₦airaland Forum

This story is so beautiful and well laid out.......like a neat little puzzle with lots of heart. Well done you!

After lying there in a puddle of her sweat for several minutes, Kossy gradually descended from cloud nine, and she was left with a sinking feeling. What had she just done? She looked across and David seemed to have nodded off to sleep already. His breathing was loud but regular. How could he have done this to her? Did he have so little respect for her and their friendship? He had treated her like a common LovePeddler and after satisfying his urge, he didn’t even have the decency to stay awake to witness the shame of their actions together with her.

She got out of bed and walked to the bathroom. “Where are you going?” David mumbled half asleep. But she only grunted something incoherent in response. Kossy locked herself in the tiny bathroom and sat, yoga-style, on the toilet bowl. “Fvck!” she screamed silently, “Fvck! Fvck! Fvck!!!” she buried her fingers in her hair and lowered her head in shame. What just happened? She replayed the moment right from the time David’s call had come in earlier that day; and she felt now like she had been watching a train wreck in slow motion the whole time. “What the Fvck!” Hadn’t she known this was bound to happen? How could she have been so foolish? And how could David do this to her? How could he? Kossy began to cry. In spite of everything she felt extremely violated; and also terribly confused because she knew that she had ultimately allowed this to happen and, therefore, did not really have a right to feel violated. “The bastard!” She had no idea how long she sat in the bathroom that way, but the tears kept coming until morning when David finally knocked on the bathroom door.

“Kossy, are you okay? Have you been in there the whole night?”

His voice irritated her. He had slept comfortably through the night and never even noticed that she was gone. Kossy flushed the empty toilet bowl, washed her face and got out of the bathroom with a grim expression on her face.

“Are you alright?” David asked, but then he noticed her swollen eyes, “Jesus! Have you been crying? What’s wrong?”

Kossy stared at him, and if looks could kill, David would have been a giant mound of minced meat “Are you seriously asking me that?”

“I don’t understand, what do you mean?”

Kossy couldn’t help herself. She flung out her right arm and let her open palm connect with David’s left cheek. His petrified look did not give her the satisfaction she had hoped for. However, the resounding slap shocked the room into momentary silence as the two of them stared fiercely into each other’s eyes. The one registered genuine confusion; and the other, intense rage.

And then Kossy collapsed into a puddle of tears again. “David, David, God!.......David you’re a bastard. How could you destroy us like this?”

David tried to comfort her, by trying to wrap his arms around her, but Kossy kept pushing him away. Then he decided to sit on the bed attentively waiting her to gather herself together so that she could tell him what was on her mind. Eventually she sat on the mattress across from him.

“Talk to me.” He urged.

Kossy rubbed her eyes and tried to bring her breathing under control. She shook her head “Last night has had me all messed up.”

“How?”

Kossy took a long steadying breath and kept shaking her head regretfully. “I feel – “ she struggled to get the words out. “I feel like you raped me last night.” She looked at David’s face and saw that it was totally devoid of any expression. She waited a full minute for him to respond and then she could not take it anymore, “For God’s sake, say something!”

“Why would you feel that?”

“It’s –“ Kossy wrung her fingers nervously. She could feel the erratic beating of her heart. She felt suddenly anxious and small. Like the time when she was eight years old and she had told her mother about how Uncle Chima had touched her naughty bits. Her mother had not believed her and instead, she had asked her “why would Uncle Chima touch only you, are you the only girl here”. It had hurt that on top of everything else; her mother did not trust her enough to protect her. And she wished she had stayed silent about that incident. Now, as she looked at David’s face, she saw a similar look. A look that told her she was making things up and wasn’t justified in her outrage. “You know very well that I didn’t want to do that last night.”

David heaved a sigh in an exaggerated show of patience. “I’m sorry you feel that way. But I asked you. I even asked you if I should stop and you said no. You told me you wanted me to do it. I don’t understand what you want from me?”

Kossy squeezed her eyes shut as she tried to keep the images of the previous night at bay. “I shouldn’t have come here. I really should never have come here.”

