In this chapter, I share my experiences from being a part of two generations of a Muslim polygamous household and how those exper-iences, coupled with the social, political, and economic nature of my country, have affected my understanding of feminist parenting; my intention is not to degrade the institution of polygamy but to understand it. The chapter also discusses my concept of feminism, which is African, intersectional, Islamic, hijabi, womanist, and humanist. It is important to me today to make such distinctions because often time, feminism is placed in a box that is centred on first- and second-wave of feminism, which is radical and often based on Western ideas. Because my feminism is intersectional, its conceptualization is based on one’s experience and the vantage point from which they speak. I also argue even though there is no conclusive to-do list for parenting feminist, experiences from one’s upbringing can have a toxic, wholesome, or somewhere in between impact on one’s parenting style. The opportunity to relearn and unlearn previously held concepts of “how to” can be liberating, but, most importantly, encouraging behavior change in patriarchal societies by men (and women) is where the real revolution lies.
I grew up in Liberia, a country that has had periods of prolonged conflicts. Prior to the political upheaval in 1990, both my parents worked outside of the home. Household chores were shared among the children regardless of sex. Chores were given based on one’s capability. For example, my older siblings would fetch water, cook, and clean until I was old enough to do my share. However, I would help out as I felt necessary. It wasn’t required. Dad seldom chimed in. For the most part, my mother was the early bird, as she woke everyone up, including Dad, for the morning prayers and breakfast that she prepared. Our family was a nontraditional Muslim family as expected by the society in which we found ourselves. Schooling was a requirement for all, including the girls. Unlike my family, some parents, particularly in rural communities, made choices to send their boys to school and not the girls. Girls were groomed to prepare for marriage. There is a particular Liberian phrase that says “a woman’s kenja (loosely translated as “load”) cannot be left by the wayside”—meaning women are the property of the man. Every woman is expected to be picked by a man, some kind of man. There is a particular timeline that women are expected to go through: be born, grow up, join the traditional society (sande), get married, and have children. In traditional societies, men, too, have their timeline: be born, grow up, get educated, work hard enough, marry wives, and provide for the family. Such practices are common not only among Muslim families but all families, including Christian ones. Despite being a predominantly Christian country, customary and statutory laws operate in the same space.
African, Intersectional, Islamic, Hijabi, Womanist, and Humanist
My feminism from an African perspective values African traditions that respect both girls and boys and that seeks to protect and support women and people of society. It also respects Africans traditions that promote the diversity of the continent. Although racial inequality is important, our challenges as women on the continent are seldom racial. An intersectional feminist approach means understanding that from my particular standpoint as an African feminist, I may be privileged or disadvantaged by a particular situation. I do not claim to know or represent every situation or oppression that women of different cultures, identities, and statuses face. Our identity as African feminists stems from our unique perspectives as women who are dealing with inequalities at different levels and whose experiences cannot be simplistically generalized. In my case, being an African Muslim woman in a predominantly Christian country who wears a hijab adds different layers to my real or perceived oppression. It is from those perspectives I speak.
An Islamic perspective provides me an opportunity to engage with my religion and to understand the place of Muslim women in an effort to contribute and decipher discourses that continuously stereotype Muslim women as subordinate to men. Using religion is a powerful tool that can contribute immensely in reclaiming our narrative.
Islamic-Muslim feminists support hijabi Muslim women in general, especially as current political discourses continuously draw Muslim women and the wearing of the hijab into heated debates over their rights to or not to cover. In countries like mine where religious fundamentalists are seeking to ostracize minority groups, identifying as a hijabi feminist serves as a mode of empowerment, as hijabi women are constantly drawn into political discourses about religious terrorism. For example, during our 2017 presidential and legislative elections, I was nearly denied registration because of my head scarf and my refusal to remove it. Other women were denied registration at polling centres across the country. It is empowering as a feminist and a hijabi to stand up, galvanize, and mobilize other women with similar situations, as we took the National Elections Commission to court. Muslim women who do not cover were not subjected to such political discrimination. In Liberia, Muslim women who cover face discrimination in education, healthcare, and public spaces.
As a feminist who is also a womanist, I promote womanhood and the associated characteristics of being a woman. I respect and support other women’s choice to define themselves using their femininity. Being a feminist working to smash patriarchy, I believe in the construction of an ideal society that promotes equality for both sexes as well as the need to include both men and boys in such a goal.
Polygamy and the Rite of Passage
Polygamy is a rite of passage not necessarily based on religion but on tradition for the sole purpose of reproduction and increasing a family’s labour force. It was customary to marry multiple wives. My grandfather married several wives, whereas my grandmother was one of four wives. Neither obtained former education, but each was traditionally educated. Granddad went to the traditional school for boys, and Grandma did the same for girls. As the result of the war, I don’t have many memories of my grandparents, as both were persecuted and killed during the crisis for their religion.
