If you question tradition, norms and stereotypes, I invite you to join us for a discussion on Sexism and the culture of sexual objectification.

What is your story?

What sexist issues do you contend with daily?

Are you fed with shame for being of a certain gender, or size?

What are the prejudices you suffer, exclusively for being who you are?

Have you been denied anything based on your anatomy? Or enjoy certain favours with regard to physical or sexual pointers?

Flattery and downright sexist display; are the lines blur?

Is the media the biggest promoter of sexism?

These and more we shall discuss at the fourth edition of #TheConversation, holding in Lagos.

We are analysing patriarchy, traditions, social patterns and habits.

I believe people are crushed beneath the weight of social expectations, beneath the voice of tradition.

It is time to rattle the status quo.

-Because our children must inherit a better society, designed to prosper both genders.

Date: Sunday. September 20, 2015

Find more details on the flier.

Convener, Joy Isi Bewaji 

Note: This is a response to people who continue to make judgments on the 'bitter' woman and feminism...

I have never, in all of my years, heard anyone describe a man as "bitter".

He is a bitter man.

Never heard that. Have you?

Apparently "bitterness" is a word reserved only for women, mostly by women.

Men who beat up their wives are not bitter, just violent.

Men who steal and misbehave in public offices are merely thieves.

Men who rape. "Just" rapists.

Men who cannot comprehend anything beyond the urge to cum are just, well, men.

Women ensure bitterness is only attributed to their kind.

When you meet a woman whose energy, passion, drive, no-bullshit-attitude you cannot comprehend...

The easiest thing to brand her is "bitter".

Because your brain is incapable of learning or forming new words.

You are, after all, an African woman. You need to breastfeed your child, take care of your husband, make many friends, run a regular life which in itself is not bad...

But the idea that if the next woman does not process information like you or find your kind of lifestyle appealing immediately makes her bitter, is what qualifies you as stupid.

I keep saying it everyday, let women be whatever the hell they want to be.

And that brings me to Feminism...

All these silly women who should be content with buying lace for weddings and trying to hustle for contracts under the new political dispensation should stop building essays around Feminism and Bitterness.

Your stupidity is on 3D.

In the bible (hard deal to bring religion into this but...) it was said that the dejected, angry and bitter joined David's camp.

David's camp was the new cause at the time, it was the new movement.

In a patriarchal situation where women are trying to know who they are and find their voices, Feminism will house the bitter, the dejected, the angry.

In the true essence of Christianity, Jesus says: If you are lonely, dejected, confused, come to me. Join my movement.

So do you see how vile you are when you will not allow women find their healing under Feminism? Anger is one process to healing.

But what do you know apart from turning amala.

I suspect these Owambe women who just woke up in the middle of the feminist movement in Nigeria with breasts heaving with opinions, want us to turn the movement to a happy-go-lucky gig where we get drunk and eat cake.

They want it to be another Nigerian wedding with a lot of pretentious people and blunt happiness that is unable to cut butter.

They want feminism to be as chirpy as political rallies, with a lot of dancing and incoherent friendships.

Sorry oh, but Feminism is for the bitter woman too. Whatever that means.

If your head, beaten unconsciously to submission by patriarchy, can hardly define a man as bitter, but quickly summarises the next woman's voice and efforts as such...

Then you should worry that you have the IQ of a panda.

A big dumb lump.

So let us imagine, indeed, women are the only bitter species...

Where do you suggest they go for "healing"?

To church? To a therapist (how much per session)? To the open market? To a friend?

I think the "bitter woman" made bitter by societal wrongs should join a movement that addresses those wrongs.

This IQ thing remains a big challenge sha.

My sister, Feminism is too deep for you.

Go and binge on icecream.

I read the most absurd arguments against feminism from Nigerian e-intelligentsia every other day.

Feminists are home breakers.

Feminists cannot take care of children.

Feminists are the cause of half the problem in the state, and are fully responsible for anyone who cannot get a free pass at a toll gate.