David ignored her remark. “You are being very unfair to me, Kossy. If you regret that you had sex with me, I can understand that. But you cannot claim I raped you. Do you even remember what happened last night? I think you’re only trying to make yourself feel better about the situation, but you wanted this to happen every bit as much as I did.”

“I did not!”

“Then why did you come?”

Kossy stared at David and saw a callousness she had never seen before. She wished he would have denied that this had been his plan all along, even if she knew that she wouldn’t have believed him. At least it would mean that he still cared enough about her to want to protect his own image in her eyes. There were so many things she wanted to hurl at his face – sharp objects, corrosive liquids, and words. You said you had restraint. You said this was not about sex. You said you were into Laide. You said, you said, you said. But all these words weren’t things she could fling at his face without feeling incredibly stupid and naïve herself. She felt her own stupidity and humiliation above anything else. How could she have been so careless?

Kossy got to her feet and gathered her belongings. David watched her quietly, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped between his thighs.

“You need T-fare” He searched his pockets as he spoke and came up with some cash. He held out four tired five-hundred Naira notes to her, “You should also stop at the pharmacy to get some Postinor.”

“Fvck you.” Kossy said as she walked through the door. This room and this man and this moment were things she wished only to forget.

Kossy arrived at David’s studio-flat around five in the evening. Her apprehensions were quickly alleviated by David’s typical easy-going manner. They had a fun time hanging out, binging on several episodes of a popular television series and talking about all kinds of stuff until it was time for bed. As the night wore on, Kossy found herself getting anxious again.

“I hope you aren’t going to say that you can’t sleep in the same bed with me.” David joked as he walked out of the shower with his towel slung loosely around his waist. “Because I don’t want to have to sleep on the floor.”

“That’s okay.” Kossy said ignoring his glistening body and focusing on his face, “As long as you behave, though. If I find out you’re a restless sleeper, I’ll relegate myself to the floor.”

“Is that what you are wearing to sleep?” David teased eying her sturdy jeans trousers and oversized t-shirt.

“Yes. What’s wrong with it?”

“There’s nothing wrong with it, you don’t have to get so defensive. I just know that the night gets really hot, and you won’t be comfortable in that thing.”

Kossy looked down at her faded jeans, “I don’t mind it. I’m always cold anyway, no matter how hot it gets.”

David laughed, “Liar!” he chided gently, “Kossy, relax! You’re safe with me. I’m not going to do anything.” He sat on the mattress on the other end, but he leaned in; and the bed was narrow enough for Kossy to feel crowded. She smelt his soap and a hint of his natural musk. He looked her right in the eye with that mischievous glint illuminating his pupils, “Not unless you want to.”

“David, I knew this was a bad idea – “ Kossy got up abruptly and started gathering up her things.

“Oh my God! I was only messing with you!” he rushed across and stopped her hands from getting busy. “So pesin no fit carry you play? Hmm, Madam, you too dey fear! Wetin you dey fear self!”

“It’s not about fear.” Kossy protested, “I just don’t want to get myself into any hairy situation with you.”

“Okay, noted. Sit down.” He instructed as he allowed himself another chuckle. “No hairy situations. I promise you. But you get mind! So you would have walked to your hostel room in this darkness? Look outside; people get missing in these kinds of nights.”

“If that was the only option I had, I would have to.”

“There are no bikes by this time of the night. And there are some really bad boys that hang around the area.”

David spread his large frame on his side of the bed and Kossy became disturbingly aware of his broad naked chest. For the first time, she got a full sense of how trapped she was, and how much she depended on the hope that there was integrity to David’s promises. She already knew she had made a mistake coming here and she should not have allowed herself be in this situation. She knew she would probably not get a wink of sleep. She would just have to wait it out until morning to find out how far her friend could be trusted.

“Aren’t you wearing that Kaftan?”

David smirked and reached for the white kaftan that was slung over the arm-chair. “If it will make you lose those jeans.” He put on the flowing gown and walked to the wardrobe to find a clean pair of shorts. He tossed them over to her. “Whenever you decide to stop being stubborn, slip into those. They would be more comfortable for you.”

He got into bed, turning his back to her, and facing the blank wall, as he put the light out from the bedside switch.

“Good night.” He grunted.

“Good night.”

