Feminism: A Struggle of Modern Gender

Feminism: A Struggle of Modern Gender

Abubakar Sulaiman Muhd

alfalancy@yahoo.com

Because we have been reading his-story or possibly because we are one, we have understood some grasp of the inner psychology of male from a person with first-hand experiences. Man is ever changing. I yearn to know the thoughts and perception of the females, especially the most disturbing ones. So I enjoy reading women words, and love to sit to engage in their gossips. Years back, I missed a lot about family matters that I should have known because I minded only my own business. Now, I fully participate, befriended females, especially my sisters and my sisters-in-law. We are so friendly that they feel I ‘am  closer, more of being from their home than my brothers’,  the husbands. They lower their defences and could talk about their problems, freely. It’s from this, one can understand  even those you judge from afar, are also very nice.  

Would a man feel bad if created a woman and vice versa? Would he have the sense of worry or joy if created in an opposite sex? Or is it just normal bird is created a bird and doesn’t have the sense of what it means all? Has someone ever thought what it would have been like, supposedly they were created in an opposite sex before, lived and died and now reincarnated into another sex, she or he is living now? In which sex would you wish to be created if given an option? This is my opening and then followed by this story, because I thought there are things to be shifted interchangeably to other sex, culturally.

This will be part of the thread of a discussion we have had in a group. I enjoy it, because of it literariness. People have contributed a lot. I likewise enjoy it because with my contributions, the discussion turned into some kind of literary-comedy.

The other day I was left at home alone. Being male, suggests the symbol of power and manliness, but I found out that I was very weak in the kitchen. I found it troubling and backbreaking. It created a kind of horror and fear whenever cooking time approached. I took it for granted that cooking is for all, it has no gender. But then I was wrong. The fire, the pan and the contents all conspired against me. They proved too much uncooperative. I began to suspect if the entire cooking process has no unwritten promise, contarcts and some kind of recognition to women’ presence. Something so simple that women don’t give it a damn thought as anything herculean, now turned out a horror. The simple rice and soup took me from around 10:00 am till evening before it had been finished. I just fasted without me knowing.

I felt that I could not go to the kitchen three times a day. Was my life created for that? And because I didn’t want get into what I could describe as an ordeal, I devised another means. I resorted to cooking once that would last me straight for the day. But even this was like jumping from one pillar to post. Do you know that the food couldn’t last to my targeted hours? It ran out unsuspectingly, and because of my dreaded encounter, I could not go to the kitchen again.  I would rather stay hungry. There were also some days the food would be more than enough that lasted over the next day. Yes, I hate cooking, so I saved my suffering the next day, by eating the yesterday’s food even when the cooked-together rice and beans went horrible.   I didn’t want to pay such unsuspected visits to my sisters-in-law around and afraid to cadge off on the neighbours because of the string attached.

Mama is a neighbor,  a kind and nice one. The other day I was bitten by hunger, and the Mai Indomie had not started yet. It was evening. So I sent to Mama to book my dish at night. She is kind indeed. I had food abundantly, ate and gave out the remnants.

Mama always peeps out whenever she has some excuses or wants to call a child. She doesn’t back away when some people come to pass by. But she quickly gets back whenever she sees me. She begins to feel shy in my presence. She has a daughter, which from some calculations, would be my marriage mate in some years to come. She is booking a husband for her daughter. I have to stop collecting food from her, I don’t want have my freedom of choice being tempered with.

Women are great. Sometimes I leave my room unclean for weeks. It’s an extreme boredom and trivial to sweep my room all day. I just have to ask one little sister to sweep it, and before you can even say Jack Robinson, the room will transform from that house in Dawanau into a grand Sanusi’s Palace. With this first-hand testimony, I begin to believe that each of the sex has its unique peculiarities, with women like Aysha Sanusis and the Naseebas sharing this belief : “women with their paraphernalia of equality with men should encumber or at least limit. From the religious perspective, men are placed above women for certain reasons. Psychologically, women feel inferior to men, and so they stand that what man can do women also do. It’s nothing that accumulated this except the Sigmund Freud’s cognitive field – Id, Ego and Super Ego (Fundamentals of Psychology).

“Coming to lay men, we (both genders) have our own distinguished features associated with men and women which if  one of the sex were to carry out the other’s, it would be unfit. And hence indicates that the distinguished features have now become general features.” And because of that natural feeling of inferiority, as a friend, you can see her cruising posh car, wearing expensive outfits but still have to greet you first.

To corroborate her perception, she suggested to me and I conceded, that it was even easy I was left alone to grapple with the thinking of cooking alone, what if I were left with the kids to babysit at the same time, to do other chores also cooking at the same?  I think it would probably feel like I was put into a colony of slaves and forbade discussing my condition, but not mean are also slave, just as I think they might feel the same if asked to undertake some male-dominated jobs, things like wood-cutting, well-digging, carpeting, blacksmithing, bricklaying and wheelbarrow pushing, as someone suggested. He had even found it embarrassing women to summon the gut of confessing that cooking, washing, and other chores as well as pregnancy, as hard works.     These are the things that define womanism. The females, he alleges, probably think they are being cheated because men don’t make complain of their sufferings. The carpenter will never tell you he’s doing hard work even when he climbs over the rooftops, injures himself with nails and hammer. He accuses, it is rare of a man to declare that his work is difficult, except of the lazy type. Ladies he, alleges, want everything best to fulfill their egocentric desires. Who will hinder them from being a well-digger?

I know some eccentricities of females. Should I tell this story where I met a girl, an old pal. We started discussing when she told me she was currently on business. She complained I didn’t stop by her house to see her. I told her I thought she was not in the town.

