Firstborn African Daughter Syndrome
The perils of being a first daughter in an African household cannot be overstated. When I browse the term “firstborn child struggles” on Google, I get inundated with articles that either talk about how most firstborn children are more likely to be leaders, or how susceptible they are to either depression, substance overdose or being a serial killer in later life.
I often find these articles lacking a more nuanced outlook of gendered experiences within firstborn children, particularly in an African context. Where is the mention of the outrageous expectation for an eldest African daughter to be unadulterated throughout her adolescence, yet somehow successfully gather enough worldliness by ages 21–23 to find a suitable life partner? Where are the conversations around the unwanted emotional burden imposed upon first daughters from the moment they become someone’s sister?
Firstborn Daughter Syndrome manifests in a variety of ways in a typical African household. From my experience, I believe there are two main factors that perpetuate this generational cycle on such a grand, continental scale— culture and ease-of-use.
Culture
The deep patriarchal system embedded in most African countries is not something new. Many cultures in Africa delegate women to a belittled, almost subhuman position in society in which most women live almost as an extension — something akin to a video game console attachment — to the men in their life. Her wants, needs, and desires are often put to the backburner, or not considered at all. Any outward display of indignation might lead to ostracization, being labelled as disrespectful, or worsening of oppression.
I purposely write the word outward above, because it is not uncommon for this (righteous) indignation, particularly among African mothers, to fester and turn into something ugly because it has no healthy outlet. This results in the inevitable “emotional offloading” unto the nearest person that is powerless to do anything else but accept a truckload of baggage with open arms — the eldest daughter. Why might the eldest daughter feel so powerless, you may ask? Culture, of course.
From childhood, it is ingrained in most African girls to be selfless, deferential, and to constantly look out for others.
You become a third parent to your younger siblings by default. Sometimes, this “adultification” does not become a conscious problem until one reaches adulthood and realizes that they spent the majority of their childhood changing diapers, cooking, and catering in other ways to their siblings and extended family members. And probably still do in adulthood. This is an expected rite of passage in many African homes, and the rationale given is usually the girl’s preparation for a yet non-existent husband in the future.
Ease-of-use
Cultural inclinations tie directly into the dynamics seen in a home. When a culture is so deeply embedded, it becomes excruciatingly difficult to change it. This is especially true in the presence of a long generational history of first daughter exploitation. If one’s mother, grandmother, and great grandmother were first daughters who bore the brunt of the emotional, physical, (and sometimes even financial) labor in their household, then the routine flows of that family may be fully cemented upon this dynamic. This means that overtime, delegating numerous responsibilities unto the first daughter becomes devastatingly easy to do. How so?
For one, seeking help from outside resources costs money. And this could be any kind of help, be it babysitting, house cleaning, tutoring, and even psychotherapy. Let us take the babysitting situation as an example. It is understandable that parents might want to train all their children to become responsible adults who can take care of themselves, and there is also a peace of mind that comes from knowing that your child is being watched by another one of your children. But this becomes a problem when an eldest child is not allowed to exist beyond the confines of their siblings’ wellbeing. For instance, if an eldest child frequently misses well-needed socialization time with her peers because she has to babysit her siblings, of which the parents can reasonably take up that role by themselves or enlist external help, then that is a problem.
Subjecting first daughters to emotional labor is also easy and much less painful for family members. When there is marital friction between both parents, siblings might feel the need to go to their older sister. Parents may also decide to vent frustrations about their spouse onto their eldest daughter. Women have more ability (and are unfortunately expected) to be nurturing and emotionally soothing to those around them. Eldest daughters internalize this expectation overtime through statements made by family members, as well as the examples set by the women in their lives.
“Don’t you know you are the first born, why aren’t you comforting your brother, so he stops crying?”
“You should live your life to set an example for your siblings, they are always watching you.”
“You are not behaving like a big sister at all. How can you be so selfish?”
It is easy to lay unfair burdens on first daughters because it is convenient. Because there might be no one else to lay that burden on. Because family members sometimes don’t know any better.