Kossy tossed and turned in the heat. David had not been exaggerating when he said that the night’s got really hot. She looked across to where he lay and confirmed that he hadn’t moved an inch in nearly two hours. He seemed sound asleep. So she gave in and peeled off her jeans. And after she had relieved herself of the redundant item of clothing, she dared to fall asleep. Soon she was immersed in the land of dreams. It had the distinct lack of clarity that is the quality of most dreams; but it left her with a feeling of immense enjoyment regardless.

Suddenly, there was a moan that was caught between the dream and a moment of wakefulness. And it had escaped through Kossy’s lips. She felt the hand on her naked breasts. It was handling the mounds tentatively and grazing the anterior until she sensed the painful tightening of her nipples.

“What are you doing?” she started, sitting upright on the bed. She stared at David in the dark and noticed that his penis was fully distended and it stretched his Kaftan like a tent.

“Kossy..” His breathing was erratic and his voice was thick with emotion, “wait, just lie back down please.”

“What?” Kossy struggled to her feet. “You must be joking. I’m leaving.”

“Wait!”

“No, David, I’m going this night. Right now!”

“Wait.” David implored. He was also quick to his feet rushing over to her. He pinned her against the wall, caging her between his powerful arms. His palms rested against the wall. “But, Kossy, you were enjoying it. I could tell. You were moaning and moving your body to my touch. You don’t have to fight it; I can make you feel good.”

“Are you insane? I was asleep!” Kossy screamed in disbelief.

“I know, and I’m sorry. But we don’t have to stop, do we? It’s only sex.” He tried to kiss her but Kossy turned her face away. “Come on, please.”

David pushed himself against Kossy, and she felt the fullness of his member against her belly. He started to move against her and she could feel his feverish desire. “Come on….please. Just a little.”The sensation registered in her brain and manifested itself in the beginnings of an arousal. She felt the heat in the pit of her stomach and the constriction in her crotch. “David, stop…..” she pushed him away but he stayed strong, and eventually her arms turned into putty with barely any resolve left in them. “Hold me.” He begged. Her breathing became erratic, as she obliged him by clutching the back of his neck and stroking his nape with her thumb.

Kossy watched as David crouched to his knees and pulled down her panties with his teeth. He cradled her butt cheeks and she cradled his head. In her head she still heard the screams that her lips should have given voice to. “This is wrong”, “No, no, no”, “Stop!” But she found herself parting her thighs and giving him access to stick his tongue between her vaginal lips. She closed her eyes in ecstasy.

“Stop!”

That was a word swallowed by an involuntary gasp. Her legs buckled as she felt the sensation curl her toes, but David caught her in time, over his shoulder and carried her back into his bed. He took off his Kaftan and revealed his gloriously naked body. Kossy knew she could not resist him, and suddenly she did not have the desire to. She pulled her t-shirt over her head, tossed it aside, and laid herself back in the bed, allowing him feast his eyes on her ample bosoms. He swiftly closed the distance between them as he kissed her full on the mouth. She ran her fingers across his back and his hard buttocks, urging him on.

“Are you sure?” David asked her.

He searched her eyes, but Kossy could give him nothing but a confused stare. She did not understand why he had to ask that. Why now? Was he teasing her?

“Do you want me to stop?” David asked again.

Kossy wondered if he could actually stop himself in that moment if she asked him to; or if he was merely bluffing. Nevertheless, she was too hot with desire to bring herself to call his bluff. She shook her head. “No.” she said. “Don’t stop. I want you to do it.” And David proceeded to ravish her body with every immoral fiber he possessed. He stroked the soft core of her femininity until she writhed in frenzy underneath his powerful physique. And then both of them exploded in a thunderous orgasm and collapsed on the damp sheets.

All rights reserved.

Okay. So, this story was obviously inspired by a specific event making the rounds in social media. And it contemplates consent and its validity in cases of rape. Please let me know where you stand and why. Thank you.




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Kossy listened as David laughed easily on the other end of the line, “Do you honestly not trust me?” he asked. His tone teased her slightly. She imagined his generous smile that showed healthy white teeth and sent his dimples into full recess. He was a real charmer when he put his mind to it. In her mind’s eye, she could also see that mischievous glint in his eyes which always seemed to put her on edge.

