My Feminism Began…

Written by Idayat Jinadu

My feminism began during my first degree in Peace and Conflict Studies. I was 16 and fresh out of secondary school. I had my first phone, a Blackberry Q10, which I only used to enjoy music and read class materials. One of the materials was on theories of crime for the Introduction to Criminology course I took. Our lecturer tasked us to study all the theories because he would be randomly picking any of us in the next class to discuss any of the theories. I went to the hostel with the intention of learning psychological theory, and I did. Later, I changed to feminist theory because almost everyone in class discussed psychological theory, and our lecturer said no one else was allowed to talk about it. So I had to learn feminist theory. I wasn’t a feminist then, and I didn’t even understand the concept and ideology of feminism. However, I studied the theory, gave an excellent presentation, and scored the highest in the class.

Learning the theory laid the foundation of what feminism is for me. So, when I got on Twitter in my second year on my new Tecno Spark and saw the accounts of Ozzy Etomi, Feminist Witch, Uloma (Nerve Bender), and many other blazing women, the theory connected with my lived experiences as a girl child and young woman. There, my feminist awakening occurred. I never tweeted, but I followed closely. It was a freedom I had never experienced before: to see that the things I went through and was going through as a female human being weren’t peculiar to me alone, but that they happened to women worldwide and that there’s a movement dedicated to our liberation and freedom. I was enamoured. I DM’d some of the feminists about my experiences, and they responded kindly. It was like a third eye opened on my forehead; I became woke!

In school, I became intolerable to my male friends. I would confront them whenever they said something sexist. I converted some of my female friends to feminism, and those who couldn’t be converted, I made sure they were aware of feminism. Before long, I gained the nickname of ‘Argumentative Essay’ because I was always arguing with a man (which I don’t do anymore because I know they aren’t stupid; their egos are just more important than women’s rights) or sometimes a lady about feminism. I didn’t know what activism meant at the time, but looking back, I realised I was an activist. It got to a point where the men in my circle were conscious of the things they said about women because I would raise hell on them. One time, I liked a guy who was a classmate. We started talking and I realized he was sexist. I didn’t hesitate to cut off our talking stage even though I asked him out first. I told him he was sexist and that I could not be with a man who was sexist. We remained friends, and I didn’t spare a minute to remind him and our mutual friends to support feminism.

On the internet, I started a blog and made it feminist. I reached out to feminist women and men (at the time, I thought men could be feminists) to offer their thoughts on feminism. All of this was pleasant, but the most important part was the community I got to be a part of as an African feminist. I got radicalised, not just as a feminist, but also as a person. I didn’t know a community of women on the internet, whom I rarely related with but soaked in their lessons, thoughts, and reflections, could have such an impact on my life. Becoming a feminist helped me overcome the foundational layers of people-pleasing that were preventing me from using my voice. I became confident and could say no to people. I became bold and began to speak for myself and my rights. I returned to learning the fundamental human rights to know, understand, and reaffirm that my rights as a woman are human rights. 

I became smarter in school and believed more in myself.

I was on Instagram one lovely afternoon when I stumbled upon an African feminism course created by a lady whose username is the.nifeminist. The course duration was a month, in 2020. Its goal was to help feminists understand feminism from the African perspective, as a lot of the theories of feminism in place are Eurocentric. I applied and got in. There, I met women who were in various stages of their careers, doing wonderful things and dedicated to understanding the context of feminism for African women. I met a lady who was doing her master’s in architecture. I met a PhD student who was in her 20s and I marvelled. Through the course, I understood the dynamics of privilege and oppression. A Black woman and a white woman are both victims of misogyny; however, their race influences how each experiences being a woman in a misogynistic world. This applies to class: a poor woman and a rich woman; and to sexuality as well: a straight woman and a queer woman. Here, I was introduced to intersectional feminism, which I define as the type of feminism that encompasses every sphere of existence (class, race, sex, sexuality) that we adult human females—women—may find ourselves in and how the prejudices of sexism, classism, racism, and homophobia affect our ability to exist in the society as women. Later, I decided to be a radical intersectional feminist because structural problems (patriarchy) require structural solutions (radical feminism).

In all of this, I realized something: activism can take many forms. There are feminists who don’t have money to donate but make sure they use their voices to shout digitally and in real life to free women. Some feminists are digital activists who use their accounts to shame misogynists and enlighten women. Some women don’t wear the label, but they stand for women’s rights. Some feminists share jobs and opportunities for women only and that is their activism. Some belong in local communities where they fight for their fellow women without familiarity with the concept of feminism. Others use their wealth and social currency to create empowerment for women disadvantaged by capitalism, and this act of feminism is especially important because, at the core of it, patriarchy is gendered capitalism. The economic exploitation of women is crucial for the patriarchal system to uphold itself because poverty not only suppresses financial freedom but also erases the voices and social identity of poor women. Thus, patriarchy works with capitalism to ensure women are economically subdued, as poor women’s inability to consistently make ends meet is not a result of laziness or a lack of will; it is the effect of capitalism’s exploitation, which is patriarchy’s goal. Capitalism benefits when women have to work unpaid domestic work and childcare because this maximises profit. According to the Bill Gates Foundation, the world owes women $2 trillion from unpaid labour, which is a lot of profit. This economic exploitation happens because of the patriarchal system that subjugates women to be the sex class whose labour is only useful, never valuable. 

One may ask if men aren’t also exploited by capitalism. It is a good question. The distinct difference is that men are favoured by patriarchy; they benefit from the system that oppresses women. A poor man is still a man. His gender protects him, and he has a voice in society despite his economic position. Poor men are known to be audacious and rude to women who employ and pay them; this is because men feel power from the existence of the patriarchal system that inherently favours them. A poor man and a poor woman are working together, doing the same job; the man is paid better because sex supersedes class. Poor men are only poor. Poor women are poor and they are women. 

Therefore, I’m happy that there are feminists who are dedicated to empowering women disadvantaged by capitalism because for these women, it’s not just poverty; it’s also misogyny. As long as capitalism can extract unpaid labour from women, patriarchy will thrive. As long as patriarchy can subdue women, capitalism will keep exploiting women. Which means economic empowerment for poor women by feminists isn’t just charity; it is resistance. 

All of these forms of feminism are valid. Combined strength beats solo might. 

My feminism is alive because of the women I have met and have had relationships with (directly and indirectly). My voice as an African feminist is loud and unwavering because of the power in the community of women who are dedicated to the goal of liberation and the redundancy of feminism. This is not to say we are perfect humans doing perfect things, as misogynists are fond of placing the burden of perfection on us. This is to say we are simply women who won’t sit back and watch society deprive us of our fundamental rights to be a person. We are women, in the words of Phoebe Buffay, with asses that won’t quit. The shame from misogyny and the patriarchal system is not ours to bear.

In writing, I have found that there’s courage and there is strength, and this is a form of activism. For a lot of feminists, we only have words and the courage to write. I imagine there must be billions of texts centred on the rights of women and feminism. I hope all of these words compound and grow to become a great wall of feminism against the rigid patriarchal and capitalist system.  

I hope, I pray, and I aim to witness. 

Idayat Jinadu is a brand strategist and PhD student working on the culture of waste disposal and its effect on environmental security for her dissertation. She is inspired by  impact and wants to create things that matter for people who need them to be free, liberated, and who they truly want to be.