As a child, I dreamed of many things. My days were filled with me imagining I was some sort of wonder woman or whichever cartoon character I was enamoured with at that point in time. I dreamt of flying planes and slaying dragons. I dreamt of becoming a famous spinal surgeon and being at the forefront in battle. I dreamt of finding a cure for cancer. I had tall, crazy, unrealistic dreams.
As a child, I never felt I was different because of my gender. My mother had all girls and so there was never anybody to compare with. We all got the same chores and there was no preferential treatment. However, as I grew older and made friends, I noticed a subtle difference in the way my friends were treated versus how their brothers were treated. The girls were made to return their plates to the kitchen sink, the boys were not. The girls were made to tidy their rooms, the boys were not. Mothers doted on their sons’ friends, serving drinks and picking up after them while the girls were left to their own devices. Even mundane tasks such as, microwaving food, was assigned to girls, never boys.
As a young girl, I was not bothered. I felt it could never happen to me. I learnt to drive at the age of 18 and by age 23, I had my own car. I, however, observed that, some of my friends had to wait for their brothers, fathers or drivers to bring them to school. Their parents did not want a single girl driving; it would drive the suitors away. The parents were always stricter on the girls, never the boys. My parents were strict too, but as we were all girls, I thought that was the norm.
As a young girl, my first taste of misogyny occurred when the boys in medical school made careless remarks about how we often got high marks because of our gender. We would burn the midnight candle with our male classmates and study just as hard, but when we scored high marks, they said it was because of the shade of our lipstick. Their words were often nonchalant and offhand, tossed thoughtlessly into conversation; but they touched a nerve nevertheless and opened my eyes to the world of patriarchy.
As a young married woman, I started to understand the full meaning of the words: ‘Sai hakuri’. I realised as an Arewa, Muslim woman, you needed a lot of patience to strive. I have seen my brilliant friends wilt away in the name of marriage. I watched as bright women lower their ambition for fear of angering their husbands. I see the way society frowns at a woman who dares to demand better treatment and a better standard of living. She is labelled ‘bitter’, ‘angry’ and ‘wayward’. She is too loud and does not know her place. They mould culture and religion to suit them, forgetting that we know the history of strong women who existed centuries ago, and how they were exalted by God and man.
As a married woman, I realised the fault in our marriage equation. Women are taught to value their marriage more than men. From the cradle, we are told that being married is something to aspire to, whereas men just see it as a phase in life. So, we go into the equation, with different mindsets. Women determined to stay married at all costs while men decide they are tired and walk out at any undesirable situation. I have interacted with many women from Northern Nigerian and heard their stories of physical and emotional abandonment.
As a doctor, I have encountered many female patients who walk into the consulting and just burst into tears. I try to soothe and counsel them, but in the end, I know. I have evolved enough to know how unjust society is to women. I see the subtle discrimination in the workplace and the way the police officer leers at me when I am stopped randomly on the way. I notice how the VIO official targets only female drivers and treats us with hostility so that we are scared enough to part with a few Naira. I see it in the face of receptionists when I walk into an organisation; how dare she walk in so confidently? Who is her husband or Sugar daddy? How can she afford that?. I have heard countless, heart-wrenching stories of divorcees who have been mocked and propositioned by the same men who make jest of them. I know, now, that it is not easy.
As a child, I had a lot of dreams.
I did not eventually, turn out to be a spinal surgeon, but I tried.
Happy International Women’s Day.
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