This poem was written to give a shout-out to all the amazing men out there in commemoration of this year’s International Men’s Day. You matter!

“Men don’t cry!
Be a man. You must… You must be strong.
No emotions. It’s a sign of weakness.
Don’t be weak! You are a man, not a girl! Be a man!”

Ahmed.
His mother’s words still ring in his head a decade after her death.
Before his manhood reached the age of maturity,
Life made him a man. Mother did her part. Society cheered mother on. A boy in the garment of a man. Childhood thrown out of the moving train of adolescence.
He’s been figuring out life since forever.
No break, no rest.
He has to be a man.

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Tayo.
His father drilled him before death came.
A breadwinner he turned before life could adult him.
Father said he’ll figure it out. He’s been on the quest since forever.
He’s married, but he is dying slowly under the shackles of black tax.
Head bowed in the back seat of the Danfo on his way to Lekki
Not to sleep but to hide the dark shadows lost in his eyes.
He must act tough lest society spit on his weakness.

Chima.
Raped by the popular neighbourhood aunt, his virginity snatched by a she-wolf who had no shame.
He was six. He knew it was wrong.
His infant body could feel the violation as the wolf stole his innocence.
He told no one. Aunty said he would die if he did.
He turned thirty-six yesterday. He has never dated his agemate. He tried twice in Uni, but he went back to his sugar mummies.
Maybe his love life would have been better written if aunty had not desecrated his childhood.

Timo.
His mama said he must never raise his hands on a woman,
But the female heavyweight champion he married has turned him into a punching bag.
He eats curses for breakfast. He spends lunchtime locked away from the eyes of the world in the office.
Dinner is a warm, sumptuous meal of punches.
His mental health is a minute’s walk to madness.
Who will believe him if he says his wife is a husband beater?

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You have cried a million times on your man’s shoulders
But
You never see him cry.
Sometimes you feel the pain behind the mask of laughter.
You see the silent struggles roaring behind the glass of his eyes.
You feel the low tremor, vibrating and coursing through his veins
Like the violent shiver of turbulent waves
You see it. But not a teardrop lest he be deemed a weakling.

But aren’t men humans too?