Gender Roles, Sexist Souls and a Plot Full of Holes
You cannot claim to be a feminist and succumb to gender roles.
Once upon a time, on a cold and rainy Friday evening, while casually eating a cob of corn and Ube¹, I stumbled upon an article about Feminism.
Now before you roll your eyes and think, not another rant by a loud-mouthed, bra-burning man-hater, I implore you to hear (or rather, read?) me out for however long it takes you to read this article.
[Side note: I’m over here wondering why feminism has become such a dirty word? Insert eye roll here]
The article touched heavily on gender inequality. Because of this, I began to think hard about Feminism. About African Feminism. About Nigerian Feminism. About gender roles and about my experience a long time ago at a dinner party which I will tell you about as you read on.
But first, the definition of feminism.
For those living in a cave, who haven’t heard of the word Feminism, or for those who have an immediate knee-jerk reaction to the word, it is simply defined as the advocacy of women’s rights on the basis of the equality of the sexes. No, it is not the belief that women should be held at a higher regard than men, it is simply the advocacy of the male and female sex being equal. African Feminism is a type of feminism innovated by African women that specifically addresses the conditions and needs of continental African women, a definition that can be applied to Nigerian Feminism.
The feminism movement, as widespread as it has become, has inadvertently produced peculiar by-products, which shall henceforth be referred to as BPFMs (By-Products of the Feminism Movement). Are you a BPFM? If so, read with caution. This article is unapologetically about the peculiar and bizarre traits of BPFMs, also known as pseudo-feminists.
The BPFM breed are overt feminists and covert patriarchists. They are usually recognized by their cherry-picking acts of feminism. These BPFMs, specifically of the Nigerian persuasion, announce to anyone who can hear or post on their social media how “pro-woman” they are, but in their heads, they dream of being the third wife of Alhaji so long as he’s rich but shake their heads at the concept of polyandry. You see them in the front lines, arguing that women should earn the same as men but unbeknownst to anyone but themselves, they have ²Bobo 1, Bobo 2, Bobo 3 and Bobo 4 saved on their phones, as they steadily await to throw themselves at the “highest bidder.”
They take selfies, wearing shirts with the word Feminist in bold print, but boast to their friends how they made Alhaji pay for their Louis Vuitton handbags and Dior shoes. While they boast, they think to themselves how Bobo 5 will pay for their new desire. The coveted iPhone 11. But after the selfies of these BPFMs wearing “Feminist" shirts are posted online, they proceed to spread their legs and fake an orgasm for Alhaji, Zaddy and Bobo 5 in exchange for their precious gifts.
The BPFMs in this context, are like dummies without a soul. Like blow-up dolls without a brain, created only for the pleasure of the man while erasing their self-worth. This article places a laser focus on BPFMs. Don’t come at me, I’m just the writer, blame his royal highness for producing these strange by-products. King Patriarchy.
Let’s go back to that dinner party I was at, a long time ago. Somewhere in Lagos.
A long time ago, I was at a dinner party. A luxurious one. The type where invitation cards are sprayed with expensive perfume or written in cursive, embroidered letters. The type where 7-course meals are served rather than five (or three). You get the point.
At this dinner party, I sat next to an adoring couple who spoonfed each other and completed each other’s sentences. It was cute to watch. But in response to my question of what makes their marriage work, he stated and I’m paraphrasing here, that he is the king, leader, and head of the household, to which his wife nodded in agreement, saying that as a submissive wife, he is correct in his stance. She mentioned that she’s a feminist, and in the same breath, uttered a blasphemous statement. Wait for it… that gender inequality is different from gender roles.
I listened in shock, as I chewed on my spaghetti bolognaise. I listened, as the ignorance of their statements hit me like a ton of bricks. I listened as the shock made me chew, but not swallow. Like a cow masticating grass.
“Cough” Let the lashing out begin.
Ladies and gentlemen, newsflash. Gender roles IS Gender inequality. Plain and simple. I guess in this man’s masculinist delusion, having ball sacks automatically makes him the “head" and “king" and has fooled him into thinking that there are intellectual differences or special and coveted skills that put him in a separate class from his wife, a higher one. Differences big enough to categorically place him in the leadership position, and his wife in the subordinate, submissive position. Laugh out loud.
Why should there be an assigned “president” or “managing director” of a family in order for it to function? Is a family of man, wife, and child similar to a company, where there is a designated boss and group of subordinates? Well actually, no, because subordinates usually climb up the ladder to a higher position, but what ladder does the wife climb? Her genitalia determines her fate of subjugation and suppression.
