Entry One

I just turned 36 (yesterday). I find myself here at my desk staring at freshly manicured nails, wondering: how does one become a cat lady? What are the steps? Is there a licensing board for spinsters where one can exchange their single woman card for the official ‘spinstership’ registration? Are there forms one should fill out?

Now that I am officially in my late thirties, I think I’m ready to fill out such a form.

I am an average-looking, petite, caramel-skinned, dreadlocked African woman with a warm heart and child-bearing hips. And yet my hips have not born any biological children, and I have reclaimed my warm heart from the last serious contender who I imagined could slip into the role of life partner/husband. All that remains is disappointment – no righteous anger or indignation. As warm as my heart is, few men have fanned its flames. Hardly any make it skip a beat. I find myself wondering, “where is the knight in shining armour who should ride into my life, sweep me off my feet, changing my life forever?” The shiniest knight I’ve met offered a ring that felt more like a shackle, so I blew it all up and ran for the hills years ago.

Being an African woman carries with it the expectations of marriage by 20-something, multiple children, at least one of whom MUST be a boy, keeping an excellent house, and having a decent job that does not interfere too much with child-rearing or family responsibilities. The mother-woman is the cornerstone on which the home is built, the core, the nucleus, and ultimately the extended family will have expectations of the mother-woman. She plays wife, mother, daughter, daughter-in-law, auntie (younger-mother or older-mother), aunt (dad’s sister/advisor), sister, grandmother in a play she is not directing, and a story she is not writing.

“Finish school”
“Get a job”
“Find a husband”
“Have children”
“Give us children”
“Don’t embarrass the family”
“Make us proud”
“Make us proud”
“Make us proud!”

Her life is not her own. It took a village to raise her; she belongs to the village.

At 35, I quit my job, left home, and moved to a western country, and started over. A new university degree, new career, and newer dating prospects. Maybe I haven’t found the elusive husband because he was on another continent all along. So here I am, more than halfway into the new degree, with job prospects on the horizon, and my (digital) eyes peeled for the knight.

I carry the village expectations with me.

What is it they said? A Christian, God-fearing, holy man, kind, giving, smart, generous, wealthy, impressive, successful, mature, super-hero, family-man, puppy-saving knight, educated, walks on water, faithful, loyal, honest, handsome, humble, bakes brownies, graceful, disciplined, passionate, and, and, and… basically Gabrielle-reincarnate. Wait, is that what they said, or is that what I think, or is that the fairy tale? Where is my voice in all of this?

What is it they said? Follow your heart, don’t settle, know yourself, pray, maintain your standards, don’t compromise, do compromise, pray, work out your deal breakers, settle for a man as long as he is good enough, practice the power of positive thinking, pray, be feminine, dress attractively, be confident, pray, God will bring you the perfect one. There is “the one,” there is no “one,” there are many “ones,” there is “no one.” Where is my voice in all of this?

How do we form or find our own voices? How do we distil our own desires? Finding the intersection of what my family nucleus wants for me, what I want, what the church wants, what the church says I should want, and what the village says I should go for seems insurmountable. The paint on my nails has adequately solidified, while my stance on the knight has not. I thought I had a game plan, a list of pros and cons that I could follow and trust to guide me through the compromise. But as I sit here staring at the glossy nail art hiding my natural matte nails that is a perfect description of the dichotomy of who I am, divided unto myself, I can’t help but think of cats.

I grew up in a house with pets. Dogs are playful and free with their affection. But cats always appealed more to me. Their fiercely independent streak and no-nonsense attitude had me working harder for their affection. Winning them over always felt more like a prize. African mythology, past and present, has led to the demonisation of cats. They have been seen as witches or witches’ companions. Members of my village were afraid of cats and found it strange that we kept feline pets. I always thought this was an unfortunate misrepresentation of kitty cats, and I found myself drawn all the more to this misunderstood creature. So… cats?

They are warm (enough), clean (enough) creatures requiring commitment but not constant care. Requiring mild affection and consideration, the stakes of cat ownership are just right for me. But one would be lonely when I am not there. Two could keep each other company. Three would basically raise each other. Four won’t even need my attention. Five would make play time fun. Six would make my house a home, but seven, seven is the number of perfection.

How does one become a cat lady? What are the steps? Is there a licensing board for cat ladies where one can exchange their single woman card for the official cat lady registration, now that I am officially in my late thirties? Are there forms one should fill out?

I think I’m ready to be a cat lady.

 

 

 

 

 

Photo by Bave Pictures on Unsplash