Journal: Priscilla Papers
Volume: PP 15:4 (Fall 2001)
Article: Why? Oh, Why Am I A Woman?
Author: Funmi Josephine Para-Mallam

PP 15:4 (Fall 2001) p. 12

Why? Oh, Why Am I A Woman?

My Discovery That Nothing Is Beyond The Reach Of A Woman Whose Faith And Identity Are In Christ.

Funmi Josephine Para-Mallam

Funmi Josephine Para-Mallam is a research fellow specializing in gender and development at the National Institute for Policy and Strategic Studies in Kuru, Nigeria. In June she was made a Ford International Fellow, having been awarded a Ford Foundation scholarship. She plans to begin a doctoral program in Gender and Development in the new school year. Her husband, Gideon, directs Nigeria Fellowship of Evangelical Students.

I have a confession to make. I used to hate being a woman. And I hated God for making me one. But it wasn’t always that way.

My parents brought up my siblings (a brother and two sisters) and me equitably, with absolutely no sense of privilege based on gender. “Aim for the stars, and you’re sure to hit one,” was Dad’s constantly quoted axiom. So throughout my school years I competed favorably with my peers, male and female, and felt inferior to no one. My girlhood fantasies alternated wildly between becoming President of Nigeria and performing adorably before millions of fans—movie star, sports champion, politician, whatever—I just knew that I could and would be great. Nothing was beyond my reach.

Rude Awakening

But as in all sweet dreams, harsh reality jerked me awake.

As my body budded into womanhood, my inner senses caught on to things I’d never really noticed. I became aware of the gender inequalities in society and marriage, particularly in the African context, and even in my parents’ relationship. In the sitting room playing with my dolls, I’d often hear Mom’s visiting friends lament their marital woes.

This bothered me. Were all women to end up as docile caterers to the caprices of men? It certainly sounded like it. Did the dispassionate competition and camaraderie of our early carefree years end at the marriage altar?

Apparently.

My answer to these questions left me with only one “safe” option. I encased my heart with a veneer of toughness and militancy. I wasn’t going to allow any of the sons of Adam to hurt me or use me as they did other women who were foolish enough to let them.

As a college freshman, on my student ID card in the place where it asked for marital status, I wrote “divorced with five children.” I envisioned an initial period conforming to social respectability by marrying one man, having his children, and then, of course, dumping him. In my exotic fantasy, I’d then go off, holding my head high and making it as a brilliant, globe-trotting diplomat.

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