EMELUMADU, IJEOMA CHIOMA
 Published
December, 9th, 2009
I have always thought that I am among the category of
ladies who detest feminism. Whether it is of the big “F” or
the small “f”, I have never fully understood the essence of
the discipline or any other “isms” that propagate the
message of gender dichotomy. I have always been a
traditional person, arguing loudly that feminism is becoming
a myth and entirely becoming senseless.
Recently, I have had cause to change my mind. I have had
cause to declare loudly to myself that I hate men. Not the
kind of murderous hatred that burns with intense passion
wrecking the foundation of a person’s being but the kind of
hatred that emanates from the helplessness of living with
what you can not do without. This kind of hatred mocks one
so much so that you want to scream and throw things. This
kind of hatred is the type that explodes in your face when
an insensitive guy beckons on you from his wound down car
window to cross the road and come meet him there. As if that
one is not enough for him, he sits in his car and lets you
remain standing while he vomits all the trash in his mouth.
Some might argue that I am not the-opposite-gender friendly.
No. I like men. In fact, I am one of those who can even say
I love men, but there is a part of me that wishes that otolo
will blast all of them and leave the world a better place.
Men only think women are sex objects, especially the elderly
lecherous ones who have a family to cater for. I do not
understand the reason for this.
I was at the charity bus stop the other day going to Rutam
house in Isolo. There was a crowd pushing and shoving past
other people to get to their destination. And then, a man
walked past me. I did not get angry the man shoved me;
people were pushing their way through. I got maddened with
anger because this man made sure his hand brushed my vagina
area before he walked past. I pushed his hand away
vigorously and he innocently shouted, “a-ah!”, like he was
not aware of what he did. I did not out rightly pursue and
accuse him because nobody will believe me. There were
policemen yards away from where I was but I also could not
go to them. After all, they were all men and how can they
deal kindly with a common girl accusing a well dressed
“responsible gentleman” of purposely touching her vagina in
public when a lot of people were shoving past me in the
first place. A sister of mine has also had a likely
experience. It was also in a busy bus stop at Oshodi. A man
brushed her buttocks while she was trying to get down from
the bus. As she returned home, she said she will pretend it
did not happen so that she will be able to forget.
Similarly, I was at Yaba market to do some purchases with a
friend. We ran out of cash and decided to use the ATM. As we
were walking to the ATM, a riffraff on the side of the road,
in an effort to hold me down to purchase his merchandise,
brushed my left breast. As I am telling this story, I know
some critics might be tempted to say that this was a mistake
as many people were in the market. It was clearly not for
when I confronted this guy, he had the effrontery to say to
me, “wetin I wan use your breast do?” My friend that was
walking ahead of me then turned round and confronted the
guy, he repeated his earlier outburst and also added, “if I
wan breast, I go get am, wetin I wan use this one do?”
I recall also that when I was in national youth service
corp. in Jalingo, Taraba state, I experienced this same
thing. I stayed with relatives who were not really
relatives. But having come together from the same hometown
and to such a far place, we regarded ourselves as relatives.
I remember that one of the guys I looked up to as a brother
in that compound arraigned me for another elderly guy who
could not keep his penis off one pant at a time. I was
surprised when this guy kept on insisting that I should go
greet the other man. God willing, I found out what his plan
was and instead of going to greet, I marched off to
confront. It was a day of surprises because my accusations
were denied and I was made to apologize. I never spoke to
that guy again.
I also do recall that when I was a customer service
personnel in a photography company, I was made to market our
product in an event. My supervisor packed me full with
pamphlets to distribute to the audience. When I got to a
group of elderly men, one of them said, “I thought she is
selling condoms!” Need I say I was shocked? I did not even
get angry with the man, I was mad at my supervisor.
I try to forget all these things but try as hard as I can, I
could not. I am angry, bitter and sad. I wanted to cry but I
was in public, so I wept inside me. It is bad enough that I
could not slap the hell out of these guys because they will
fight me and fighting in public is not expected of a woman
and I could not cry because I am also expected to be strong.
Our society expects a lot from women. The women folk are
expected to be strong and in some cases do as twice of what
men will normally do to prove themselves. There are norms
everywhere expected of a woman. One can imagine what would
have happened if a woman was the one brushing vaginas and
breasts. What will the society say of such a woman? But in
the end, the society permits the men to do such and get away
with it.
They say that writing is therapeutic. I do not know if that
is true. For, as I am writing this, my heart is bleeding and
I am weeping. Not only for myself but for other women like
myself who the society by an inevitable force that I cannot
reckon with still debases the very essence of their
womanhood.
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