“I have been woman for a long time. Beware my smile, I am treacherous with old magic and the noon’s new fury with all your wide futures promised. I am woman”
— Audre Lorde

 

i.

To be a woman is to be first, human. Human. Woman. These words are meant for the completion of the other. We cannot live one without the other, it is that which encompasses us, to live to be both. We learn to raise our shoulders high, our chin up, to laugh in certain ways that do not conform with our minds, to expose our thoughts only in our heads.

They’ll shout, “Girls shouldn’t speak too much”
“Hey you are a talkative, will you shut it right now?

All I know is that to be a woman is to be first, human. To be able to identify the tenacity, and see how powerful we can compel. Isn’t that what humans do? To be able to understand the novelty of a mother’s touch, to lighten the burden of a sister. To acknowledge the wisdom of a father and the appraisal of a stranger as they form magnificent meanings and sing your name at the fountain of their lips.

 

ii.

All our lives, we are taught to consider that there are three stages of being a woman. In all we do, we choose what we want to be. The adversities we face as women come from the voyage of our growth: a child with emotions, with expression. We are first taught to talk, to speak, but should be silent when we seek to air our opinions. We are taught that the first stage of being a woman is to learn about ourselves. We must express no colour, even if we do want to express one, we must express it in silence. So, we come out dark. But even darkness is a colour infusing and concealing our words. How dare light penetrate our minds? How dare you talk of your concerns? And leap in confidence? So, you take in silence and master the art. When you speak tenderly, in a voice only you see its beauty, you learn that a lady whose vigour runs through accepting and knowing herself is concerned with how masculine she sounds.

They’ll say, “try and speak like a woman.”
“Pronounce every word with strains like that woman from the TV on NTA News @10.”
“Give your pronunciation some aesthetic and choose them wisely.”

 

iii.

You will learn to pride your existence on your significant other, do you not know that a woman is given respect for how she speaks because that’s her comfort. You will learn that staying in a comfort zone isn’t hazardous for a young woman. So, you walk with humility in your voice. When you are eight years old, you beat a boy and break his head, you break into violence, because how dare he touch your breast and make advances at you.

They will tell you, “Don’t you know women do not go through violence to act, they report violence. You do not fight with boys”
“But he touched my breast,” you’ll say.
They’ll shout, “You do not fight with boys.”

You will learn that as a girl with the notion of wanting to become a woman, you must know how to comply with your feelings and say nothing about your emotions. Who are you to show them? So, you will learn to keep your distance with words. A battle only you fight and win unanimously.

 

iv.

As you grow to understand yourself, to learn to walk in ways that only they understand and value because they have been here before you. You imitate a world of consciousness as you see yourself willow. You comply, because isn’t that what they teach you as a little girl, as you will one day grow to become a woman. So, you learn not to overshadow your masters — not to be audacious. But regardless of these values, you understand that not everybody will have their way. So, you bathe yourself in stubbornness.

“I do not just want to be asked to do everything, I want something to be given to me too.”

 

v.

One day, you are stubborn. You refuse the errands of Baba Awwal, your neighbor. He invites you to his room, and you decline. He calls you a possessed witch. You are only twelve. You have heard stories — stories of women being held down to beds without their consent and their rights given away. Or the women giving up the ghosts, you hear their stories. Their husbands acquire their souls, tarnish them in fire, and sacrifice them at crossroads. You refuse Baba Awwal’s errands because he is no different from these men who take women without their will. I won’t blame you, I blame them, those who will speak evil of your choice. You will learn a new notion for yourself when they scold you.

They will tell you, “You lack respect for your elders, should you not be on your knees begging them for errands? Do you not know how important it is to maintain relationships with your elders? Please them as they want.”

No woman on earth ever walks the path of obedience and fails. Even when the path screams clearly of error, you should walk. Not fast but steady with patience on your face and prayers in your heart. So, practice being a good girl. To please the muffins, you must first feed them.

They will say, “That is enough to prepare you for a future. Do you not want to be married? Then learn the ethics of how to treat your in-laws.”

 

vi.

Now that you are taught the essence of being a woman and the attribute she must possess, shredded in their delusion, you will take steps with caution and naivety. You do not dare stomp your feet on the ground that taught you to crawl. You have learned to walk and talk in ways that do not suit you, but you breathe — contaminated air, reeking of hurtful criticism and degradation.

 

vii.

You told your friend, “Home is where your heart resides.”
“What do you mean?” she asked

You had just left a terrible relationship. You don’t know how to explain the shrinkness of your soul. “This is not what I used to be,” you fight back. You miss your old self where words were never far from your lips, this time you stutter your words. You downgrade yourself for not being worthy. You keep running from yourself. You do not let them see the magic that you make at the corner of your home where you are alive and jolly, away from the noise on the outside.

You remember you love reading books, so you grab one from your bookshelf. This time you read Yejide Kilanko’s “Daughters Who Walk This Path.” You are amazed at how Eniayo wears her skin — gloriously, adorned with praises on strangers’ lips. You look beyond the adversities she faced, and you want to be like that too. You want to accept yourself. You want to stop running. You want to clutch onto the last bus home, a place where only you sing your glory. You want to meet the little girl by the door saying welcome home.

You want to feel the ease that comes after every pain. You want to be human — this time you want to be both human and a woman. You acknowledged your thoughts and wanted to be taught by them, this time without the intrusion from the world outside.

 

viii.

In the first chapter of Viola Davis’ Finding Me, you learn that it is impeccable as humans to accept oneself. You may be reluctant at first, but that is what is best for you — to find yourself. It is your calling, as no one will walk or work your races or spaces for you. So, you walk into accepting yourself. That is what magical humans do. Transforming into something beautiful — like a butterfly, radiant and aware of its glory.

Here is the last stage you want to be. The last stage of being a woman, when you know the truth of a woman, understand it and absolve its richness. You keep your standards high, your focus sharp. You become radiant in your skin, you wear comfort and confidence. This time you have found your light. You speak with serenity in your voice. You come to terms with accepting the fruitiness of accepting oneself. When you enter daring rooms, you leave quite an impression.

They’ll say, “What an audacious woman.”

On days you attend events where you will socialize, you will live in your own world. Regardless of how people will perceive you; good or bad; shy or intimidating; lousy or quiet; groovy or slow, anyhow you choose to wear your hat, you will make sure you enjoy living. You will take on central stages and dance. You will sit in the heart of God’s favour, joyous and blessed. You acknowledge a part of life that is best for you. You put in the work. You plough through the mud. You have seen the rainy days and you have overcome them. You do not wither, even if you do wither, it will rain again and you will bloom like the daffodils.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Photo by Mayur Deshpande on Unsplash