s a singular objective: to keep men at the centre of her decisions. With an MBA and a senior management position in healthcare, Mouna is an educated and accomplished young womxn, yet she recalls feeling pressured into getting married almost immediately after earning her second degree. “Your personal growth, your achievements, your wealth, none of that means anything if you’re not married with children”, she says. “It’s absurd”.
Under the guise of ‘proper upbringing’, elders impose upon young girls a prescription of humility, malleability, and blind obedience that is rooted in a chauvinistic desire to keep womxn in perpetual servitude to the men in their lives
During childhood, girls are conditioned to seek approval through acts of servitude. The disparity in responsibilities between male and female children teaches daughters that their worth is defined by how much they defer to the men in their lives. In adulthood, this conditioning manifests in the social pressure to become homemakers and caretakers, while men are conversely encouraged to be providers and authority figures. The binary expectations of gender roles are designed to empower sons and relegate daughters to the underbellies of society. This communicates to womxn that their agency is simply transferred between different male authority figures. An unmarried womxn is considered to have “failed” because in a society where men disproportionately hoard economic and social capital, a womxn’s worth is determined by the male figures in her orbit.
In relationships, womxn today are often saddled with the dual responsibilities of the domestic and financial wellbeing of their partners, a sharp shift from earlier generations as more womxn are now entering the workforce. With the onset of the “Lean In” movement and economic hardships, single-income households are becoming less desirable. The shifting goal post of what it means to be a “good womxn” today requires a juggling act of professional ambition, motherhood and sensuality all while catering to the male ego. Fun. As Eyek, 26, puts it bluntly, “They [men] want to control how a womxn is empowered.” Under the guise of “womxn can have it all” feminism, womxn are encouraged to be only as empowered as they can be without upending the imbalance of power that feeds a patriarchal society. Though ‘modern’ Nigerian men claim to be attracted to the idea of a womxn who earns her own money, the reality of her financial independence triggers their fear of being emasculated.
Ugo, a 24-year-old entrepreneur, agrees. Reflecting on the role of ego in past relationships, she says, “everything my ex-boyfriend said was attractive about me, he grew to hate me for.” As children, boys are taught that their social value comes from displays of strength and dominance, especially over girls. Fathers who don’t share domestic responsibilities with their wives and teachers who favour male students over female counterparts for leadership positions are the earliest models for widely accepted misogynistic behaviour. When impressionable boys fall into the trap of patriarchy, they grow up to be insecure men whose self-esteem depends on the ability to control womxn. The presence of a self-sufficient womxn threatens their comprehension of masculinity because after all, what use is a man with no power to control the womxn around him?
Good girls are also expected to become mothers but ironically good girls are not meant to be sexual beings. Sex is meant for reproduction and not for pleasure. Orgasm gap anyone? The tension between these polar obsessions reinforces shame and victim-blaming as methods of constraining womxn’s desires. For a country of 206 million people, Nigerians are deeply committed to the performance of chastity. Fear of being disgraced and bringing shame on your family enhances this performance.
Whether it’s reinforced by religion or culture, the repression of sexual desire and expression of one’s sensuality is etched into the foundation of Nigerian social behaviour. Common warnings like, ‘don’t wear short skirts’ and ‘don’t talk to boys’, are used to shame women for celebrating their bodies and vilified for asserting their desires. Bad girls wear short skirts. Bad girls talk to boys. Bad girls invite predators. The stipulations of purity culture robs womxn of knowledge and agency, leaving them especially vulnerable to rape and sexual abuse. And because open discussions about sex are taboo in many Nigerian homes, young womxn are denied the education and agency to develop a balanced perception of sex -one that is not simply about reproduction. Nigerian society vilifies womxn for doing anything other than being a bible-hugging homemaker so that when a womxn is sexually harassed or even assaulted, rather than interrogate Nigeria’s rampant problem of toxic masculinity, we ask the womxn, “okay, but what were you wearing?”
The unlearned cycle of dependency and fear of retaliation that trudged along with the independence movement for 30 years is being replicated in relationships between men and womxn today. Internalised misogyny teaches womxn to shirk their opinions and desires to avoid being outcast as a wayward “bad girl”. As young womxn gain increased access to education and start to think for themselves, the truth becomes harder to ignore. Nigerian men are comfortable, if not complicit, in the subjugation of womxn because their egos depend on their level of control. To finally accept womxn as equals would be an assumption of guilt. A reckoning that they are culpable of the same oppression that held them captive in their own home for centuries and a revolution is coming.