“No, David, of course I don’t trust you. In fact, you’re the devil himself when it comes to women” Kossy cracked two eggs into a dish and began to whisk the emulsion with a crooked fork. She was making herself lunch while David’s voice filled her small hostel room from the speaker of her chinko phone.

“Ah, ahn!” he laughed again, “How can you say that? What have I done to deserve this now? You and I have known each other for far too long for this.” Kossy picked up on the faint irritation which made her realize that David was serious about his indignation in spite of the humor in his voice.

“You know very well that the length of our friendship has nothing to do with it.” Kossy maintained strongly, and she said for the third time in as many minutes “I just can’t sleep over at your place.”

“I don’t know why the length of our friendship should have nothing to do with it.” David seemed to be making himself deliberately dense. “Please, enlighten me: what is this about?”

Kossy hesitated. She knew he knew exactly what this was about. He knew why a girl would be uncomfortable spending the night at a male-friend’s place.

“I’m waiting, Kossy, tell me. Don’t you think that we are close enough to hang out together? Even after two years?”

“It’s not that.”

“What is it then?”

“You aren’t even my boyfriend.”

“So?”

“So we shouldn’t hang out together like that.”

David laughed at her again. “Don’t tell me you are one of these archaic people who don’t believe that a boy and girl can just hang out together with no strings attached. We are only going to watch some movies for chrissakes! You think this is about sex?”

Kossy blushed at the directness of his question. “No!”

She had thought it was about sex. It was something she had taken for granted. But she suddenly felt like a foolish prude when he put her on the spot like that, and she also felt a little guilty about judging him too quickly. She realized that she still might have a load of hang-ups from her past experiences and was inclined to be skeptical regarding men even when it wasn’t warranted. She knew that her bias wasn’t fair to David.

“No, David, I didn’t think this was about sex.”
​
“Good. So what is it? Because I just don’t understand you. You are usually so smart and progressive, I just assumed you will put things in correct perspective and not be influenced by archaic views.”

“What do you mean? Are you insulting me now?” Kossy’s hands flew across the chopping board with a sharp knife leaving butchered onions, tomatoes and pepper in their wake.

“No, I’m not. Please don’t be so sensitive. I’m only saying that I know you to be a very pragmatic person.”

“I know. But, you know, things can become…….weird.”

“Weird how? You think I cannot control myself if you are in the same room with me?” David’s voice mocked her again. “Madam Beyonce! Men are not animals, you know? We don’t just pounce on every girl we see. I have restraint. You know how disciplined I can be. I am just bored and I want to hang out with my friend. And besides, there is this girl in your department that I have been scoping so stop flattering yourself – Laide – you might know her. I was thinking you could come over and I could pour out my heart to you. That girl is doing me strong thing! Maybe you could give me some pointers as to how I should go about winning her over to my side.”

Kossy felt an unexpected twinge of jealousy. It wasn’t that she liked David in that way, he was just a friend to her; but for a while, wanted or not, she had been basking in the attention he was giving her. And in the comfort and protection of her hostel room, it had felt really nice to be wanted by him. The shift of his attention from her to Laide now felt like a bit of a loss. But she knew how unreasonable that was, and she did not want to show David how affected she was by it. She imagined that if she was open to helping him with his business with Laide, David would be sure that she did not care.

“Okay.”

“So you’ll come?”

Kossy hesitated in one last attempt to maintain total control, “But you know, people are going to talk.”

“What people? Talk about what?”

“A girl who goes to a guy’s house to spend the night, is that not asking for trouble? Even if you are a decent guy who isn’t thinking about any funny business, people will still assume something happened. My reputation will be ruined.”

“Come on, Kossy, I thought you were a feminist.” David’s voice was now as smooth as silk and Kossy felt its strong appeal to her sense of logic, “Are you living your life for people? You shouldn’t live your life for any person but yourself. No one is interested and it really isn’t anyone’s business anyway.”

“Yeah, of course.” But even as she said the words, she felt the apprehension build up inside her.

