Yaka’s Daughter

“Your daughter is aggressive. I believe if she toned down, she would make a better leader.”

These were the words uttered to my parents during the parent-teacher conference. This statement haunted me for years.

Aggressive. 

A word that haunts me to date. This has been a word that has been used to describe me for so long, it feels like my middle name. Considering I was twelve, I did not quite understand why my teacher would constantly describe me like this yet when my male counterparts spoke out, they were described as assertive. They would be told they would be the next president of Kenya, yet, when I would speak my mind, I was a problem. I needed to be more soft-spoken. More gentle. More lady-like.  

My true self could not exist in school. 

I remember walking along the pavement on Al-Imran Plaza in Kisumu’s CBD. The front of my t-shirt was written ‘AGA KHAN PRIMARY SCHOOL’ and the back of my t-shirt was written ‘ROSE’ which was the house I was in. A loud and indelicate whistle summoned my attention. I paced faster. “Mrembo, uko na rasa poa (Beautiful, you have nice buttocks). There were in a crowd. It triggered the primal flight reaction or something of the sort; a massive dose of adrenaline shot up my body, my heartbeat accelerated and fear took over. I had just started puberty and the gaze of men old enough to be my father made me uncomfortable. My body would recoil. I would be so revolted. I was not meant to complain about these instances as apparently, this was men appreciating my beauty. 

Do not walk alone in public.

It is 9 PM, the news is airing. 

“Female Moi University student hacked to death by boyfriend.”

The silence in the living room is deafening. To distract myself, I picked up my phone and scrolled through Twitter. The nation is devastated but not devastated enough to blame the boyfriend. Somehow it was her fault. It was her fault for having a boyfriend. It was her fault that she was hacked to death. Women in Kenya face the risk of femicide, was I next? Was I a walking statistic? 

I always felt my brothers had much more freedom than me. They were allowed to walk outside alone. They could go to their friends’ houses alone. I, on the other hand, had to go with someone even if it was my friend who lived five minutes away. I was livid. Why could I not leave the house alone? Even when jogging someone had to go with me? I had a conversation with one of my brothers. I told him I thought our parents mistrusted me and that it was not fair that they had much more freedom. Contrary to my belief, my parents actually trusted me.

“You know it’s because you are a girl,” he said. I stared at him intensely waiting for him to expound on his point. “The world is dangerous so our parents are just trying to protect you.”

This is when it all clicked. 

I am female.

As a woman, I know the world was not designed for me. My own existence challenges the patriarchy.  I did try to tone down but my mother did not recognize the stranger who slept in her house. She told me stories of how her grandmother would protect her from boys who would want to beat her up because she was first in class. She told me stories of always being the only woman in her department. How somehow they assumed she would not be competent at work because she desired to be with her children more. She raised five children, attended swimming galas, and then a class after. She would spend an hour or two with her spreadsheets ensuring everything is near perfection. She would tuck me in bed and cuddle me to sleep. Yaka does not know of gender norms. She does not ascribe to them and neither do her children. She taught us to be inquisitive, to speak our minds, to be confident, to be leaders. She created the patriarchy’s worst nightmare.  Hence I am Assertive, not aggressive. I am Passionate, not emotional. I am Yaka’s Daughter.