Woman, Choose Yourself First
A Cameroonian woman interrogates the gendered conditioning that teaches girls to perform femininity and domestic competence for male approval, rather than for themselves. The writer argues that women's self-love and autonomy—in education, ambition, appearance, and life choices—are not threats but necessities, and that societal pressure to prioritize men's comfort over women's flourishing is both unjust and self-defeating.
“Nobody will marry you to keep talking like that.” Ever heard something along those lines before? Most of us, girls/women, grew up being taught by our mothers and society that we have to act in specific ways to be loved by men who would eventually marry us. What if we were thought to simply love ourselves first and for us? But how do you feel like crime and still love yourself? But that’s even beside the point. Why are girls raised like they were being prepared for marriage while men are raised to face life? And when we count on you to provide for us as our education instructs, you brand us materialistic. You see the problem, don’t you?
As a girl, you have to be neat for a man to notice you: you have to always clean your house thoroughly so that your boyfriend will aim for marriage with you; you should not laugh so loud; you should not have expensive handbags or be too educated so you don’t scare him away.
I once climbed a tree in Fundong - Alim and had the whole neighbourhood lashed out at me supposedly because climbing trees was or is still meant for men only. And make sure you always remember to shut the fuck off when men are talking. Charming, isn’t it?
Dear women, aren't we supposed to be neat because it's good and healthy for us? Shouldn't we clean our surroundings because it looks good in our eyes, too? Can't we get ourselves expensive handbags and houses without being labeled as “too ambitious for a lady”? Must a man be the one to get you that iPhone 11 Pro Max you caress dreams of having? Why should your Ph.D. be a threat to a potential husband? What’s the sin in loving and doing things for yourself first as a lady? Why do we have to pay the price for men’s insecurity?
A secondary school teacher of mine used to tell us there wouldn’t be any need for a Women’s Day if women were truly important, that men are inherently important and that’s why there’s no need to celebrate the man. “Abeg, wuna excuse me if there is a men's day,” he would mock. I guess by now it’s redundant to tell you that my teacher's perception of the matter didn’t go down well with me. But I was just a poor student back then with loose arguments and no voice. And for those who still think like my teacher in this age, maybe I should run this by you: women are just as important as men and Women’s Day is there to help you understand that.
In the words of Kilz Tubuo in When Death Heals, “women can’t keep living in perpetual servitude and fear; they have to start living for themselves and humanity.” There’s nothing wrong with washing, cleaning, and cooking; but there’s everything wrong in doing so because we’re seeking approval from others. If a man feels intimidated by your education and success, the problem isn’t you for these things are good for you and humanity. He needs a fix, and until that is done, even your poverty and misery won’t bail you out from his chauvinistic ways.
There is nothing wrong with being a full-time housewife; neither is there anything wrong with being a working wife. The question is, what do you truly want for yourself? Let it be known to the ends of the earth that being a housewife is a whole job on its own. Our choices should be at our discretion rather than being based on a man’s or society’s dictatorship. After all, we need to be happy to radiate happiness to our men and society. Let's love ourselves first before loving our men. If we can’t love ourselves, we won’t be able to love them. Choose to be happy! Choose happiness!
Ndisii Mildred.
This piece was written in mid-March 2020, as pandemic lockdowns were beginning to reshape daily life and household dynamics across Cameroon and globally. It speaks to a moment when questions of women's labour, autonomy, and self-determination were acutely visible—and when many women were being pressed back into domestic and caregiving roles. The writer draws on lived experience in Cameroon (a tree-climbing incident in Fundong) and memories of classroom misogyny to ground a broader critique of how girls are socialized.
In 2020, this was an urgent voice against the normalization of female self-erasure in the name of marriageability and male comfort. It reads now with the same clarity: the gendered double bind it names—that women are raised to serve while men are raised to live—persists across contexts. The writer's refusal of false binaries (housewife or working woman; neat for whom; educated or desired) remains a necessary intervention. Her invocation of Kilz Tubuo and her own authority as a woman who now has a voice to match her arguments gives the piece a quiet resilience.