***

Everyone now seems to have an opinion about feminism. It seems fashionable to talk about it. It doesn’t even matter if you know anything about it or not. I want to join the fray, not necessarily to start any arguments, but hopefully to answer some questions. So y’all please indulge me. Fair warning, this is long. And it’s only the first part which deliberates on emancipation. I’ll save my thoughts on equality for another day.

If I don’t speak with reference to recent history, or in the easily recognizable jargon of the trade; and if I don’t acknowledge the relevance of founders and key players – feminist icons like The Suffragettes, Simone de Beauvoir and Gloria Steinem – it’s not out of ignorance or a lack of respect, but because I consider feminism to be contextual and organic in nature. It grows out of the ground on which we stand, and doesn't necessarily require a precursor to exist in any given place, (even if a precursor can be a catalyst). It is reactionary just like any other movement that resists oppression. And the oppression which it resists is the deliberate disenfranchisement of women (by constitution, common law or culture) on account of their gender alone. Feminism seeks to give acknowledgement to the full human value of women, by permitting the uninhibited expression of their content (intellect & desires) within unbiased limits of the law, and to validate a woman’s right to an independent social standing. The premise of feminism is that all human beings are equally human and should be allowed equal human rights. This does not mean that all human beings are equal. In fact, our inequalities as human beings go far beyond gender. There's race, height, weight, complexion, IQ, the list is practically endless. But we don't (and shouldn’t)apportion rights to people by considering any of these differences; even when certain physical attributes can have significant ramifications on a person’s performance and ability to contribute as a citizen of the world. In the end, what matters is that we are all human beings, and equal in our humanness. And as human beings, we should have human rights. Not men's rights and women's rights. Not black people’s rights and white people’s rights. Not tall people’s rights and short people’s rights. Not strong people’s rights and weak people’s rights. That's really all there is to the mantra of equal rights and gender equality which feminism disseminates.

I don’t believe that, as a feminist, I ought to belong to a world club, subscribing to a definitive code of practice; that feminism must be copied ‘correctly’ or even copied at all, from anywhere. I believe that the prevailing conditions of a place are enough to inspire a reaction if it is warranted; and that the prevailing conditions would uniquely shape that reaction to suit the specificity of the stimulus. It’s the wearer of the shoe that knows exactly where it pinches and would adjust his toes accordingly. Unifying feminism, under one large umbrella of a particular creed, would only breed confusion and it would not solve any of the problems which necessitated its inception in the first place; because every region deals with very unique issues of misogyny which feminism seeks to address. And these issues of misogyny are dynamic and so feminist reactions must be equally dynamic. Standardized feminism would be akin to creating a new world religion that would only enslave people to a specific dogma instead of emancipating them. Feminism isn't a religion or a political party, it is a natural instinct to survive and thrive in one's own environment. Therefore, to be a feminist as a woman, I only need to value my own integrity as a human being. And to be a feminist as a man, I would have to have equal regard for others as I do for myself.

Most men think that feminism is redundant in Nigeria (but if that were the case it wouldn’t even be discussed or find the legs to stand on); they say that women have nothing to complain about anymore since they already drive cars, vote, own property, run for office and don’t walk around under a sheet in the scorching heat. But can they really know? I don’t suppose I could (or would) tell someone else how to feel about things when I am not the one directly immersed in the situation. It would be arrogant and insensitive of me to do that. Men, no matter how powerful their sense of imagination, would never know what it’s like to be a woman in Nigeria until they spend some time in a woman’s skin. I imagine that they would be in for a surprise because I don't believe that their ignorance about the endemic misogyny of our society is willful. I don't believe that they are malicious in their intent when they ask women to shut their mouths about feminism. I believe that they just don’t know. Not really. So, I imagine that it would surprise them to wake up one morning to find themselves relegated to a position where they would be required to shrink their egos, and step into miniature boxes that only allowed them to be tightly censored versions of themselves; and where their respect and visibility depended on another human being.