These pile-up accusations are meant to rattle you; make you shrink to bean size and eventually disappear from the face of the earth.

Last week, one of my mentors called me. It was an urgent call.

“Come now, Joy.”

I have the utmost respect for this man. A well-rounded individual, well-traveled, built his empire through blood and sweat. A decent human being. A true believer of talent and a great inspiration.

So I am sitting in his office. He moves his laptop for me to see. He is looking at Linda Ikeji’s blog with the cover of my new project, Happenings magazine, on display. Kenny Bademosi, Orange Academy boss and popular gay man living with HIV, is on the cover (see pix above).

Let’s call him Dee.

Dee: Joy, what is this? Why do you have this man on your cover?

Me: His story is inspiring. Worth reading. I’ll rather have him on my cover than a ‘celebrity’ without a clue what climate change means. I’m trying to build a brand with substance.

Dee: And you think this is a good direction? Having this gay man on your cover? Ehn?!

Me: Yes it is. The magazine is not out yet, but it’s in hot demand. I have orders from Abuja to New York.

Dee: And advertisers? Will this not affect your chances?

Me: This man is an advertising expert. If companies still require his services and people still flock to Orange Academy, surely it means people are more interested in value than anything else. As we speak, I am in talks with a prestigious company who wants the back page of my magazine based on the cover promo we did.

Dee: Hmmm! Ok, let’s talk about you for a minute. I hear you are a feminist. What do you need that for? What do you need feminism to do for you that you have not done for yourself? Does this mean you are now into women?

Me: Hian! Sir, feminism has nothing to do with lesbianism. It’s a movement for equal rights. That’s all.

Dee: Ok?

Me: Equal rights, sir. Just like you have done for me. For all the career opportunities you have given me, you have judged me on my ability to deliver, my skill, and not my gender. I dare say you are a feminist too, sir.

Dee: Ah!

Me: Yes you are. I sit with you as a ‘competent individual’ and nothing more. You see me only as that. You have related with me based on my performance and knack to succeed. My gender has never been an issue. You challenge me. You are a feminist.

Dee: Hmm. I see. But why should gender ever be a problem? You are good at your job, that’s all that matters to me. If I want to keep succeeding, I pick the best ‘man’ for the job.

Me: That’s feminism, really. That’s it. Truly, you are one of us.

Dee: Interesting!

PS: I realise these conflicting conversations on feminism are, sometimes, genuine ignorance and not hate. Of course, there’s still a lot of deliberate hate and misinterpretation out there…

But whether hate or ignorance, I wear my tag proudly.

Have a good day y’all!

When we paid for movie tickets to watch Magic Mike, I knew I was going to be entertained with hot naked bodies of men twerking and grinding. Channing Tatum can moonwalk all over my relationship and it’ll be fine.

That body, those eyes, the banging abs, and his smooth moves… Lord have mercy!

I was cheering and screaming with raw delight when the movie made its first thrust. Channing is grinding on the wall of his workshop. Body made of perfection, hitting hard on solid ground. Ah!

The movie climaxed like a pro. Dollar bills everywhere, screaming women, crying women, excited women, endless teasing… male stripping knocking grown women outta their senses.

They are making love without taking their clothes off. The excitement will kill you.

This obviously is a movie made to amuse adults.

It is bubble-gum porn; and it is a lazy way for adults to jerk off. Popcorn and a bottle of soda kinda night.

But there was a child in the hall, barely ten! Indians, I presume.

Magic Mike ended by 11.15pm and that child, with his parents, sat through the ordeal like it was acceptable behaviour to expose a son to sex and decadence!

I cringed, I worried, I held my breath.

One time, when a teenager brought his younger brother- a child not a day older than eight- to watch a sexually explicit movie, I stomped my way to the movie cashier and complained bitterly. These companies are only interested in selling tickets!

Ok, so maybe capitalism has no conscience, what about Parents? Where is our common sense when minors are left to watch soft porn?

