I have lived under the umbrella of a patriarchal African
society all my life.
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie was the first self proclaimed
African Feminist that I had ever encountered. To me, she was a glimmer of hope
of what could be. However, I believe the rest of the world needs to reevaluate
the reality. It is a dangerous game to look at Africa with a savior complex,
deep rooted in the history of the white man’s burden.
My mother is the strongest person I know. Growing up, I
learned to fear and admire a woman who was over a foot shorter than me. And
though I loved my father with the heart of any young girl whose father has
shown her nothing but kindness, I knew that nothing in my life could function without
my mother.
My mother could come home from a long day of work, cook my
family dinner, drive us anywhere we needed to go, tidy up, adorn herself in
anti aging creams, and wake up to do it all over again. She served as both breadwinner
to my family and the glue that shouted us all together, because if you have
ever encountered an African mother, she was probably shouting.
I could say the same
about many of the African women I grew up around. I had aunties whose strengths
and talents were unparalleled. So much so that when I see a picture of an
African woman with a basket of yams on her head and baby wrapped in
eccentrically colored cloth hanging from her back, I see a woman that can do
anything. There is power beyond belief in the African woman, this is what I
hope others will one day see.
However, I do not hide behind cultural pride and regional
dedication, as a means to ignore a greater issue. Global problems such as the
rapid spread of HIV in sub-Saharan Africa have made the problems of patriarchy almost
impossible to ignore. HIV disproportionately affects girls and young women
throughout Africa, often attributed to the over arching culture of male
dominance. Women are less in control of reproductive justice, cliterodectomy
are practiced in villages around the continent, female literacy rates continue
to be much lower than men, while child marriage remained highly prevalent among
young girls.
Women of Africa have historically shown the world what they
are capable of. They have played pivotal roles in the ending of apartheid, they
have mobilized to end civil wars, they have served as voices to end female genital mutilation, and
they have served as powerful heads of states. If global burdens of disease
disproportionately affect women, what is the role of women in creating policy,
as opposed to men? Audre Lorde once said that the master’s tools will never
dismantle the masters house, does this place the burden of change upon the
backs of women?
It is not a secret that cultures continue to change. No
culture that has refused to adapt has survived the constant transitions and
transformations of globalization. So I then pose the question, what would the
changing of the gender culture look like in Africa? Can it be implemented into
African culture, without breaking down walls of the culture itself? Khadija
Gbla, a brilliant African feminist who works to end female genital mutilation,
once said that culture is not an excuse for abuse. Do we sacrifice health for
the sustainment of a culture or culture to promote health? Are the two mutually
dichotomous? I believe we are in a time where women and men of Africa work to
cultivate a reality of African Feminism rather than aspire to westernized ideas
of female rights.
This begins by asking women of all ethnicities, what does
empowerment look like to you and who can help you attain it?
