THE ILLUSIONS OF A GRAND FEMINIST (1)

Men.

Scum of the earth, dregs of the darkness. Arrogant, philandering creatures, fit for nothing other than breeding and a good hard swiving. Who needs them anyway?! They’ve never helped women without an ulterior motive and would rather piss on women, shaking hands with their buddies and knocking together glasses of choice whiskey at the same time.

I thus find it strange that these courageous, admirable women doing things never heard of, who have never needed the male gender and all its necessary affiliations, may have fathers who dote on them, cheering them on and supporting their goals; brothers who do not necessarily share their views but would not hesitate to tear enemies, real and imagined, limb from limb at the slightest crinkle of an otherwise sleek brow. Or, is family exempted from the hate speeches and burn- at- stake approach?

No. I do not advocate hate, but why take the half and leave a quarter behind? The half isn’t the whole, neither is the quarter, so why spare neither? I ask again, what is the premise for the hate of the penised half of the species? Bandwagon effect it seems, but a few learned women will argue this fact, true. Why hate whom you have never met, whom you have never seen, neither have you felt their pain nor tasted their sorrows?

These learned women live in a utopia where men are the villains and the scum that must be scrubbed off the toilet seats, and women, oh dear women, are the hapless victims of centuries of forceful slavery and oppression. The allusion of sympathy to empathy and the gross misinterpretation of roles, cooked under the guise of education, equality, and liberation. Greed, envy, and the lust for power have never been more aptly named.

Perhaps if men were more chivalrous, if men bent over to accommodate every whim, sponsored every fanciful flight, perhaps then, there would be no more gender wars. Perhaps, if men closed their eyes at the sight of Venus riding the moon, Aphrodite descending the stairs of her temple, and Osun rising from the waters, perhaps there would be no more violations of sexual rights and abuse of the sacred temple that is the feminine body. Perhaps, if men wore the concrete shoes that women wear every day and suffer the traumatising indignities that come with bearing the offspring of these fellows, perhaps there would be less need to subject oneself to the sweaty thrusts and pawing hands of an overhung fellow. Need I say more?

Tsk, the world reeks of hypocrisy, and we revel in its blissful delight.

P.S. Forgive my misandrist approach, Nigerian feminism is vastly unprepared and way too naïve to be regarded as true feminism. And permit me to say, I have never liked the "grand" notions of feminism. 

P.P.S. There may be a second part to this post. 

P.P.P.S. Photo by chloe s. on Unsplash