Our African aunties meant well. Probably.
So we all have that one auntie. The one who shows up at family gatherings with unsolicited life advice, a laser-focused eye on your outfit, and a PhD in "what makes a good wife." She’s the keeper of tradition, the enforcer of respectability, and sometimes, unfortunately, the guardian of outdated ideas about what it means to raise girls in the 21st century.
To be fair, aunties gave us plenty, so we’re not going to completely bash them. They handed us resilience, community values, the art of making something out of nothing, and enough proverbs to get out of any life crisis. But somewhere between preserving culture and preparing us for womanhood, some lessons got distorted. Others just didn’t age well. And a few need to be gently packed away in ghana must go and laid to rest with gratitude, and a prayer of unlearning.
Because for all their warmth and wisdom, our aunties (and uncles too, but let’s stay focused) gave many of us a version of girlhood that was... intense.
The purity police and the myth of “Good girl” behaviour
If African aunties had a TED Talk, it'd be titled "How to keep your legs closed and your reputation intact." Aunties were the original HR managers of female decorum. From the moment you could sit, there was a full onboarding process:
No running like a boy.
No eating too much.
No laughing too loud.
No asking too many questions. And for heaven’s sake, don’t sit anyhow. Especially not in the presence of uncles.
The obsession with purity was rarely about actual morality. It was optics. It was, “Don’t wear that short skirt, people are watching.” It was Aunty Nkechi eyeing your knee-length dress. It was shame packaged as structure. Meanwhile, your cousin Chidi is out there living his best life, shirtless, fully useless and nobody bats an eye.
Some of us still remember being warned that if you sat too close to a boy, you’d get pregnant. Aunty, that’s not how biology works o!. But the message stuck. Our bodies became something to manage, not something to trust. And it created generations of women uncomfortable in their own skin, apologetic for taking up space.
The “Good wife” training camp
By the age of five, you were already being groomed for servanthood with a smile. The unofficial “Good Wife Academy” made sure cooking, cleaning, and serving were drilled into you with military precision. Meanwhile, your brother was outside kicking a deflated football, blissfully unaware of the domestic syllabus you were mastering.
Now, no one is against learning to cook. We all want to eat. Feeding people you love is a beautiful thing (for most). But many of us weren’t taught cooking as a life skill. We were taught it as proof of value. A woman who can’t cook? Disgraceful. Unmarriageable. A threat to the family name. Cooking became a duty. A currency. A prerequisite for being considered “wife material.”
“A man will leave you if you don’t know how to make stew!”
Our mothers and aunties declared, “A man must not suffer,” and just like that, the bar for male survival became our responsibility. Your brother couldn’t find the salt if it was glowing in the dark, but you were expected to master stew and silence at the same time.
So girls grew up believing love is earned through sacrifice. Boys grew up believing comfort is a birthright. The result? growing up internalising that our worth is tied to servitude, while boys are free to dream of being astronauts or crypto bros.
“You’re the girl, you should know better” aka “boys will be boys”
Ah, the family favourite. Anytime something went wrong, the burden of maturity magically transferred to the girl child.
He hit you? "You're the girl, you should ignore him." You cried too loudly? "compose yourself." You expressed frustration? "that’s not ladylike."
The double standard was glaring. Boys were allowed to fail, explore, misbehave, whilst girls were expected to hold the line. Always. Aunties will forgive our brothers for sneaking out at night because… "boys need freedom." But if you, a girl, dared to step out past 6 p.m., you're practically auditioning for the role of family disgrace.
So we grew up self-editing. Suppressing. People-pleasing. Smiling through disrespect because, heaven forbid, we bring shame to the family or become the topic of the family WhatsApp group.
When girlhood becomes baggage
We are now the grown women undoing all of it.
We are healing from the idea that our value lives in obedience. We are raising daughters who know ‘wife material’ doesn’t come with a checklist and a stovetop. Who ask, ‘How come I’m cooking and he’s still playing FIFA?’ and we are trying to answer with something better than, “That’s just how it is.”
We’re learning to express emotions when all we were taught was silence. We are slowly making peace with the fact that boundaries are not rebellion. That a girl who talks back might just be a girl who believes in her voice.
And it’s not just about the girls.
These outdated lessons failed our boys too. While girls were being over-parented, boys were often left to figure it out alone. They didn’t learn empathy. They didn’t learn housework or emotional regulation. Now some of them are in therapy, wondering why their partners are tired of doing everything.
So, what do we do now?
We teach differently!
We let our daughters take up space, be curious, be loud, be brilliant. We remind them that their worth is not tied to how much they do for others. We raise them to understand their bodies belong to them, their voices matter, and that they are allowed to be human, not just "well brought up."
We raise our sons to do chores without acting like it’s community service. To use seasoning cubes with sense, to ask questions and accept "no" without entitlement. To respect girls not because "they're somebody's sister," but because girls are people. Whole, deserving people. Full stop!
We model what equality looks like, in our homes, our stories, our everyday language. We tell our daughters they are not traditional fundraising opportunities, they are not investments waiting to be ‘collected’ by in-laws with envelopes and “hot drink”. They’re the prize, not the transaction. We show them that girlhood can be beautiful without being burdensome.
To our daughters
You are the legacy of strong women, but strength should never be your only inheritance. You deserve joy, rest, choice, and fullness.
The world needs African women who take up space unapologetically. Who speak truth to power fearlessly. Who define success on their own terms. You can honour your culture while expanding its definition of what is possible.
To the aunties reading this
We see the love behind your lectures, even when the delivery was a little sharp. You did your best with what you knew. But now we are asking you to do what brave women always do — evolve.
Help us raise girls who thrive, not just survive. Help us raise boys who carry their share of the work and the heart. Help us shape culture into something that uplifts rather than restricts.
And if you must ask why your niece is not married yet, please be prepared to accept, “Because she’s waiting for someone who knows how to cook egusi like her,” as a full and valid answer.
With love, plantain, and the audacity to sit anyhow,
-The African Parent
What outdated “girlhood rules” were you raised with?
And how are you raising the girls (and boys) in your life differently?
Let’s talk. Let's unlearn. Let’s rebuild.