The Sisyphean Struggle of Trying to Be a “Perfect” African Woman
Dodging the perfection police with grace
Being a woman, let alone an African woman, comes with its own unique set of instructions — except these instructions were written by someone who definitely didn’t think women were ever going to have agency. It’s like every aspect of your life is scrutinized from every angle, constantly under a microscope. For instance, I’ve been asked what I’m cooking for my man, what’s in my hair (nope, not a cute hair care routine question — more of a “what’s that smell?” type of vibe), and whether or not I’ve had a “proper” night of sleep.
Mind you, I’m just trying to survive another day in this beautifully chaotic world. Is it too much to ask for a little peace?
The problem is that there are so many things that the world expects from me, but it never seems to stop there. Women, particularly in Africa, are expected to be strong, graceful, and poised in the face of overwhelming adversity. But we’re also supposed to act like we aren’t carrying the weight of a thousand generations of broken systems on our backs. Meanwhile, I’m over here trying to figure out how to keep my plants alive while dealing with the mental load of knowing I’ve likely spent more time planning my wedding (which doesn’t exist yet) than the average world leader has spent on their career strategy.
Sexism: the elephant in the room that won’t leave the room
Sexism is everywhere, but in Africa, it can feel like it’s built into the fabric of society. The comments, the expectations, and the judgments, they never seem to end. For instance, if I wear a dress, I’m either “trying too hard” or “asking for attention.” If I don’t wear a dress, I’m labeled as a tomboy or told I’m “trying to look like a man.” There’s just no winning. But what’s even worse is that we rarely talk about how this all intersects with race. Being a woman of color adds layers to this already oppressive mix, especially when you live in a country where beauty standards are often defined by Western ideals that have zero interest in considering melanin as a factor.
It’s 2025, and my ‘body image issues’ still own a fax machine
Speaking of body image, why is it that every time I turn on the TV or scroll through social media, I’m being bombarded with messages about what my body should look like? Don’t get me started on the whole “snatched waist” nonsense. Growing up, the only kind of waist we had in my family was the one my mom would use to hold up her traditional garments, while my aunties would tell me to eat because “big girls are healthy girls” (and I don’t even know what that means).
Fast forward to today, and I’m constantly in the middle of a never-ending war with Instagram influencers, magazine ads, and diet culture pushing the idea that I need to shrink myself into someone else’s image. As if the weight of colonialism, patriarchy, and a million other forces trying to shape me into something I’m not wasn’t enough, I’m also expected to be picture-perfect while fighting for my right to exist as my true self.
Let’s talk about feminism that actually includes everyone
This brings me to feminism. I’m all for feminism, but let’s get real. What’s the point of fighting for equality if it’s just the same old struggle for women who look like the women in Western countries? There’s a whole lot of activism happening, but where are the voices that represent the African women who live in rural villages, or the queer women in Africa whose very existence is criminalized? We’re all fighting for a seat at the table, but there’s a lot of food being served that we’re not invited to.
Feminism should be intersectional — and by that, I mean, it should actually consider women like me. Women whose stories aren’t told in the media, whose struggles aren’t neatly packaged into hashtags. It’s about time we expand the feminist narrative to include the diverse experiences of women globally, especially those who don’t fit the mainstream mold. I mean, why should I have to explain my body, my hair, or my culture just to be accepted?
The way forward: let’s get uncomfortable
We’re in an age where conversation is supposed to bring change, but in many ways, we’re still standing still. African women aren’t some abstract, mythical creatures that exist solely for entertainment or for the consumption of Western ideas. We’re real, complex, and diverse. We have different struggles, joys, and dreams, and it’s time the world acknowledged that. Instead of patting us on the back for enduring the systems that were built to oppress us, it’s time to question why those systems are still standing and who benefits from their continuation.
And to be honest, I don’t have all the answers. But here’s what I know: I don’t want to fit into anyone’s box, and I don’t want to be told how to live my life just because I’m a woman. I want to keep having my messy, unapologetic, “I’m just trying to survive” moments without someone telling me that I need to be more polished. More “appropriate.” More perfect. What would happen if we stopped pretending and just started living for ourselves?
So, the next time you feel pressured to be something you’re not, just remember: the world has been shaping women to fit into uncomfortable molds for centuries. It’s time we start breaking them.
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