Magic Mike is light depravity, something a curious child would like to try out. And when you imagine that every child has a healthy sense of curiosity, you’d understand the damage this might cause.

A smart kid is going to practice what he is exposed to- he might have his first rehearsal with a younger sister maybe, or his six year old neighbour, or his best friend. Those lecherous scenes will not leave very soon. He would nurture them, toss the idea around in his head, romanticize it for every spare minute life gives, and finally make his own performance.

He will be in his rights as an inquisitive child to do so.

This is how we leave children traumatised. This is how we bring up sexually derelict individuals from crass negligence.

Blame the parents.

A child should not be made to sit through a movie like Magic Mike. This isn’t rocket science. If you can’t make these simple judgments and protect your children from harm, don’t have them yet.

There are many toning, bleaching and whitening products for black women at every store, every drive-by ‘chemist’ selling drugs and beauty products, Orijin and cheap weaves all in one dingy supply.

Hydroquinone costs barely N500.

It would seem the world is making a plea to black women: “Oh hurry up in your process of changing yourselves, dear blackie”

You get the feeling that black is not enough. You need a lighter hue to be prettier.

I bleached once, whilst getting an unremarkable degree in a tertiary institution.

I bleached because every girl in that rundown school was bleaching. Some bleached so hard that the only thing that gave away their true complexion was tribal marks on cheeks that refused to yield to all that chemical!

My bleaching experiment lasted all of two months. A cheap hydroquinone tube of a ridiculous sum of N70.

My skin protested, huge bumps of rebellion appeared on my neck and back. I stopped.

Lucky I didn’t get to scraping off bleached scales from beneath my eyes before common sense kicked in.

Now I am approaching 40. The insouciance of cheap skin products is gone.

Skin care and crazy amounts I spend to retain black skin is an investment only my body can understand (and witnesses can appreciate).

Many black products are made to change your complexion. Bottom line, you ain’t good enough, woman. Why not try to be white?

So the products that actually respect black skin without any ulterior motives come with fat price tags.

It’s the same thing with black hair. It is easier to get a relaxer and a weave. To get hair products that respect black hair for what it is, you’d be spending more and going to tight corners of obscure stores to find good products.

As usual, I splurged on beauty products yesterday. This time, I hit some high zeros in expense. Products that promise to treat me with respect, but way too expensive. What can a black woman do?

It is my investment. In a world where everyone is trying to change you- your opinions, your leanings and your complexion, you'll be spending more just to stay true to your authentic self. 

Don’t tell me to change my colour. Make products that can make this black woman shine.

So when you see me walking by, me and my gorgeous black skin, don’t be shy, say hi...

He won’t mind *wink*

It is a culture mostly perpetuated by women.

A warped cultic, terribly myopic, way of life.

Half the time, women bequeath their enemies to their friends.

Half the time, it takes just a few words to carry out the conferment.

It will not be surprising to discover that the inheritor, piling up fresh enemies like Mark Zuckerberg piles up good money, have never had any encounter with the ‘enemies’.

It just happens that in female friendships, oddly, you become heiress to the good, bad and ugly that should be none of your business.

It is one way women stay poor. We choose lousy gossipy friendships over tangible business relationships with other women.

You have to think like a poor person to pick up another woman’s bad habits and bad dealings.

How does it concern you who she is fighting? Why not build your own experiences? And if you have to be a baddie, build your own damn enemies from first-hand ruffles.

Zero discernment, poor judgments, lacking in discretion.

You would think there’s a lot of money to be made from gossip. Half the time, gossip lacks any credibility, as all you know of the enemy is what you allow yourself to know.

People exaggerate other's flaws just so they can gather around to talk about them.

“Do you know she has a pimple on her butt?”

“Oh no. Who grows a pimple on the butt?! Such a shame!”

“How can she live with herself with that pimple on her butt?”

“Na wa oh. That pimple na wa oh.”

But with the pimple on that butt, she has been able to build structures, carry out successful projects, shape her brand in ways that will leave the rest of you dizzy.