We don’t just fight legislations (God knows those battles are easier to win), we fight an endemic social bias. That is where the misogyny of our culture lies. We are a society that legally permits the participation of women in public affairs, but we are also largely a society that doesn’t believe a woman can excel on the merit of her own intellect. A woman in a position of esteem is viewed suspiciously like a floating object – a magic trick. It deserves a closer look because, surely, that object must be balancing on structural support (Which essentially is a man). And that’s why no one is impressed enough, by that floating object, to give it the respect it deserves. People tend to invent imaginative background stories: if her husband or father is not connected enough to get her into that position, she must be fucking someone who is. And sometimes, for a woman, it’s more respectable to have visible structure than to allow people to speculate on her sexual activities. It is ultimately demeaning. This type of mindset cannot simply be eradicated by making laws; we can only wait for it to fade with time and exposure to a new way of living. But in the time before that happens, women are justified to be indignant.

We still consider female participation in public office an indulgence. One position is a chance given (not to Mrs Okeke alone) but to all women to prove themselves worthy of holding such positions. One man fails himself; but a woman fails for all women. And that is why names like Patricia Etteh, Stella Oduah, Allison Madueke and Maryam Sanda stand out as caveats; reasons cited to stifle the emancipation and the advancement of women. It doesn’t matter that for every corrupt woman politician there are easily ten corrupt male politicians. Or that Maryam Sanda stands in the company of men whose names we never even bothered to learn: Edwin Vincent, Sakiru Bello, James Uguru, Dominic Iyayi Ogar, Okon Ubem and Omolaja Shodipo – all perpetrators of heinous crimes, with victims equally real and deserving of the justice that Bilyaminu Bello deserves. It is clear that the popularity of this particular story in the news is due to the social caliber of the individual involved, but that hasn’t stopped people from making this an anti-feminist campaign (even here on Nairaland) – beware the revolution of the feminazi. This is an unwarranted generalization and it greatly undermines the relevance of feminism in our society. I would even go so far as to say that women are being bullied from all directions.

But the misogyny of our culture cannot be overlooked so easily.

In Africa, female disenfranchisement begins at birth. All too often, a woman’s place in her husband’s home is only secure after she provides him with a male child, someone to ‘carry on his name’. Because women are not qualified to keep a name, they are branded by their fathers or husbands, and that in itself speaks to the objectification and ownership of women (a practice that culminates in the exchange of a bride price upon the head of a woman). If, however, a woman has daughters (it doesn’t matter how many), she never balance well for chair be dat. She continuously gets harassed by impatient or worried family members, who would even go as far as finding a substitute wife for her husband – a woman who has ‘boys in her womb’. People conveniently forget science, and blame the woman for the sex selection of the child. So the point is that, boys are considered to be more valuable than girls, right of the bat, in African culture. And this notion often translates into the over-pampering of boys. We indulge them, massage their egos and fill them with a sense of entitlement. And girls are groomed to make ‘acceptable’ sidekicks. We teach them that a woman can only be complete as long as she is tethered to a man – any man.

So, even when we send girls to school and teach them to achieve personal goals, they must also transition successfully from their fathers’ houses to their husbands’ houses, or become social outcasts. We stigmatize women who fall between these two stools. If, for instance, Chimamanda Adichie does something praiseworthy, we first have to examine if her achievements are valid by asking ourselves if she has dutifully submitted herself to a husband in marriage before we can clap our hands for her. But Rita Dominic, Genevieve and Linda Ikeji, who are unmarried, are somehow still languishing in limbo awaiting society’s approval; still incomplete and un-established in spite of their giant strides in their chosen industry. And this type of social discrimination seems to be more important than ever these days, since women are becoming increasingly independent. Back in the day, a girl would marry, naïve and incapable, at sixteen; and all she could do was depend on a husband for her sustenance, and everything, including her raison d'etre; she would accept a life of total submission to him with gratitude and never challenge the boundaries of the small sphere of her existence. But now, when women have access to the tools to survive independently - education and life skills, when they have begun to have ambitions for themselves beyond the home, marriage ceases to be a necessity for financial security, and instead becomes a matter of personal choice. But still, society does not trust that enough women would chose to be married for the pure joys of companionship and procreation, so it stigmatizes single women and, thus, propagates marriage as a stamp of social approval.

