Am I Feminist?

My mind is the ultimate puzzle, even to me. Nothing is simple. I wish simplicity was within the universe I float around, but I view everything as layered and nuanced. The thoughts in my mind are so multi-faceted that a simple yes or no answer to most questions makes me feel disingenuous. I have been asked throughout my activist life whether or not I’m a feminist, and I never commit to an answer. Most people believe I’m cleverly evading exposure to the fact that I may not be with the feminist brigade. Of course, there are parts of feminism that make my brain blanch, but like all things, there are also admirable facets that cool my brain down. The simple answer is that there is no simple answer to such a weighty question for a person like me. Yet, a stench lingers when people can’t pigeonhole your feministic position. There’s a stench. Otherwise, why does everyone’s upper lip stick to their nose in disgust when I pause and suggest that, as Africans, we need to look into this deeper? If you question feminism today, you might as well fix red horns onto your forehead and hold a pitchfork. It’s unacceptable, unbelievable, almost, that feminism can be questioned. Yet, anything unchecked is autocratic. Isn’t that the collective conscience women fought that gave rise to the feminist movement? Granted, it’s undisputed that patriarchal societies greatly disadvantage women’s social, economic, and political growth as a vulnerable group. Vast research and evidence attests to societies that undervalue, underpay, and overlook women are in danger of regression. That is indisputable in my books. But what’s the width of the brim or scope of research done into a society that opens its professional doors to all women, especially in Africa and other underdeveloped & developing continents?

Let me paint a picture for context; whenever I read about a top female CEO or leader in a field who dedicated thousands of hours to hone her craft, my lips hike and cheeks round. I’m exceedingly proud of her incredible feat. Validation and an intense belief course through my body, instantly feeling like whatever I dream is within reach. Shortly after, my thoughts simmer, and the stars in my eyes dim. I start to think about who this CEO has hired as a maid or nanny. The majority of working women hire other less privileged women to sacrifice their lives on their behalf. Now, this in no way is to demonise CEOs or working women. It’s simply a fact. No different from if I stated that caterpillars burn human skin. I’m sure there are lovable caterpillars who want to spread happiness and joy to all humans on Earth, but they can’t help their anatomy. It is also factual that most African women gravitate to other less privileged African women to cover their unfilled quota of domestic duty. There are a minuscule number of African women in modern ages that opts for both professional and domestic roles and performs supersonically. These women are superheroes with invisible capes and should receive invitations from Nick Fury to join the Avengers. But, the African reality is that one woman works, and another falls back. Their destinies are fully co-dependent and entwined.

Many women employed by ‘feminist’ women are unpaid relatives or minimally paid labour in questionable working environments. Overworked, underpaid, cut off from their families and children. Are these hired help allowed to be feminists too? Do they qualify? Or are their goals even noteworthy? Many women will applaud themselves as employers of these underprivileged women, but the question is not merely about if they’re employed but employed fairly. Across oceans in the West, various sectors are rife with female assistants to female CEOs working ungodly hours and wasting their lives queuing at Starbucks waiting on their boss’s coffee. There’s minimal sisterhood, capacity building, or camaraderie. As women, are we even allowed to discuss the working conditions of less privileged women we hire to offset the burdens hindering our dreams? Who fights for these women or speaks on their behalf?

Did our mothers sacrifice the more significant parts of their youths to raise us so we can force other women into sacrificing theirs? Is that what feminism is about? A broad perception that our foremothers were forced into childbearing and mothering by our fathers, robbed of their dreams, peaks notably. What was the viable alternative? That our mothers chased their dreams too? How could they have possibly achieved that without suffocating the goals of another woman?

How many African women are holidaying on International Women’s Day anyway? Men enjoy the fruits of women’s day far more than women do. They’re more men in the formal sector than women worldwide, and so do the math. Africa’s women do not put their feet up on Women’s Day because they are trapped within the jaws of unpaid labour or in the informal sector. A public holiday means a mild amount to those outside the formal sector. Day offs centre around offices closing. It’s sensible to conclude that only the formally employed enjoy the closure of an office. But who sells your tomatoes in the market on Women’s Day so you can go home, drink wine and eat pasta? Who cooks the pasta or carries your crying baby while you nap or watch Bridgerton? Does she have the luxury of taking a day off too? Is she not entitled to the aspirations of being a working feminist too? I’ve always aimed to be an overachiever, so I must understand feminism’s grading system. Who qualifies and doesn’t? It’s all beautiful in theory, and yes, I strongly agree that all women should have access to aspiration. But how is that realistically achieved for all women who desire formal work?

Wouldn’t you find that these are more valuable questions than hounding me about whether I’m a feminist or not? Forget about who is a feminist and think about who can’t be. Let’s all take a day off and reflect on that. Don’t you agree?