“After wetin my husband do me, na me come still kneel down beg am, the thing pain me so tey tears comot for my eye…” (written in Nigeria Pidgin English)
These were the words of a beautiful young mother and wife as she walks down our street, carrying her baby with a wrapper on her back as a typical Africa woman would do. Pouring out her ordeals to her friend so loudly, (I assume unconsciously) that I could hear her sound and clear even though a little distant from her.
Now, I do not know what her story was, of course, I couldn’t call her to ask her. But her words kept me thinking, thinking about “The Africa Woman”.
Who exactly is she and why does she have to carry so much on her shoulders?
Yes, she didn’t have to tell me her story, yet I know. I KNOW HER EVERY SINGLE STORY!
I knew her even while she was just a child, running and playing around innocently, with her fresh baby skin and a mind full of potentials. Yet all ‘they’ could see and think about is “oh, she is beautiful, let her grow up and marry a rich man.”Woe unto her if she ends up marrying the opposite, marrying late or worst not marrying at all.
Yes, I know her story. I knew her while she was just about clocking teenage hood, developing those attracting, soft, sensitive sexual organs she is many times unable to protect from the touch, pinch and even slaps of ‘them’ that try to draw her consciousness and attention to these fine things she now possesses.
Woe unto her if her parents or guardians are not interested in protecting this up-coming Africa damsel. She may have to cope with early defilement and made to think that what she now possesses is only important because a ‘male’ is willing to touch it.
Yes, I know her story! I knew her when she was 16,17,18 and 19. How she fell in love with that ‘male’ who seems to care and smile at her more than the rest. Yeah, she really thought this was it. After all, she felt fire and thunder and electric and water and the rest.
Woe unto her if that ‘male’ didn’t mean business, and she had already separated her legs thinking the feeling is mutual. That is if she is lucky enough not to be forced and ripped off of the only thing she has been made to think she has to offer.
My only prayer for her now is that; let that seed she may bear not be another Africa Woman! Because that would mean, the repetition of her life’s story is about to begin all over again.