But you are built for hate, you cannot take your eyes off the pimple. Poof! And the pimple is gone, yet you stare at that lonely space, hoping another pimple sprouts so you can have more reason to talk dirt with your group of inheritors of bad business.

A project I handled recently came with the requirement to sack everybody on the team if I wish to and build my own team. Someone had spent a good amount of time telling me shit about the group.

But I didn’t sack anyone (Ok, just one person had to go), I got to KNOW these people first. And when I did, I realised this Someone was wrong. Yes, they had their issues. No, they were not issues big enough to let them lose their jobs. As a leader it was my job to fix the issue and guide the team to the direction we had to follow.

And I did. A project that pays so well, and a team I am proud to call my own finally emerged from the ruff.

I didn’t let other people’s words decide.

But I have not always been this way. I have indeed inherited enemies before, until I realised I couldn’t pay rent or buy a new pair of shoes by becoming heir to other people's enemies; so I got rid of that smelly habit. If enmity must happen, let it be my experience, not one picked up from someone else's trash bin. Not some bad inheritance that I cannot verify.

Life is intertwined, how do you end up making enemies based on hearsay?

Focus on your bills. It needs half the attention you pay to people who don’t care what you think or say about them.

At #TheConversation Ibadan

African Feminism is still largely about pounded yam, amala, dodo, skirt-and-trouser, and bad marriages.

That is where we are as a people- food to chop and who’s gonna cook it, serve it and wipe the ass after poop.

And when we are not talking about food, we are talking demeanour.

You know, be a successful woman but be humble. That kind of stuff.

-Because we do not truly understand what humility is, we rant about docility, slavery and entitlements instead.

Humility is not when a woman dumps her education inside a box to become a housewife. That is sacrifice and choice.

Humility is not surviving 25 years of domestic abuse just to finally hear the words, “I am sorry” during your silver jubilee of "enduring love". You could have died in those years!

Humility is not when you allow people walk all over you then YOU join a choir of forgiveness. That’s probably YOU in dire need of some chutzpah.

Accepting that you are a little inferior to another gender is not humility.

I’m sorry Nigerians, but humility is not when you take old people’s advice or crouch on your knees the minute you see a grey strand on their heads or a lot of hair in their nostrils. That’s tradition; and it happens to you involuntarily.

Humility is the ability to allow others win through your own success.

It is spreading your own wings, so they can fly with you.

Humility is a skill. It gives room for others, it rejoices with others, it makes way for others, celebrate others, finds what makes them tick and gives them a platform to twinkle.

Humility is accepting there are others who have interesting insight on a subject you are passionate about; and the confidence to share your platform with them.

It has nothing to do with taking a wayward partner back or accepting a lot of shit in your personal space.

We spend too much time worried about whether people come with a dose of humility or not, and we miss the fraud and depravity that transpire in the midst of flamboyant ass-licking ventures.

Humility is sharing your story, even if it isn’t popular to do so.

And so, I’ll like to thank those who share a bit of themselves every time we hold #TheConversation in different cities- Lagos, Abuja and Ibadan.

We record some of the toughest stories, retold in different ways and by different people from one city to the next.

We had another successful event at Ibadan. You shall find the downloads on www.happenings.com.ng today and for the next few days. We split them in parts.

Below is my opening speech. My words where pouring too fast. I think I was conscious of the fact that we were heading back to Lagos same day.

I talked about my mother (who I love dearly), women who fight other women, and a bit of my experiences here and there.

I hope you find something in there.

There are many cases of hotels denying women access into their facilities. In 2015, women still require the supervision of men before they can buy a drink or two. (PS: They'll tell you they are fumigating their establishments with prostituticide. Of course).

It’s a cultural flaw where women are expected to stay away from bars and stay in kitchens and be content with whatever leisure they can find in the walls that house matrimony or spinsterhood-itching-for-matrimony or divorce-wailing-over-lost-matrimony.

Pick one.

