By Dr. Mimi Fatou Ceesay, Journalist | Psychologist
Many African marriages do not fall apart because of the two people in the union. They fracture under the weight of the crowd surrounding them. In many African societies, marriage is understood not merely as a private covenant between partners but as a communal contract. Extended family, friends, elders, religious leaders, and community members often feel entitled, sometimes obligated, to intervene. What is normalized as care or cultural responsibility can quietly become intrusion, and intrusion, over time, becomes destruction.
In psychological language, these interfering third parties are often described as “flying monkeys”: individuals who insert themselves into conflicts, enable dysfunction, or manipulate narratives while claiming loyalty or concern. Though the phrase is modern, the dynamic is not. Scholars such as Frantz Fanon have long examined how unhealed trauma and power structures shape relationships. In many postcolonial African contexts, personal unions are not insulated from communal wounds; they are often where those wounds are most visibly expressed.
These “flying monkeys” appear in many forms. They are the relatives who immediately take sides rather than encourage reconciliation. The friends who thrive on gossip rather than resolution. The elders who demand endurance in the face of abuse, framing suffering as virtue. The religious figures who spiritualize dysfunction and silence pain instead of addressing harm. And they are also the quietly resentful observers, those whose unresolved disappointments make them uncomfortable with witnessing healthy love.
The danger lies in how interference disguises itself as concern. Advice is offered without context. Judgment is passed without accountability. Private struggles are turned into public debates. The focus shifts from healing to allegiance, who is right, who is wrong, and who deserves sympathy. Philosopher Nkiru Nzegwu notes that while communal structures in African societies can foster collective strength, they can also undermine individual autonomy when boundaries are absent. A marriage that becomes a public arena loses the intimacy required for growth.
Control often hides beneath the surface. People who have not healed frequently seek control because it feels safer than confronting their own pain. Love requires vulnerability, humility, and emotional responsibility. Control, by contrast, is rooted in fear and insecurity. A union constantly filtered through wounded observers cannot cultivate emotional safety. Instead of communicating directly, partners begin speaking through intermediaries. Trust erodes, resentment builds, and performance replaces authenticity.
There is also a painful truth many avoid: some individuals feel threatened by peace. A stable and loving marriage can reflect what others have not yet healed within themselves. Rather than doing their own inner work, they project bitterness and disappointment outward. Anthropologist Ifi Amadiume illustrates how African social systems are layered with complex power negotiations. When those dynamics go unchecked, communal involvement can shift from supportive to sabotaging. Minor disagreements become magnified. Suspicion is encouraged. Small fractures widen into permanent breaks.
Healing cannot occur in a crowd. Safety requires privacy, trust, and accountability. Sociologist Oyèrónkẹ́ Oyěwùmí emphasizes that identity and social roles in African societies are collectively constructed and reinforced. While this can be empowering, it also means that without clear boundaries, personal relationships become communal battlegrounds. A couple surrounded by constant outside voices stops nurturing intimacy and starts managing perception.
The urgency of healing in African marriages cannot be overstated. Generational trauma shaped by colonial disruption, economic strain, patriarchal imbalance, and emotional silence does not vanish when two people wed. As writer Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o argued in his exploration of decolonization, liberation begins with reclaiming voice. Within marriage, that reclamation means couples must speak directly to each other, free from the noise of external control.
Healthy marriages are not free of conflict; they are protected from unnecessary interference. Protection does not mean isolation from family or culture. It means establishing boundaries that preserve emotional safety. It means choosing growth over validation, accountability over ego, and healing over control. Hurt people do not need access to sacred unions; they need their own spaces for restoration.
African marriages will continue to suffer unless healing becomes normalized alongside tradition, and boundaries are respected alongside communal values. Love does not need an audience to survive. It needs courage, privacy, and two people committed to protecting what they are building. A society cannot fully heal if unhealed hands constantly handle its most intimate unions.
References:
Amadiume, I. (1987). Male daughters, female husbands: Gender and sex in an African society. Zed Books.
Fanon, F. (1967). Black skin, white masks (C. L. Markmann, Trans.). Grove Press.
Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o. (2009). Decolonising the mind: The politics of language in African literature. Heinemann.
Nzegwu, N. (2006). Family matters: Feminist concepts in African philosophy of culture. Palgrave Macmillan.
Oyèrónkẹ́ Oyěwùmí. (2015). African women and the politics of identity. Palgrave Macmillan.
