By: Dr. Mimi Fatou Ceesay
Journalist | Psychologist
The African girl child is born into a legacy she did not create. It is a legacy shaped by silence, endurance, and survival. Long before she understands language, she begins to learn what is expected of her: to endure pain quietly, to obey without question, and to sacrifice without recognition. Her wounds are rarely visible, yet they shape her life from childhood into adulthood. In this quiet suffering, her humanity is often overlooked, and her worth reduced to what she can give rather than who she is.
One of her earliest wounds is the absence of a caring father. This absence is not always physical. Many fathers are emotionally unavailable, authoritarian, or violent. As she witnesses her mother being mistreated, she absorbs a dangerous lesson: men hold power, and women must submit to survive. To protect herself, she becomes emotionally guarded, hyper-responsible, and self-sacrificing. This is not strength by choice, but survival shaped by fear (hooks, 2004). From a young age, she is tasked with adult responsibilities, caring for siblings, serving elders, and placing her needs last. Her dreams are postponed. Her voice is minimized. She is praised for endurance rather than curiosity, intelligence, or creativity. Over time, suffering becomes normalized, even expected.
In many African societies, submission is framed as virtue. The girl child is taught that obedience is love and silence is respect. Emotional, physical, and psychological abuse are often disguised as discipline or tradition. When she speaks up, she is told to pray, to be patient, or to endure for the sake of peace. Resistance is labeled disrespect. Silence becomes safer than the truth.
As she grows into womanhood, abandonment often takes new forms. Many African women are left to raise children alone as fathers withdraw emotionally, financially, or physically. Yet responsibility and blame rarely follow the man. Instead, society scrutinizes the mother. If her children struggle, she is judged as weak or incompetent. The absent father fades into silence, while the woman carries both labor and shame (UNICEF, 2022).
Her value is narrowly defined. She is expected to become a wife and a mother, often at the expense of her safety and well being. Even within marriage, her suffering is normalized. Abuse is minimized. Endurance is praised as a virtue. Leaving is condemned. When an African woman attempts to leave an abusive marriage, she is blamed for “breaking the home.” Her courage is reframed as rebellion. Her pain is dismissed as impatience. She is labeled unstable and unfit. A divorced woman is often treated as damaged goods, excluded from social acceptance, and viewed as a failure rather than a survivor (WHO, 2021).
Within this system, marriage itself becomes a tool of control. Some African men maintain dominance by repeatedly threatening divorce when they do not get their way. The threat of being “sent back” to her family is used to instill fear and silence. This tactic relies on a deeply rooted belief that a woman’s value and dignity are tied to her marital status. She is made to believe that without a husband, she is nothing. Divorce is weaponized not as a last resort, but as punishment and intimidation. She stays not because she is weak, but because society has taught her that a divorced woman loses respect, protection, and identity. Men who use this threat often do so knowing that culture will shield them while shaming her.
Education, one of the most powerful tools for liberation, is frequently discouraged or restricted. An educated woman asks questions. She recognizes abuse. She resists control. She leaves when necessary. This challenges patriarchal systems built on dependence and silence. For this reason, many African girls are married off early, denied higher education, or educated only enough to serve, not to lead (Adichie, 2014).
Ironically, she gives birth to the African man who may later harm her. Often, he repeats what he has learned about control, emotional repression, dominance, and entitlement. This cycle is not accidental. It is inherited trauma passed down through generations. The African girl child does not suffer in isolation. Her mother is wounded. Her father is wounded. They are all shaped by systems that reward control and punish vulnerability. Without healing, pain continues its journey from one generation to the next.
This reality is captured in what can be described as Wounded Warrior Energy:
“The wounded warrior does not fight because she loves war; she fights because no one ever taught her how to rest, how to feel, or how to heal.”
Her strength is imposed, not chosen. And strength without healing becomes another wound.
Her healing is urgent. Society must intervene not to silence her further, but to protect and affirm her humanity. Her worth must be recognized beyond marriage, motherhood, and endurance. Leaving an abusive relationship must be recognized as courage, not failure. Education, safety, economic independence, and the right to speak and be believed are not privileges; they are fundamental human rights.
When we heal the African girl child, we heal families and communities. We disrupt cycles of violence. We protect future generations. This healing requires confronting harmful traditions, supporting women who leave abusive relationships, holding men accountable, and creating spaces where emotional healing is possible for all. Only then can silence be broken, and the wounded African girl child grow into a whole, free woman.
References:
Adichie, C. N. (2014). We Should All Be Feminists. Anchor Books.
hooks, b. (2004). The Will to Change: Men, Masculinity, and Love. Washington Square Press.
UNICEF. (2022). The State of the World’s Children: Gender Equality.
World Health Organization. (2021). Violence Against Women Prevalence Estimates.
