I Hate That My Daughter Danced
It is all in the details.
Over the weekend, my daughter wanted:
Slime, mummy. I want slime. Let’s go to the supermarket and get slime.
I knew she would be disappointed. I searched repeatedly for slimes in the bigger supermarkets around but couldn’t get them.
I knew who could. Problem was, I did not want to make that call.
Slime mummy, slime. Please…
I said:
Let’s call Daddy. He will get them for you.
The change in my daughter was instantaneous:
Call Daddy? Yeah! I love Daddy. Let’s call him.
Cue the dance. My daughter was that excited to speak with Daddy.
I felt…not good.
I have never seen my daughter dance that way, or maybe I was trying to hurt myself for just my reasons. I started to analyze my feelings and they bore this piece.
As an African woman, men are gold. Men are everything.
Marriage is the greatest ambition and children are second after marriage. In many homes, women come in fourth after husband, children, and the family’s finance, if they are lucky. Other times, they are further down the line after their mother-in-law, father-in-law, friends of the husband, spiritual advisors, and even the husband’s flavor of the moment.
You see Dear Reader, I used to think that most patriarchal systems and misogyny happen in Africa, but this piece by Araci Almeida reminded me that irrespective of continent, the 21st century has not caught on to the fact that women are as human as men.
So my daughter dancing provoked me, not because I hated that she loved her father but for me, it was a reminder that Mummy does not have the luxury to be absent and beloved just like Daddy is. I cannot imagine leaving my daughter for months and years. Daddy can. And Daddy gets to do it guilt-free.
Growing up, I rarely heard my mother say she was busy. My mother was a lecturer at the Polytechnic. She had set lecture times. She had to make study plans and take care of all that came with life as a teacher.
My father worked in the same school but he was in administration and treated his work like a leisure.
Yet, my mother alone cooked all the meals when we had no help, she made sure we got up early for school, she made sure we did our homework and she was there when the school wanted her to be. When we went off to boarding schools, my mother visited during visiting days.
I mean, who else would do that? It was her job.
I heard my father say all the time that he was busy — too busy to attend our school events. With my mother, it was not a question. We took it for granted that she would be present. And for six children, she was.
With my daughter, Daddy is busy of course and when Daddy comes around, he is the fun parent.
Mummy is always present. Mummy disciplines. Mummy runs after her and Mummy picks up after her. Mummy is always within reach and when Daddy has to leave, Mummy is the one who picks up the pieces of her broken heart as she cries for Daddy.
Mummy is also the one who facilitates their relationship every time she wants Daddy.
How did we as a society arrive at this?
How does Mummy put in so much and get so taken for granted? My mother’s work was every bit as important as my father’s work but if Daddy locks up his door and wants to rest for hours, we dared not make a sound in the house. We just knew not to. Even Mummy will hush us if we forgot ourselves. If my mother needed a rest (not that she ever needed one), her door was never locked up and we played all the same. Mummy’s rest never mattered.
When we needed our mother, we needed her now and then — on our schedule. When we needed Daddy, our emergencies worked around his schedule.
Until I grew older, I never knew my mother was the one who made sure that we never lacked the necessities in the home. Society trains us to believe that women contribute less.
A man and a woman can work the same job, and the same hours but she gets paid less. That alone should tell us there is something wrong in our society but what it teaches though is that women are not as qualified as men even when they work the same job and in the same position.
Somehow, it is a favour done to the woman to take all her time and pay her peanuts for it. She should be grateful to have a job. Jobs and equality rights are not her right.
My father was paid more than my mother and he was the one who dispersed the finances of the home. He started with my mother’s pay.
I once heard my mother say:
You take all my money. For a woman who works my job and earns my pay, I cannot even afford new clothes or do my hair.
My father looked at her and then at us and smirked:
Women.
A word without words but one with a world of meaning and it must have been effective because that shut up my mother.
My mother rarely had a dime left over by the time my father was done with his ‘budgeting’. Yet, my father got to keep the rest of his pay for the many trips to the bar and everywhere his pleasure called.
This was the reality of our home and I bet that for many African homes, this is not far from their reality either. Yet, Daddy’s job is more revered than Mummy’s job and for that, Daddy gets the most credit.
Thank Daddy.
We always remembered to say after every meal. Sometimes, we forgot to thank Mummy.
By the design of society, women are not consequential enough to matter so of course, there is no way she financially provides as much as the man does.
Just like Daddy’s work is important because he tells us all the time. Mummy has no time to complain so her job must be unimportant and if unimportant, how can her financial contributions matter?
The differences in the treatment of parents (men and women) can be so subtle, it is near devilish. But I have learned that it is in the details-
As an example, ask an African — When food is served, usually by the mother, Daddy (first of all), gets the best of the pot. He gets the fattest and choicest parts of the meat.
In some homes, the first daughter kneels down to hand Daddy the wash hand bowl and rises after he is done washing his hand. And there is always someone close by Daddy in case he needs anything — salt? Pepper? Sugar? No one ever asks the mother if she needs anything. She gets what she gets.
If her in-laws are around, their meals take precedence over what Mummy eats. It is bad form for a woman to eat better than her in-laws. Imagine the affront!
Again, take the way spaces are shared. There is the ensuite Master bedroom which is automatically, the man’s room. He is the head of the home and the head of the woman. He is the Master. The woman gets to take the second-largest room and gets to enjoy the joys of motherhood further — sharing her bathroom and everything else, with her children.
Details, Dear Reader. Details.
Every day the subtleties of life between parents or just men and women, continue to loom larger in my mind’s eye. Mummy’s needs are never as important as Daddy’s and as adults, women continue to put their needs even below tertiary.
The cycle gets reinforced and strengthened. Women are socialized to put everyone else’s needs above theirs.
Ashamedly, I have found myself doing this even with my parents. Mummy’s needs can be put off. Daddy’s needs are always important and very urgent.
Maybe in my mind, Daddy wouldn’t need to ask me for help because he is never vulnerable so whatever he humbles himself to ask for, must be so important and so urgent.
Mummy, however, is always available. She is always within reach. Daddy may not call me for weeks but Mummy rarely goes a day without checking in so, she is always here. But not Daddy…
I am present. I am available. And I am always within reach and as a result, I get to watch my daughter dance because she gets to call her father.
I rechanneled my thoughts over the weekend and today, I dance for YOU- all our mother and for all women. I dance for those who get to do all the tiny little things, and those who are the bedrock on which we thrive.
It is my sincere hope that the world gets a clearer vision to see the invisible hands of those who hold us up.
Thank you for reading. How different is the world I described from yours?