‘’I have read with great
amazement the horror stories of the tragedy that now plagues our
community. Marriages are ending in divorce and worse in death. We
are breeding a new generation of children that see marriage as a mere
convenience, that the law is no longer a necessary tool to end a bad marriage;
instead, the gun or knife will forever silence one partner.
The wife will no longer be able
to stand and fight for a life she desires or achieve her destiny; instead, she
becomes statistics, a picture on someone’s table or memory forever etched in
her family’s heart. It is becoming increasingly clear that the ones that got
the divorce certificate are the lucky ones; some of their sisters got the death
certificate.
I read so many writings on both
sides either in sympathy, or anger at the travesty of such ills that have
descended upon our families. Been divorced myself, I often argue divorce
is not the answer and plead with those that will listen to make the marriage
work, and then I hear even more ghastly stories that actually have you
seriously thinking when faced with the option of a divorce certificate or a
death certificate. Some of my sisters have endured to the end and held on
to the bible promise of “till death do us part”
I search my soul for the Nigerian
woman I once knew, the one that I saw as a child growing up, the one I aspired
to be. The Nigerian woman I once knew was elegant, she stood tall and proud and
was significantly different from any other woman.
The Nigerian woman I knew was
strong, but not hard, she ruled her home with strength and love, and she
embraced her success and was confident in her talents and had no need to lord
her superiority over her husband. The Nigerian woman understood she was the
pillar of her family but was confident enough to let her husband play the role
without demeaning his masculinity.
The Nigerian woman I knew
silently acknowledged her husband could not do without her, but she never
voiced it. The Nigerian woman I knew accepted her ability to build her home and
enable the great success of her husband, and she rejoiced in his greatness,
knowing it was a by-product of hers.
The Nigerian woman I knew,
accepted the responsibility when God whispered in her ear “take good care of
him” she nodded her acceptance and understood what God meant when He caused the
man to fall asleep, so he could take a rib out of him to create this helpmate,
he so desperately needed to survive in the beautiful garden he was blessed
with.
The Nigerian woman I knew will
not give her husband the apple that cast him out of the beautiful garden but
will smite the head of the serpent that attempted to lure them to evil.
The Nigerian woman I knew lifted her family to great heights with prayers and
blessings from her mouth, not casting down her family with the rain of curses.
The Nigerian woman I knew could balance a baby on one hip, a cooking spoon in
one hand, run a successful business and still manage to look ten years younger
than her peers of other races.
You see the Nigerian woman I once
knew was confident in her superiority, comfortable in her grace, determined to
overcome her shortcomings, excel in all she laid her hands to, nurture gifted
and talented children, turn a $10 fabric into couture that will have Coco
Channel gasp in amazement, she’ll grace any occasion and be the delight of
every eye that sees her, not for the intricacy of the superb head tie that will
have the famous hat designer scrambling to catch for his next design; but for
the sheer elegance and grace she exudes.
The Nigerian woman I knew
commands respect; not demand it; her words are seasoned with grace and wisdom,
she knows how to turn away wrath not ignite it. Her eyes light up with
gentleness and love as she gently guides her family. The Nigerian woman I knew
understood that the greatness of her nation lies in her strength to build a
strong family. The Nigerian woman I knew was the epitome of the virtuous woman.
So where did she go; and what
happened to her?: The Nigerian Man from whose rib she was made passed
away, and instead in his place, came the Nigerian Man born from the lineage of
Esau; who sold his birthright for a morsel of bread. The Nigerian Man today has
traded his birthright as the head of the family, the one who commands respect,
was revered by all for his gentle greatness; and now for almighty dollar,
shares the dishes with his wife, waits for her paycheck before he pays the
mortgage, and worse, drops her off at work and then goes back to sleep.
So the Nigerian woman I once knew
passed on when the Nigerian man from whose rib she was created passed on.
They left in their wake, a society of broken dreams and empty promises; they
left their children casualty of social and economic war. They left their
Nation in ruins and scattered their children across the world.
I mourn for the Nigerian woman I
once knew.
‘Jumoke Akin-Taylor, a
Construction Management Engineer is an active member of the Nigerians In
Diaspora Organization and passionate believer in the Nigeria project. She
contributed this piece from California, United States. Jumoke sits on the Board
of Directors of the Construction Management Association of America & The
Design Build of America Owner’s Steering Committee.
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