Do Igbo Men Treat Their Wives as ‘Slaves’? A Look into Patriarchy in the Southeast
It was a rather loose conversation, one that dangled harmlessly across different topics, but, as I have come to observe in the trail of my random conversations with friends, it quickly took a swift turn into a deeper, controversial subject that ended with the soliloquy, “How did we get here?”
Even with the subconscious awareness that I have a tendency to engage in the oddity of things, the appetite for deviating from or challenging the rationale behind societal norms, I was, quite honestly, taken off guard when she said those words:
“I don’t want to marry an Igbo man. They are demeaning. They take their wives as slaves. They force their wives into submission. I do not love them.”
For confidentiality purposes, I will not reveal her identity but will, throughout this piece, refer to her as the Igbo Damsel. But, as you can imagine, if you know that I am an Igbo male, the words of the Igbo Damsel felt like a betrayal. “Hurtful” would simplify and dilute the gravity of those words. They were not words directed just at me but ones that adjudged Igbo husbands as masters and their beloved wives as slaves.
“I disagree that Igbo men treat their wives badly,” I replied as calmly as I could.
But do they?
Patriarchy in Igbo land: A Single Story
The portrayal of Igboland as a deeply patriarchal society is widely spoken of, made popular by interesting movies, and perhaps authenticated by research publications often written by those removed from the tenets of such practices.
George Thomas Basden, a British missionary stationed in Igboland, wrote that Igbo “women have but few rights in any circumstances and can only hold such property as their lords permit.”
This perception, observed by a white outsider in their usual nature of claiming to have fully conceptualised the African way of life, has come under heavy criticism. However, the damage of this 20th-century writing, and others that followed, formed the basis of the half-baked portrayal of Igbo traditions that pertain to women, giving rise to misconceptions and, invariably, harm to Igbo women. If Basden invalidated Igbo cultural practices, what about the very religion he brought, which fought to displace the African doctrines? Does it not vilify or classify women as second-class citizens?
Basden and his fellow missionaries brought copies of the Bible to Igboland and other parts of Africa that admonished women not to voice their opinions in front of men.
“A woman should learn in quietness and full submission. I do not permit a woman to teach or to assume authority over a man; she must be quiet,” said Timothy in 1 Timothy 2:11-12 (NIV).
Another verse that renders women voiceless is recorded in 1 Corinthians 14:34-35 (NIV):
“Women should remain silent in the churches. They are not allowed to speak, but must be in submission, as the law says. If they want to inquire about something, they should ask their own husbands at home; for it is disgraceful for a woman to speak in the church.”
Hence, when Basden wrote about Igbo women: “There is no grumbling against their lot; they accept the situation as their grandmothers did before them, taking affairs philosophically. They managed to live fairly contentedly,” he was perhaps being sarcastic but certainly hypocritical.
These narratives slowly seeped into homes through entertainment, and the notion that Igbo culture entirely debases women began to take deep root. For instance, a marriage scene in a typical Igbo film would show the bride on her knees as she feeds her husband a cup of palm wine. Movies of such depiction are filled with scenes where husbands are called Nna Ayi and treated with unreserved respect by their wives, to the extent that viewers could easily regard them as unquestionable mini-kings, with their wives as slaves ever ready to fulfil their demands.
Moving away from the fictional world, it is true that Igbo cultural practices depicting masculinity are not hidden from the blind and deaf. The dumb speak them aloud because the culture of patriarchy is spoken loudly enough, often in a deplorable manner.
It is no secret that during masquerade festivals, women are not allowed to actively participate. They can, at a long distance, watch the beautiful dance but are forbidden to touch the mask, and it is even considered an abomination for them to seek to know the rituals behind it.
In traditional inheritance practices, male children are typically regarded as the sole legitimate heirs to their father’s property. This often leads to discrimination against wives who have only female children, and those who are considered ‘barren’ face stigma, even from fellow wives. As a result, in families without a male child, the inheritance is often claimed by extended kin, leaving the immediate family without rights to the property.
The list goes on—from women not being allowed to break the kola nut to being forbidden from offering thanks to the gods with hot drinks.
However, the reflective question worthy of introspection is: Do these cultural practices debase women? Do they relegate women in Igboland to second-class citizens? Do they, as the Igbo Damsel alleged, turn wives into slaves that only death can free?