Why is this “president" or “managing director” chosen based on genitalia and not because he is necessarily deserving of the role? What is wrong with the husband and wife playing to their strengths? If the wife is an excellent decision-maker and is proficient at delegating tasks, why can’t she be the provider? If the husband has an inherent ability to care for others in an endearing way, why can’t he freely primarily care for his kids without being tagged as “effeminate”?
Society expects that women take the all-encompassing role of; caretaker, breast-feeder, childrearer, laundromat, executive chef, french maid, man-pleaser and baby maker while all he has to do is go to work, be aggressive, be a protector and provider. But with these few roles, amazingly, he conveniently has the title of “head” and “lord.” Someone tell me what he’s heading? Spreadsheets or children? But hey, not my business.
Why on earth should there be a “leader" or “head" of a family if a husband and wife are expected to be partners who have mutual respect for each other? Having the title of “head”, immediately insinuates that the other is a subordinate. Hierarchy in a family construct is unnecessary. There is no proof that a hierarchal structure is important in order to make a family function properly. I mean do I need to pull out receipts to show all the dysfunctional families that do have a head? Yup, didn’t think so.
A head and helper dynamic in the context of family, perpetuates oppression, gender stereotypes, toxic masculinity/femininity, sexism, and gender inequality. Patiently waiting for the Bible thumpers to knock fervently on my door.
You cannot claim to be a feminist and succumb to gender roles. Gender roles produce sexist souls who eventually can become the dreaded BPFMs. Gender roles have to be adequately and appropriately smashed in order for gender equality to exist. Point blank, period.
You cannot claim to be a feminist and succumb to gender roles.
Women, especially African/Nigerian women, have been groomed from infanthood not to disobey their husbands, to prepare for babies who are not yet born, care for a husband and children they don’t yet have, convert to the religion of their potential husbands, be a designated chef for a family they don’t yet have, to remain passive and weak and to only speak when spoken to. If you ask me, that’s a lot of pressure on one woman. But with all these expectations, she’s expected to conform with a smile. It is deeply rooted in most Nigerian cultures, that women are expected to be bought like property before the fateful traditional wedding day and mind their business as the price of their souls is negotiated by men who are not well-versed in womanhood.
In these Nigerian streets, the pièce de résistance of womanhood for most women is a wedding and kids. Nothing more. Nothing less. Even if the woman who has become a Mrs, is unhappy and miserable in her marriage, she is expected to put up and shut up, and to tackle her misery internally because after all, she’s married. What else could she want? But if I say being married with kids does not define womanhood, and that it does not make one, more womanly than a single, childless woman, the masculinists and patriarchists will come for me with their torches and machetes.
Being married with children should be a choice. Just like choosing a color of nail polish or choosing to eat beef rather than pork. But hey, what do I know?
If you are reading this and you agree with Chimamanda Adichie’s mantra that We should all be Feminists, but somehow believe that men must and should have technical skills, while women, social skills, Here’s some news for you. You are a bonafide BPFM with a degree in pseudo-feminism. Too harsh? The truth hurts.
Fake feminism trivializes actual feminism and demeans women in order to maintain the patriarchal status quo. BPFMs, particularly Nigerian BPFMs, can be identified when you hear them sing at the top of their lungs, every word of the anthem, “Who Run the World? Girls" by Beyonce, but subtly slut-shame their fellow women who are victims of rape. They argue with their male counterparts about the difficulties that women face in the big, bad world, but lowkey buy the idea that a woman’s place is in the kitchen, where she expertly runs around like a busy bee, eager to serve and satisfy her man.
It is my observation that BPFMs practice fake feminism “to be safe” and to subtly declare that “they’re not that type of feminist" for the comfort and contentment of patriarchists far and wide. To these pseudo-feminists, we see you and we call your bluff. Stay in a lane. If you claim to be a feminist, be one because you whole-heartedly believe in the cause. Not because you think it’s cool, on-trend and sexy. For those at the back, can you hear me? No, really. Can you?
Pseudo-feminists and BPFMs alike, pick a struggle. Pick a side. Heck, pick a goddamn lane. But I can’t shout. Your actions have somehow made my throat sore. Excuse me while I go sip my tea to soothe my pain. No pun intended.
Definitions
- Ube- Nigerian word used to describe the fruit of the tree, Dacryodes edulis. The fruit has a purple skin and light green flesh.
- Bobo- Nigerian slang for boyfriend
