I’m afraid of falling into tradition, of being what society has already created of a woman, of being the object that feeds and cleans a man. It’s not in my list of wishes to care for him, not in a friendly way but in the way that makes him my responsibility, I don’t want to cook and serve him, I don’t want to clean and dress him, I even think it’s unfair that I have to carry his baby. I know you’ll argue that it’s my baby too but all indications prove that he has a little more right than I do.
I even don’t understand why it has to be me,to bear the pain,carry that child,crave,go through morning sickness, then bring him up.
I am tired of conflicting with my soul,convincing it that it’s okay,that there is nothing wrong,but hell yah! there is everything wrong.I want to do everything I want,I want to tame my heart,train it to love me more than anyone else,I hate the thought of having to go through the global epidemic of women worrying about where their men could be,talking about how he has changed,lately,coming home late,if he at all does come home.
The more I think about it,the more I discover, that that path that 99% of the female population travelled is not for me.I know I want to do something more for myself and a little more for humanity.
It’s not about fun and freedom, it’s about inner peace and satisfaction, that after a long Monday at work,I don’t have to come home and worry sick about things concerning a grown man,and don’t lie to me that you can ignore!! no you can’t, he is supposed to be your man and when you think that he is roaming the streets like a stray dog,then you have to worry.
Don’t even try making it sound like I don’t work hard enough to make him come back home,so what if I also decide he isn’t good enough for me to go back home to early? I should have a choice of hanging out in avoidance of his company till late night.
What happened to African women? nothing, they just opened their minds and saw life for what it really is,a short experience that shouldn’t be wasted following a misguided recipe that leads to formation of a concoction of chaotic moments.
I don’t want to follow any procedures, I want to step out of the lane,try over speeding, slowing down and changing lanes,I don’t want a bunch of few people to terrorise my life and just own it,I don’t want to know where everyone’s everything is when no one knows where my anything is,I don’t want to be a slave of violence with pans and plates,onions and garlics.
I want freedom, from ties that bind me to specific positions,from specific thoughts that will continuously bombard my pretty mind with care and concern for people that will forever be part of me.