The superficial answer to these superficial questions is a definite yes. But since the questions lack depth and are derived from a single story, the answer becomes questionable upon further holistic review of the Igbo cultural system.
When the culture of a people is discussed without much effort to consider context and perspectives, when the aspects of a culture that emphasise patriarchy are popularised, it sweeps under the carpet the different facets of the culture that empower women.
To begin with something that should be rather obvious, some Igbo societies are, in fact, matriarchal. Ohafia in Abia State and Afikpo in Ebonyi State are known for their matrilineal customs that allow the tracing of family lineage through the woman.
In the Arondizuogu community, a culturally rich society that spreads across Arochukwu in Abia State and across different towns in Imo State, daughters, proudly called Ada Mazi, are revered.
Now, regarding the societies in Igboland that are considered patriarchal, the long-held notion of women’s subjugation should be closely examined alongside cultural practices that empower women.
I argue this from the perspective of someone raised within the system, and as an inquisitive child whose curiosity often led to asking questions that might be considered too complex for a child, I know of cultural practices that empower women.
For instance, I would wonder, as I eavesdropped on conversations, why my father’s friends and brothers had two names for my mother.
On some occasions, she was called Ori Aku, which, to translate quite literally, means “a wealth eater.”
On other occasions, she was called Odozie Aku, which means “a wealth builder” or, as some would say, “a wealth keeper.”
How could one person, you might wonder, be referred to with two names that have entirely opposing meanings?
It stems from a widely held belief that because a wife builds wealth, she is accorded the right to partake in the wealth.
An Odozie Aku is given the unreserved right to determine how much money in the house is spent, on what it is spent, and what is saved.
Unless I was raised and witnessed circumstances entirely different from the norm, Igbo wives command significant power when it comes to the financial spending of a family.
In fact, it is not extreme to say that wives largely determine their husbands’ philanthropy. Contributions to church are their decisions. Financial help to relatives is at their absolute discretion. The wives, permit me if things have changed without my notice, make the call in such matters.
It begs the question: How could a slave be offered such financial autonomy?
I believe that the reason Igbo Damsels—plural because I know for certain that my friend’s feeling is not isolated—hold such views is due to the fact that some of the rights that empower women in Igbo culture are not widely spoken of.
Hence, young Igbo Damsels grow up, coupled with an entirely erroneous depiction of the Igbo family structure shown in movies, believing that they are to serve their husbands voicelessly and without question.
How many know the power vested in Umuada? This society of women from a natal hometown is the custodian of women’s rights, and the enforcer of those rights, to the degree that they are sometimes considered unchallengeable.
In peacemaking, Umuada, unlike Umunna (the male counterpart), does not wait for matters to be reported to them before taking action.
If one of their own is being mistreated or a husband has not fulfilled his responsibilities, Umuada often swings into action without being asked or summoned.
On occasions when they are called to resolve marriage issues, particularly concerning a husband’s mistreatment of his wife, their decisions are final and can be severe.
In fact, in those days, if news spread that Umuada was coming to deliberate on a man’s matter—whether he had become a drunkard—he would tremble like a leaf because they were not to be messed with.
“Where men fail in conflict management, Umuada wields a big stick, and their decision is final,” writes Cletus O. Obasi and Rebecca Ginikanwa Nnamani.
Dr. Ngozi U. Emeka-Nwobia of Ebonyi State University concurs in another thesis:
“The Umuada do not wait for crises to be reported to them before they weigh in, because their ears are always on the ground to identify conflict situations, though in some situations they may be formally invited, especially in cases that have defied the efforts of Umunna.”
Ignorance of the law, they say, is no excuse. Similarly, ignorance of some cultural practices that support women’s rights within Igbo tradition is not an excuse. What, however, emanates from that ignorance are wives who are being abused because they lack an understanding of the power they wield, and a growing population of young Igbo Damsels who believe that the concept of marriage in a typical Igbo society is slavery at best.
Note: This opinion is an offshoot of an ongoing report I am working on regarding patriarchy in Igboland, particularly relating to how women feel their rights are being violated.
If you have any personal experiences or insights, I would be happy to hear them. Kindly share with me at [email protected]
