I’m not very big
on numbers and statistics (blame this on my partial dyslexia), but they are roughly one half of the population; one half of the
human race. They are Woman. They are the paragons of beauty, the symbols of
God’s divine artistic majesty; they are a sight to behold, eye-candy for the
visually active. They are from Venus, they are lithe, graceful, elegant,
emotional, sweet, gentle, kind, and they are the physical embodiment of that
most loosely used word “beautiful”. They are Women.
It’ has always
baffled me how through the ages we’ve largely managed to subjugate them,
marginalise them and disenfranchise them as second class citizens. They are
relegated to the back in domestic and national affairs as though their views
didn’t matter and don’t count or as if they have nothing positive to contribute
to humanity and the human experience.
In the early
1900s women had to fight to get the vote, which men as a matter of course
exercised on their behalf. In parts of Nigeria, and Africa and India young
girls (sometimes not even in their teens) are routinely given out in “marriage”
to men sometimes three times their age. Female Genital Mutilation is a phrase
that has become popular in the west as a source of shame and reproach for cultures
that still practice it – of course the victims, it goes without saying are
women. Mortality statistics reveal that many women sufferers of abusive
relationships have died at the hand of their husbands, partners or ex-lovers.
And cases of domestic abuse, physical and emotional are on the increase; again
guess who’s on the receiving end? Female drivers are the butt of our sexist
jokes, and on it goes.
And sadly the most
blatant case of female segregation is in the workplace where women have had to
toil for the better part of their existence to gain the heights and earn the
respect of their peers and colleagues. It used to be that women weren’t
considered good enough to be anything but secretaries and typists even as
recently as the 60s and 70s. The advent of the Female Manager was something we
finally began to see more of in the 90s, and even then it didn’t mean that the
glass ceiling was forever shattered.
The workplace is
still largely male dominated; there are certain fields that do not require
physical endeavour that are still male dominated; gender diversity in
leadership teams and several Fortune 500 boards is still way of the mark for a
sex that represents half of the human experience and through whom every single
person originated. And finally there is the issue of compensation with female
employees, earning anywhere from 10% to sometimes as much as 30% less than their
male colleagues for doing the same role.
Personally, my
position is to advocate for women to be seen as equals, to be seen as partners,
to be seen as complementary and for full gender inclusion. I’m not about sexism
and certainly not one to postulate that women take on roles that only men are
suited to (for example being a father), but I believe that they bring a unique
insight and perspective to the workplace, and societal experience that men can NEVER
provide, no matter how much in touch they are with their feminine side or
metrosexuals as I hear they are now called. I’m sure everyone has a story or
two to tell about their own female heroes and role models, let me share mine.
I come from a
strong stock of males (my Dad is the
quintessential Alpha Male) but have also been privileged to have around me
some of the most phenomenally amazing women through the course of my short life.
My grandfather (God rest his soul) was born at the start of the 20th
Century, a polygamous Muslim, he had a harem of wives and fathered close to 90
children (Dad was no 12, captain of the B-team). But the old man was
particularly fond of one wife in particular. His office was in her house, which
was where he had his meals always with her, in these silver dishes. Every day
when he was walking up to her house, you would hear him call out “my dear”, to
which she would reply in turn “my dear”. The affection between them was strong
and deep, you didn’t need a soothsayer to tell you how close and dear to him
she was. But I digress.
Janet Solabomi was also known as the Nigerian Florence Nightingale. She was
trained as a Nurse and had practiced her career diligently across Nigeria
before, setting up shop in Oluseyi Lodge (her home) where she had a maternity
ward and clinic, incidentally my older brother; my parent’s first born was born
there. She was a paragon of strength, fortitude, faith, devotion, love, honour
and service. She gave her time and resources to her family and her community,
she helped create jobs, mentored younger women, played a leadership role in her
local church (paving the way through prayer for her husband’s eventual
salvation) and exemplified family and duty for her children and grand-children.
My brother and I joke that her children are soo tightly knit; they are like
members of a cult.
I had amazing childhood
memories from vacation times spent in her home, with cousins over the Christmas-New
year break, smashing records, having breakfast and lunches, and just the
general atmosphere of kin that she created for us. Notably though, she did all
these in her capacity as mother, wife and caregiver, while still running a tight
ship in her business and workplace. This is an area where men continue to
struggle.
On a personal
level, she also set the template for how a mother-in-law should relate with her
daughter-in-law, and my mother was a principal beneficiary of her friendship,
openness and counsel. I have no doubt that Mama JS (as some called her) left a
major mark on her first son’s wife, the woman I call “mum”.
(I will post the second part of this series tomorrow)
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