A few weeks back, I took three of my good writers on a trip. When we returned, we had dinner at a fancy restaurant on the Island. A young lady, marketing the new Star Citurs Radler, stood by our table with a big smile displayed only for the man in our group.

She spoke only to him and marketed her Star Citrus Radler only to him.

The rest of us- females and obviously unworthy, looked on.

She gave only him a bottle of the drink to enjoy.

Star Radler contains barely 2% alcohol. It is a brand brewed to compete with the likes of Snapp and Smirnoff Ice. It is obviously not designed for men.

Indeed, when the man was done, he turned and asked the lady why she was trying to get him interested in a drink obviously meant for women. The alcohol isn’t strong enough. He would stick to classic lager or stout.

“There’s no way I’m going to order this at a bar,” he laughed.

A culture that teaches everyone to address only men, is teaching everyone to disregard women even in businesses created for women (except, of course, we are talking scrubbing powder and detergent).

The culture insists that even if a product is designed for women, you would need to pitch it to men who are seen as the ATMs and buyers of comfort. Women are only accessories to good living.

So I took the liberty to address the young female marketer.

“You have three female adults on this table. You are marketing a drink with barely 2% alcohol, but you insist on marketing it to the only man on the table. Your approach is wrong, hence you have lost three potential customers. I shall stick to Snapp.”

A culture that discriminates against women continues to shoot itself in the foot. The informal Nigerian economy is sustained largely by women. Small and medium scale businesses are sustained by women

I do know that these marketers get some kind of training before they roll out to bars and restaurants. I see many of them flirting with drinking men and shoving a Jack Daniels' bottle in their faces.

But when it’s not Jack Daniels…when it is light alcohol and three women are seated, let the smart teachers of economics train their workers to give due regards to their potential customers. Women.

The man in our group is my subordinate. In that gathering, I am the boss. I was paying for drinks and food and everything in between.

But being female was something that couldn’t possibly justify my status in the presence of culture.

I was a guest on Inside Eve, a programme on R2TV. I was invited to talk on, yes, Feminism.

What is it all about and why women fail to identify with the movement?

Too many calls came in and we couldn’t really get the meat of the gist.

The producer says we’ll do another edition.

Enjoy this one!

Many women will disagree.

I’ll advice that you prick the bubble you are living in.

I have seen women fight on the streets, strip to bare buttocks…because of a man.

Go to rundown shacks of the metropolis and see women with scars from ear to cheek, like a tiger attack, all for the fight for a man.

People recruit their entire household to attack other women, sometimes for the attention of a man no better than a piece of idea.

It’s all in the mind; messing with our heads.

Go to prisons. Half the women are serving time for crimes of passion.

The man is the prize.

Young girls are coached to be desirable for boys.

Teenage girls are told to learn how to multitask so they can keep a home.

Women are told to look a certain way so they can appeal to men.

Eventually, the entire purpose of your being is to become someone’s wife.

Not a bad deal. Marriage should be a good thing regardless of individual experiences.

But should that be the peak of half the population of the world?

So this half-population is struggling to get the attention and approval of the other half.

See the stampede!

It’s an ugly picture of cuts and bruises, scars and hate, jealousy and ignominy.

You need to step back and look at the prize you fought so hard to get sometimes, and ask if all is well with you.

This is why, for all intent of humiliation, the only words people throw at women they believe will hurt is when they are described as inadequate for a man, or unable to keep a man or a home.

It boils down to domestication.

You are no better than the colour of your bedroom walls and the present dude calling you at midnight. Nothing else seems to matter, unless you can show there is male approval in whatever you do.

It’s ok to fail in business; it not such a bad thing to suck at enterprise. That is why gender poverty is such a big issue; nobody is paying attention to the true worth of a woman in terms of enterprise, we just need her to be gentle and longsuffering with a man... but I deviate.

Letting a man stray is your fault, your shame, your end.

Many women are defined by the sex of their children. Four girls, and she believes she is a failure. Her heart is in her mouth until she can prove she is woman enough to bear a son.