'ka ga ko gaisawa ma ringa yi.' It was a good point, I agreed.

As she was leaving I said, 'let me have your number so that we can communicate.' She hesitated before she handed me her phone. Why hesitation if only she would really give the number? I put my contact and we parted. Two minutes or so, I saw a called. I guessed the caller although the number was new. I picked up and the voice said, 'this is my number, we can talk at night.' Came the night, I loaded credit, joking to the boy I used to buy phone card that he should offer bonus on the purchase of #800 card.

You guess what? Catch your breath. She waited me to call for many hours. She refused to sleep. When I called her around, she asked, 'who is speaking?' I said Abubakar na gidan su Aisha qawarki.' Gwari-gwari, just in case to save time because. I also hate describing myself to someone. Is just like asking a favour! I love it to inform the person before-hand that I will call. I was very surprised. She knew I would call but she was still asking 'Wane Abubakar?' I told her 'the guy you met earlier today.'

‘Oh, how are you?' she greeted and we continued through some good chunk of the night that I've lost my dawn prayer. Finally I asked ' sai yaushe?' she said, 'you can call in the morning.' So what is the difference between that time and tomorrow? Only few hours.

This girl said bluntly to my face “kai fa nasan dadi kake ji idan ka ganni .” Meaning I feel happy anytime I met her as if she’s doing me a favour. I told her she too was not only enjoying, but savouring my presence as well. After all, I paid for anything in the relation. She was like an MTN line that I had to pay her whenever I called at her home for giving her ears. Such corrupt culture, where one bribes the girl to sustain his love. I was her personal ATM and deputy to her original boyfriend. She didn’t talk to me unless if the other guy was not around. I suffered a lot in her hand. Thank you God, you delivered me.

I respect women so much that one could think I’m afraid or gullible, that they make me like a tool of trick experiment, that unwitting creature.  You learn all about their behaviour but often, they have you scratching head, very dumb. This is how I struggle with the girls, especially in the college, and they still think I don’t understand this maneuvers. Men are not the type for understanding, they thought. These little kids at home would come, each complaining against the other, that I just couldn’t understand who is wrong or right. I just have to send them away, shouting ‘ni kun isheni’, in anger,  adding ‘haba’ furiously, and shot a blaze of  frustrated hiss. You know that temper when one is frustrated. They would go to the mother and she solves the problem with fascinating ease. Sometimes, one little sister will appear so much pathetic, with her lowly and pleading voice, that you just have to be aggressive to deliver her. Immediately after that, you’ll see the trick shooting out like vulture’s eyes. I often say in wonderment, “oh this little girl in JSS3 is cleverer than someone who reads books and rubs shoulders with others, garnering all the experiences on earth, knowing the tricks and the traps, but all of a sudden will be a willing fish swimming into a waiting net.” You know how women lure men into aggressiveness and turn to laugh at them. How men push, bustle and hustle, sometimes abuse and beat in the market or offices to get some means for the wedding lace of a friend of a friend of her friend. You know how they conspire against men to cause them sleepless nights, make them compete with their colleagues, working very hard to earn good result, all for what? To lead a successful life, building handsome mansion, wishing to have a good partner, and then worshipping her all day. Please women, stop colonising men!

Please, you should also know that, I hate it when some people sound misogynistic, harsh and bias to call a woman myopic, somebody with vision problem, shortsightedness. However, the word is used derogatorily to connote, metaphorically, someone lacking in predicting what is best for the future. I only know that, as an-unmyopic, full human and first class, being women as lesser human and second-class, I have my own genetic foibles, naturally I could not get rid of but at least should keep at bay to appear decent  and respectful .  I know some men who are harmful. Not only verbal, but also sexual. Although men argue that it’s the female who entice one and then complain sexual harassment. But should I tell you the story of this girl, Miss No Name. She was extremely strict with her phone privacy that she promulgated that decree that forbade her from going anywhere without her phone. That day she left the phone on the chair to walk out her visiting friends. I seized the opportunity and gladly muttered something like, ‘let’s see what this girl is doing with her that she doesn’t anybody to see it.’ The realization was very terrible. I had to ask her forgiveness for penetrating into her privacy, which the horrible discovery shocked me. That day I couldn’t sleep.  She was very decent and upright from what appeared to us, and we all trusted her. She remained that, no doubt. She did not recognise with indecency. She didn’t advertise, she was a prostitute. Her facebook profile picture was the one she took during a wedding of her friend’s sister. And even that one, was not vulgar enough to attract vultures. But vultures were already there, baiting her with every means at hand. You can earn your monthly subscription there. I earned one-thousand Naira top-up card. A rowdy series of ‘salam’ and ‘hi’ greeted my eyes, when I scouted into her inbox. People that you judge decent were actually not. They send in lewd pictures, sex captured in progress. They would give anything they possessed to get to that that thing you hide in your skirt.

And then this college friend of mine, left me because I would not do what she wanted. She dressed outrageously, in a moral scandal that revealed part of what it covered. She sat in a most closest inch to me, if any, side-by-side, hip-to-hip and shoulder-to-shoulder, which both of us felt a kind of vibration yapping around, urging to go ahead. She didn’t tell me but suggested it, and man is not a fool.  That unspoken words spoke louder than mic. The symbol so vivid and clear that I wouldn’t have to invite a Harvard Symbologist Professor to tell what it meant. I just had to mask my embarrassment when people that nurtured respect saw me. “Ah, Abubakar, really you?” their eyes said and their judgment.

This way, I will continue to be always feminist.