The problem with the way we have been dealing with Patriarchy in the comfort of cyberspace – like cool kids, ignorant to a point of horror, of arrogance and lack and small dreams and padded bras – is that we fail to see just how many monsters are created from this culture. Monsters with breasts and big butts and a brain full of the need to be wanted by the opposite sex. Patriarchy is fed and nurtured by the self-doubt and anxieties of women.
Let us talk of contemporary situations: of one woman walking into a place with two women already seated. Her presence is judged immediately, and in most situations, unfairly- by other women. Not the man; if a man were to be present his scrutiny would bring about a very insubstantial conclusion:
Do I want to sleep with her? Do I not. Period.
And he goes back to his beer.
But the women, seated across the room, built for unhealthy rivalry will proceed, with ease, to serve as connoisseurs over this stranger’s existence.
“With that ring, she must be engaged, so why is she wearing a dress so short?”
“That weave is no Peruvian. Looks tacky.”
“She can’t even walk properly in those Louboutins.”
“She doesn’t look like she can afford that Prada purse, probably dating a man old enough to be her father.”
“She isn’t even that pretty sef.”
It’s all a woman’s job to wreck another woman. It’s a pastime; and once in a while we recruit a few slothful males to the trade to give it oomph.
We have mastered the art of reproach that feeds on our insecurities. The men just watch, and take advantage of the gnawing contention that exists naturally between two women.
We are judged perpetually by our physical endowments- by other women- because we draw attention mostly to those regions.
We cannot be like this, women. We just can’t. Why are you not comfortable just being yourself without drawing attention to breasts and bums you have no credit creating?
Women are constantly building their self-worth on who is finer, who has the better shape, who can get away in shorts, whose boobs are perkier.
We are first to demean another woman’s success with a tale that makes us comfortable in our stark averageness. She must be f%$king a big man to be able to achieve that.
It is true, these ridiculous utterances, and I have many stories to back that up.
But what does it matter? We know this already. Mothers bring up sons differently, mother-in-laws are cruel to wives; wives do not see eye-to-eye with mother-in-laws, friends fight over men; women weigh their successes and happiness on whose bed they get to sleep on. Our esteem is built on the relationships we have with men; your own sexuality is appreciated only when you can hear a man tell you, “You are hot.”
You are sick.
You need help.
But that is a personal opinion. Because I am tired of having to deal with the issues that plague the average woman.
Mothers are made to walk naked in market squares because they couldn’t wait for run-away husbands to come back from a f&%king spree stretching to almost a decade! These disgraceful acts are endorsed by their own daughters.
Women are still made to drink from dead bodies to prove their innocence.
These retarded traditions are backed and pummelled to shape by women. Women are vanguards of patriarchy, of shaming other women, of causing grief and pain to their kind.
Our honour sits on a pile of dung; waiting for anything, in the form of male, to rescue us from ourselves.
And when we are not busy hating on each other, we are building unhealthy cliques that derive pleasure in hating every other woman outside its circle.
This is only scratching the surface of a truth that I am ashamed to acknowledge amongst my gender.
There’s got to be more to us than the colour of lollipop thrust into your mouths.
Or maybe not; maybe it is easier to just have a big ass and wait for everything else to fall in place.
Let us know when it finally pays off.
Joy Isi Bewaji is the author of Eko Dialogue and What Pain May Bring. She has an audio series titled: Tina’s Shoes and Love Issues
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