It is the same script for women in violent relationships. Beat them with rods, they ain’t going nowhere because then it would mean they have failed; and that would make them one-of-those-women who cannot keep a home.

I have seen women choose death (half the time- theirs, the other half- his) over divorce many times.

This is the realities.

We need to speak out against issues that have us defined a little higher than a sheet of paper.

I hope, regardless of what society proposes, you are living your own happiness- whether it fits into a script or not.

We need to unlearn half the mess we grew up believing.

The next woman is not your problem. She never will be.

It's never too late to get that screwed in.

Let’s say you are having a conversation on Feminism. You know, that small issue on Equality.

Your concern is that young girls be allowed education in rural areas; teenage girls be left to dream without marriage as a roadblock to the height of their ambitions or imaginations, and women be treated equally in society and the structures and industries it sustains.

A crisp construction of economic, educational, political, cultural, and personal objectives, without the exoneration of any gender from tall dreams and endless possibilities.

Talks about more women in position of power and decision-making; the bold entry into certain circles of influence; first-world aspiration, realized through merit and skill, and not gender.

An all-encompassing matter that advocates for more opportunities for women and the eradication of gender-bias practices shrouded in culture and religion.

But what your audience, a third-world calamity, hears is entirely skewed:

“Who will fry our plantain now?”

Who will stay in the kitchen and boil water for the sick child?

Who will pound yam, turn eba?

Who will then move from the kitchen to the bedroom with ease and no qualms?

Your entire movement is summarised to a stuffy square room with a stove and kerosene.

That’s when you realise the true worth of the woman in an African situation. That is when you truly understand your position in the Patriarchy.

You are a cook. And when you are not a cook, you are a vagina.

Of course, this would be denied with sticks and machete and howls; but when you talk about Equality and all patriarchy can come up with is pounded-yam-and-egusi-soup arguments, you should understand that your entire worth is no more than a cooking pot.

How can we justify educated people throwing in domestic issues of cleaning and scrubbing, cooking and wiping every time the issue of empowering the woman comes up?

In developed societies, Feminism has long dealt with the ridiculous; now the focus is on civil rights for women.

Here, in the pit of Africa, we are still contemplating whether to reward the woman with human rights!

Just as we fight for basic amenities of light and water and good roads and security; feminism in Nigeria is fighting for issues as heart-breaking as…

Should a wife work when her husband says she shouldn’t?

Should a woman own a Range Rover before getting married?

Should a married woman own her own land property?

Should a woman walk away from an abusive marriage or manage the situation?

Should a maid cook for the husband?

Are ladies allowed to dress in a certain way?

Should a woman ever deny her bae sex?

These are the subjects that take front seat when we address feminism in Nigeria. Yet people compare us to Feminists in the West. As if our audience is similar; as if our traditions are same. As if we share same concerns.

We are still largely concerned about our stomach. The biggest Nigerian problem is food. We are, after all, a nation of consumers. Open your mouth, chop and quench.

And it gets even more confounding, as the real enforcers of patriarchy; the real policing of “offenders” are done by women.

Women who sustain patriarchy want to ensure that all women live homogenously or be labelled social pariahs.

It might take another two decades before we begin to deal with civil rights. For now we worry about leaving the children with the men…

Are they smart enough to take care of a child? Will they not mistakenly toss the child under the couch thinking s/he is an empty bottle of beer?

Yes, women share these fears and arguments about grown men. It is a kind of love and reverence, you know.

See, even men are not left out of the preposterousness of Patriarchy.

This is where we are.

And what a bloody waste of time it is for sensible discourse to follow.

My name is Joy Isi Bewaji.

This is the place where I get to talk about stereotypes, tradition, prejudices, kyriarchy, patriarchy and feminism.

Welcome.

Did I forget to mention I am a feminist?

Feminism is not complete.

There is the very essential accessory of “angry” or “burnt”, “bitter” or “unhappy”.

You almost imagine ejaculation taking place whilst pooping, with moans of “angrrrrry bitches” foaming from the side of the mouth.