A man can be whatever he wants, but a woman must fit in within the boundaries of a man’s expectations. Because she is the one who needs him to ratify her standing in social context. That’s the crux of the imbalance of social power. He can therefore dictate the margins of her existence and she must decide if she would rather be suppressed or ostracized. Case in point: the clamor for feminist ideals; some women would rather not be associated with feminism at all for the simple fact that it makes them less attractive to men and endangers them to singlehood. Some men even threaten feminists that they won't be rewarded with husbands if they didn't abandon their foolish cause. And women are aware that they risk being ostracized by embracing feminism, but the light at the end of the tunnel is that we would all get to that point where women are no longer validated by men in society. A point where women can make independent choices for themselves and not worry about how ‘sellable’ or attractive it makes them to men, as though women were derivative human beings.

Fitting in with men’s expectations has caused some women, over time, to bend in unnatural ways. Women are held to higher moral standards than men, not because they are naturally more virtuous, or biologically more capable, but because men are in the position to impose those standards that women have to conform to (if they wanted to be taken off the shelf). Female virginity, for instance, is still a requirement amongst many African men, while male virginity isn’t even a thing anymore. In an effort to present themselves as required, pure and sacred on a platter of divine offering, girls conceal and suppress ugly histories of sexual abuse, or even just a healthy appetite for sex (a God-given libido). Girls are shamed for their sexuality and even mutilated to control it, until her only reason for engaging in sex is to help achieve the male orgasm. A derivative human being. And although the cutting of the clitoris has been widely abolished in Nigeria, the fundamentals remain: that women ought to be sexually coy and repressed. If it isn’t being achieved with a razor blade, it’s being done by slut-shaming girls who explore their sexuality.

And girls, who are abused every so often, do not speak up for fear that the whole community would become privy to their ‘defilement’. And that would diminish their worth to a man, which is ultimately the worth of a woman in general in the African context. And if girls are discouraged from speaking up about these acts of violence, they only enable the perpetrators and encourage the cycle of abuse. Again, a girl must decide whether she would rather be suppressed or ostracized. And a lot of times, a mother makes that decision for her daughter who is not even ten years old. She chooses what she considers to be the easier path: to swallow your demons and fit in with society. It is true that boys are often victims of abuse as well, but they are not the ones tossed aside like rotten food over it. They are not the ones that have to deal with the conflict of needing to portray outward virtue when the knowledge of internal corruption plagues the mind.

The dictates of men go even further: a woman must like to cook and do domestic work, must not talk back to a man, must not be smarter than a man, does not need as much money as a man, must fit into specific standards of beauty, and with every requirement, they set limitations, amputating parts of a person designed by the same God, in order to create a new and entirely different being: A man’s woman. The danger of this approach is that the pressure of subjugation is external and does not conform to the internal desires of the person. And ultimately, tension is created. It’s battle of man versus God. Or, to avoid confusion, since people only see God from a variety of highly subjective perspectives, I should say: Man versus Nature. When women no longer require to be validated by anything other than their own integrity; when they are autonomous and self-determining in society, then they can dare to break out of the tiny boxes which men have determined for them for so long. They would no longer be compelled to fit in with a woman's definition according to a man. Of which most elements stem from wishful thinking rather than a keen observation of her true nature. And instead, women would be free to define themselves for themselves and accept only the limits that their nature (and not legislation or culture) imposes upon them. They can be products of their own desires.


Many men fear that if women were allowed to be products of their own desires, they would depict the image of ‘girls gone wild’. And that is probably because pro-feminist icons like Madonna have expressed such total lack of restraint in public to sell their brand. But they only feel the need to be so provocative about making the statement “I own myself, I can be myself, and Bleep you” because people still largely doubt that this is true. But feminism is not really about exhibiting a lack of decorum, it is about asserting one’s self; and the manner in which a person chooses to do so is a reflection of their personal morality. A person can be immoral as a feminist or non-feminist; it’s ridiculous to qualify the demand for female social emancipation immoral simply because some feminists are baring their privates on stage. A woman’s desires would still lead many women into traditional family lives, and this is not an un-feminist position at all. And if you’re asking what the hassle is about, imagine you were sitting in a room with the door locked and the key thrown away. And now imagine you were sitting in that same room with the door standing wide open. Choice, even if it is just an illusion, makes some positions more acceptable (attractive even) to one’s mind. It relieves pressure and gives us room to breathe.