The narrative of the strong African woman

We recognise her. The woman who doesn’t know how to stop. She insists that a good woman is never idle. Working full time, in or out of her home, she usually also runs a small side business.

She may also be in night school, getting that additional certification that will hopefully, lead to a better to job.

First to rise and last to bed, she puts the wellbeing of her children first, ensuring they eat before she does. She is a grand-mother, aunt, mother, sister and she is also, us. She is the strong African woman. The one who put her six children through school on slim earnings as a hawker.

The one walking dusty village roads, a kiondo on her back with tonight’s dinner, firewood above it and a child on a sling across her breast. Songs and poems have been penned about her relentless strength while painters have immortalised the slightly dropping shoulders that belie an unwavering fortitude.

TAUGHT US WELL

She taught us well, and we her daughters rise to greet the sun and meet the opportunity it presents. But there is one thing she forgot to teach us.

Perhaps because she didn’t know how either. It was this: Self-care is just as important as caring for others. And because she failed to teach us that we ought to matter to ourselves, just as much as others matter to us, we suffer from mama guilt and shame. Shame for craving a much needed lie in every weekend. Idleness, we call it sensing our mothers who woke up at the crack of dawn would disapprove.

We worry that we don’t spend sufficient time with our children. We despair that we don’t make enough money or make more than our spouses. We feel guilty for serving our family house-help cooked meals even though we work a full day at the office and struggle through hours of traffic to make it home by bedtime.

We get embarrassed when visitors drop in unexpectedly and the house is a mess thanks to a handful toddler who keeps us on our toes. We worry that we are not doing enough to keep everyone happy.

On and on it goes until we work ourselves to an early grave. Then loved ones gathers to eulogise us with glowing tributes. Everyone runs about to get the best dress, shoes, flowers and coffin as befits a much loved mother, daughter, sister and friend.

We frantically search for a photograph that depicts her in all her glory, only to discover that apart from a couple of unflattering mugshots, most other pictures of her, particularly where she is smiling, are group photos with friends and family.

Ironically, were she to wake up, she would probably scold us for ‘wasting’ so much money, when it would go a long way towards paying junior’s fees.

SPARE A DAY FOR HERSELF

If you know a strong African woman, or you yourself are one, give them permission to be a little selfish. Ask her to put some money aside, even if it takes a year to do it. Or better yet, give her an envelope with some cash. Tell her to go buy a new dress and then get a beautiful glamour shot of herself taken sans children, spouse or friends.

Tell her to frame it and place it in a prominent place in her home. If you know a strong African woman, ask her to spare at least one day a month for herself.

Eventually, she will be able to take four days out. On her special day she is free to indulge herself, from sleeping in to spending time with her girlfriends.

If you know a strong African woman, tell her to put her health first. Dinner or that report her boss needs can wait so can get her pap smear, breast exam or full medical check-up.

If you know a strong African woman, provide her with solace, a place to go when it all gets too much. A safe place, of no judgement, where she can be as carefree as she was when she was a little girl. Even for a few hours.

If you know a strong African woman, take her calloused hands in yours, and with a few drops of oil, give her a hand massage. Tell her how wonderful she is. Then insist that as she spreads the love around, to spare some for herself.

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