It’s never a pretty picture when they conceive these add-ons.

So why are Feminists angry?

Or maybe the question should be: why is the anger of the Feminist a more important discussion, a headliner of sort, than the anger of, say, the housewife with five children, or the bitterness of the mechanic, or the unhappiness of the manager at a construction firm, or the scorched habit of the police officer, or the political analyst on AIT with irate veins shooting out behind a worn collar?

The anger of a Feminist at a work place, for instance, could be triggered by the work itself and not her feminist tag. Work might be slow, work might be unproductive, and work might be paying less. Work is what elicits her anger.

The bitterness of a Feminist on Lagos roads may be caused by the driver in front of her- the one who carelessly reverses and slams her lights out; it could be hours of traffic; it could be okada hitting her side mirror off.

The bitter Feminist in traffic is bitter because of the traffic situation. Like everyone else.

The irritation of a feminist in social situations that address rape, misogyny, or crass ignorance on issues of patriarchy could be found in the responses, the comments, the blatant witlessness of it all, or just the realisation of how easily depraved things can get…

And the finesse and subtleties people, like Nigerians, living in third world depravity, lacking in every basic need, demand in dealing with issues of female mutilation, silence in rape and battery in marriage as something as, well, hip as a Davido concert, is worth pulling your hair out for.

I am not sure how people can address these issues of prejudices with the kind of conduct and tone that we give to good sex and orgasm.

How do we address the barefaced rape cases under bridges, near bus parks, in crannies of Ojota and Ogba with calm and easy tones?

Yesterday, Sunday, we held the third edition of #TheConversation- an event where we talk about patriarchy and social privilege(s) or lack of it. This time we moved to Ibadan (we have been to Lagos and Abuja). At the event yesterday was Akintoba, a lawyer, who shared an experience of a five year old girl, raped by the friend of her father- a man in his forties.

When the case got to him, he looked at the child and asked, “What do you want me to do to this man?”

The young child answered, “I want him to suffer.”

A 5 year old is very clear of her wish, because her pain reminds her of what she truly desires for her rapist.

As the case progresses, father of the child calls the lawyer aside and pleas that this matter should not destroy the relationship he has with his friend (the rapist).

Before long, in true African style, the case goes cold. Not because the lawyer is unwilling to help or the courts are unwilling to address the matter, but the parents started meandering, then stopped picking the lawyer’s calls.

Yet, when Feminists or activists or any other “–ists” address these type of issues, we are required to “tone it down” “calm it down” “so that people can understand”.

Understand what exactly? Is it rocket science to understand that a woman is equal to a man, and a child should not be raped?

Do we need tutorials for that? A cup of coffee and biscuits to help comprehension, perhaps?

Are we to wear our Sunday best with ribbon on our hair whilst we deal with situations many of us only hear about?

Do you not know that the easiest thing to be in a situation like this is to be calm, sweet, and understanding?

It is not your experience. So why should you “carry it on your heads”? That is what you mean when you say “tone it down”.

It is the easiest place to stand. And it is a selfish position.

I am almost ashamed of any woman who would suggest that feminism be toned down.

Tone down so that what can happen? So that we can be considered sweet and kind and loving and longsuffering and nice and understanding?

If anything needs toning down it should be discrimination and chauvinism.

I am an angry feminist (Just as angry as being Nigerian and realizing the numbers who are dead because terrorism exists).

An angry feminist with a good job, great companion, lovely kids, a really good life.

Still I am angry. I am angry for that 5 year old girl who didn’t get justice because her mother needed to “tone it down”.

I am angry for the girl hawking “pure water” who gets harassed sexually by drivers and conductors and step-fathers because her mother is “toning it down”.

I am angry for every woman who has been told to work out bad situations because society does not want to deal with the 'female anger' or even want to admit she has a right to any kind of emotion beyond the “oooohs” that escape her lips during sex.

I am angry.

Now that (that) is established, we can then move on to other discourse that this platform will provide and address.

Thank you and welcome.