Mother I Am Alive

By Adesope Adisa

The essence of my gender and being a woman has been something I struggled to grapple in my words on said, glances observed and in the synthesis of my surroundings in my subconscious. There was no safe place to be feminine- Ideologically, emotionally or practically. 

As a kid, the boys would police our behaviour. “She’s too manly ", "too girly," "fast," "prude" etc. They dictated standards and policed our existence, unknowly replicating the sentiments of the world around them. They were the gatekeepers, the arbiters of our worth. Letting you know if your pubescent body was enough for the fantasies they were taught, we were emotional punching bags for their manhoods to form. Acceptance was replaced with scrutiny. Complex concepts reduced by their narrow understandings 

What the child sees the elders do, the child follows.

On our part, we were the shifters. Enforcing rejection and disgust into their esteems. We enforced the self-rejection and the validation we craved into the hierarchy we were copying. 

My fellow girls were no saints either. Emotional stabbing was their birthmark. Turning their insecurities into standard to taunt others for. I was obsessed with being wrong, so I could be fixed and salvaged into something right. That was our goal, to salvage our men from their disfunction and esteem our pride on that. I sold my connection with my inner knowing to be accepted by my peers. I craved safety in others that shared similar parts as me. I flowed with the wind of their opinions and fell at every whim. A leaf with no home.

The adage of the child taught to dance crookedly and growing up thinking that is the right way to dance, shows its wisdom here. The abused abusing the abused. Slivers of power gained and used to control narratives externally, forsaking the internal. Their cruelty mirroring their inner suffering and rotting. The voices of my peers became my voice and the voice I enforced onto others. The sentiments of insecurity sadly became a mother tongue none of us forgot to learn to speak. All fluent at the age of 16, codependently finding safety in the ruined self-esteem of others.

Childhood was a bootcamp. Teaching us to eat the hot remains of a healthy land. Till now I wonder if the land that bears this much exploited fruits and efforts was once healthy. 

Our motherland was used to these gender wars. The screams of women, melting resentment of men both sides exploiting and feeling exploited. A tired mix of lost children teaching children.

Ọmọ tí a kò kó, ni yóò gbé ilé tí a kọ̀ tà."(The child who is not taught well will sell the house that was built.) 

Houses crumble and inner safe haven of esteem were taught to be built on shaking foundations. The empire falling has and is falling spiritually before it manifests physically. Our spirit’s crushing is generational at this point. Our bright minds shine internationally but self-preservation teaches us to neglect our haven. Bravery evades us, as wisdom chases us. 

Blind Spirits and deaf souls, only hear the songs of a jumping church or a fraudulent imaam. All convincing us of salvation in languages we don’t understand. Even spiritual guidance comes at a cost, intricacies hidden from us. Intimacy to us has transformed to a lucrative transactional affair. The performance of sanctity only nurse bruised egos and birth further victimisation. Muted truths, drowned out by lengthy recitations and captivating drums. Distracted by the frenzied tongues and dancing feet of the church, and the imam’s hand ever open for alms, we batter our spiritual fortitude into those also misguided.

Policing everyone and looking for safety outwardly.

As the future children of neglect are born, with transferred emotional, spiritual and monetary debts on their head already

the cycle continues, the elders entitled to their harvest just like those that came before them were entitled to theirs. Robbing our future - a cultural dance. 

The flashy exterior hides our tears. Nations dancing so proudly on the graves the foreigners have already prepared for them.

Mother, I am alive and lost all at once. The ones I love are lost, and my mind is as well. 

By Adesope Adisa