Now if for the most part, all siblings regardless of birth order go through this same situation, then the widely expressed exasperation of first African daughters would simply not exist. Unfortunately, it is a known fact that levels of discipline and hands-on parenting reduces with birth order. Add in this extra layer, and it is no wonder that a lot of firstborn women grow up resenting the parenting styles they were subjected to. Just enter the keywords: “African + firstborn + daughter” in Twitter’s search engine and you will see sad real-life examples of this phenomenon.
But, all hope is not lost. Although challenging, there is a way to live life on one’s own terms. It will require a mix of bravery, selfishness, and deliberate action. So, how does a firstborn African daughter thrive in a world that quite simply won’t leave her alone?
1. Set boundaries. Strict ones.
This might sound a bit alarming, given that the relations between many African daughters and their families are completely void of meaningful boundaries. But it is necessary. As an adult in general, having boundaries about the types of treatment you accept from other people, especially family members, will keep you sane and allow you to move through life without shrinking yourself to make others comfortable — which will simply make you miserable.
Although easier said than done, setting boundaries is possible, as long as you take baby steps. One day, one encounter at a time. It could be as simple as telling certain people that you are busy at a certain time and cannot be available 24/7 to attend to their requests. It could be a gentle hint at someone else who could do the work being assigned to you, and if you feel that you do not owe an explanation as to why, then don’t give it. The boundaries you decide to lay out depend on your situation and family dynamics, but if they are needed for your peace of mind, then take the plunge and don’t look back.
Anticipate that some people will say that you are being disrespectful or heartless, or that “you have changed.” That is expected, and in fact that means that you are doing something right! The important thing is finding a balance and convincing yourself of the necessity of setting these boundaries for yourself. Which brings me to my next tip.
2. Let go of the guilt. Affirm yourself constantly.
There is nothing wrong with being a lending hand to your family members. In fact, I personally love being a big sister to my siblings. Although the underlying theme of this article appears otherwise, I would not trade being the eldest daughter for the world. But there should be a balance. Realize that it is normal to want to lend support, but you should free yourself from the mentality that it is your outright obligation, or that you are like a third parent to your siblings — of course, this might be more complicated if one’s parents are not available for any reason, and the livelihood of the younger siblings solely rests on them.
One thing I see a lot of first African daughters doing, and that I myself am guilty of, is trying to “fix” parenting mistakes (evident in how parents raised us) by being hyper-involved in our siblings’ lives. There is a certain level of stress that comes from seeing the same mistakes being passed down to one’s siblings and feeling somewhat helpless to do anything about it. This is especially true if the eldest daughter is out of the house, and the younger siblings still live with the parents. If you are an eldest daughter reading this, know that is not your prerogative, and free yourself from the guilt associated with it.
There is a healthy level of concern which you should normally have for your siblings, and all your loved ones for that matter. It is also a noble and sometimes necessary act to be involved in molding your younger siblings into the best version of themselves. But since you were not responsible for birthing them, nor are they under your direct care, then it is important to acknowledge that there are some things you might not be able to change. Trust the process of their growth and life’s learning curve and contribute in the best way you can for their benefit and your relationship with one another. After all, this is actually the approach most parents use anyway.
3. Go to therapy. Unlearn the negative stuff.
A lot of firstborn African daughters reach adulthood without an established sense of identity. Throughout their lives, they probably had no one they could vent to. Yet, they are expected to function as productive members of society, all while balancing work life, romantic relationships, social life, and family ties. This is an overwhelming task that should not be undertaken alone. Share your struggles and feelings with someone you trust. Believe me, it makes all the difference.
Therapy has been seen as taboo in many African cultures, and people shun you if there is any indication that you have a mental illness. The sad irony of this is that mental health issues are rampant in many African communities because therapy is such a forbidden topic. Fortunately, the perception of therapy and mental health is this current generation of African millennials is more positive and receptive, so there is hope for the future. There are numerous online therapy resources that can be taken advantage of, whether you are in continental Africa or within the diaspora.
It is gravely understandable that the tips I share here are not universally applicable to many African women, whose livelihoods, communities, and health may be in jeopardy if they were to follow them. However, it is my hope that after reading this, the millions of firstborn African daughters who share this collective experience realize that they are not alone in this issue.
