Savage Nigeria can only be cured by farming our loins for the hidden cowries of a nobler race.
The brothel prostitute, foul-mouthed roughneck, political assassin, ballot robber, kidnapper, rapist, and bestial public officer are produced not by society’s savagery or sexism but by society’s absence.
The family is the building block of society and civilisation. But in the wake of its dissembling, the responsibilities of raising a child are borne by a single parent, often times, the mother.
There is no disputing the sacrifices borne by a woman for the sake of her loved ones. In many instances, she is a worker of marvels. She is a peasant farmer and market woman of the sidewalk. She is a maternal hero and guardian of fruits from errant male loins. She is the spangled artisan mining the dreams of those that would put her in fetters.
But a shackled woman, I would say, is a shackled nation; repressed womanhood denies society of progress. Hence women, like men, are entitled to their freedom. But whose job is it to give them freedom?
A woman is, then she must be free. Her total freedom, she would tell you, isn’t in the hands of any man. Nor is it some grant to be enjoyed from an abusive patriarchy.
Freedom without responsibility, corrupts, and a corrupt single mother, like her male peer, often manifests dangerously. For instance, she would never raise a proper family. She would always be the defective parent raising a damaged child.
Sometimes, she is a victim of circumstance: rape, child marriage, errant hormones and what social media warriors now call ‘dead beat father or husband.’ Sometimes, she is a victim of her own demons. And God help everyone if she appropriates the role of a feminist-avenger and man-hater; she rises from the ashes of her burnt wedlock and romance to raise children in her preferred image as a ‘strong, emancipated woman.’
Of course, there is nothing wrong in being strong and emancipated, whatever that intones; its the tenor of brute strength and infernal freedom that’s often cringe-worthy. If she chooses to be brute, feminism becomes an itch and a fetish, like porn. She dulls down to an artificial set of sexual-political sensibilities to satisfy her lust for being perpetually ‘oppressed.’
Like porn addicts, paedophiles, rapists and racists, such a woman is an emotion junkie, infinitely handicapped yet propelled by her lust for unearned benefits. And when she seems truly deserving of sought benefits, gluttony and wile pervert her claims until her agitation attains the tenor of a ruckus, much like the ghastly cries of feral cats jostling for the largest chunk of carrion flesh.
In the wake of her failed marriage or romance, she celebrates on Facebook, her exit from what she terms the concentration camp of wedlock, and goes on to groom her daughters and sons to live in her jailhouse of notions.
If money isn’t her problem, she makes sure her wards lack nothing. Eventually, she raises them as glamour pets, ensuring her son grows up to become “nothing like his father.” So doing, she infects him with gall and womanly fits. She overcompensates and splurges to make them miss nothing about their ‘deadbeat father.’ That is hardly child-grooming, its called child maintenance; keeping a child like an expensive pet.
To the feminazis already wailing, yes, orthodox families may occasionally fail in child grooming; and this is not about the ‘prominent’ or ‘successful’ few, who “made it” despite being raised by a single mother. It’s about the many who grew up broken, partially or completely damaged, because they were denied a father – be it their mother or the absentee father’s doing.