Like my grandparents, my husband’s grandparents are also from a Muslim family who fulfilled the right of passage. His grandfather married multiple wives, and his grandmother was also one of many wives. My mom and dad, however, were born in a different era; they both received formal education. Mom obtained some college education, and Dad completed his master’s. Dad was committed to breaking away from the tradition of polygamy and Mom chose not to be a second wife. Many years later, Dad would marry another wife out of respect for his father, who wanted to accommodate a distant relation by marrying her, something Mom accepted out of her own volition I want to believe. In contrast, my husband’s parents were not formerly but traditionally educated; his father was a business merchant and a leader in the Muslim community, and his mother was leader within a traditional women’s group. She was one of three wives. His father was killed and corpse mislaid when the rebels captured their home in Monrovia in the 1990s. His mom died in 2017. Despite the differences between our families, our parents were committed to supporting our education and career choices; however, the decision to be in a polygamous marriage or not was left for us to decide. For my husband and me, monogamy is what worked best for us and our growing family.
It is interesting to see how in three generations, the concept of the rite of passage concerning marriage has transformed. Growing up in such a household and seeing my mother navigate the pressure of being a career mother and wife while also standing up to question sexism or challenge people—my dad wasn’t spared either—helped me see feminist parenting as empowering. Even though my mother won’t say she was a feminist then, she sure was a strong woman.
Role Revisal, Name Change, and the Implication for Masculinity
Liberia fought through fourteen years of civil war. Families were divided, killed, and persecuted. My family and my husband’s particularly suffered persecution and oppression. Being a part of the Muslim minority, our families were a target of oppression. My father was a professor and worked in the government. His work exposed him to many people. Because of his surname, religion, and being a man, he was a target for either joining a warring faction or being killed. During the heart of the crisis and the many years we spent displaced in refugee camps, when periods of hostilities broke out, Mom became the man of the house. She left us strapped to one another while she would go looking for food under flying bullets. Dad was not going to risk his life to be in the streets. Mom did though. We did not see this as an issue, even though our society, like many others, pressures men to be the primary care person for the family.
The changing of surnames after marriage has become a controversial subject in recent years. Before colonialism, African women maintained the surnames of their fathers or the location they were from, even in a polygamous union. In Islam, for instance, many women were referred to by the surname of their fathers during the time of the Prophet (PBUH). It was revealed in the Holy Qur’an that people be called by the names of their fathers, as it pleases the Creator.
My husband’s mothers maintained their families’ surnames after their marriage, but my mother took my father’s when it came to legal documentation. However, during the crisis, every time Dad came in close contact with rebel groups or a warring faction, he had to change his surname to that of my mother’s. The Liberian war had many aspects. Ethnicity was key. Mandingoes and Muslims were particularly targeted. My mother is Vai, which is also a Muslim majority tribal group. My dad constantly changed his identity to that of my mother’s for protection.
Upon marrying my husband, I chose to keep my surname, as it is an identity that I cherish and in fulfilment of my religious obligation. This is something that is frowned upon in our society. Women are pressured to change their identity to that of their husband’s upon marriage.
Name changing for conviction or convenience does not seem to change in practice the person you are, and letting people make that choice for themselves is important. I would love my kids to make the choice for themselves. Whether my future sons take on their wife’s name or my daughters maintain their father’s name is a choice that they have to make for themselves, and it is something I would want to leave for them to decide when they are old enough.
The Decision to Have a Child before Marriage
Growing up in a religiously conscious household with stricter rules as to when and who we invite in our reproductive space was suffocating but at the same time liberating. It was liberating because we had to wait until marriage to have children with the right person, which gave us more time to focus on other aspects of our lives, including education. It was suffocating because we could not understand why we were held to different standards than those of our relatives or our parents. Before Dad and Mom married, they had kids in their previous relationships. We were probably being prevented from committing the sins of our neighbors, families, or parents, since having kids before marriage was and is still considered a sin. As this is seriously frowned upon, many kids resort to having an illegal abortion. Families pay little attention to reproductive education for their children. That marriage is over romanticized and overrated is something ostensibly perplexing.
I questioned my parents, mostly my mom, on many things that I considered confusing. Many years ago, I remember asking my mom why she always gave my brothers and dad so much more meat than me when she cooked. She said when I grew up, I would understand. I felt that was her way of practicing inequality, so I devised a strategy. When my brothers and dad were not around, I would take portion of their meat and add it to mine in protest of the unequal treatment. Of course, I would be reprimanded again and again.
Having a child for me was something I had planned out. Married or not, I had to be in a place where I was able to cater for my child, but it was not going to stand in the way of my career—a struggle many women, including my friends, go through. Having a family or children should not compromise your career but complement it. It is a difficult decision to decide between family and career for fear of losing one to the other.
I met my now husband a year before graduation. Letting someone for the first time into my personal and reproductive space involved a lot of learning and unlearning. We had Iman, our beautiful cutie, after three years of dating and married three years later. We were not going to let the pressure of our families and friends dictate the course of our relationship.
Feminist Parenting and the Way We See It
I have been a feminist for as long as I can remember. Having a strong woman—my mother—in my life has been a blessing, as she has helped me see the world as larger than what society, tradition, and custom taught me. My husband sees himself as a feminist ally and says so publicly because he believes women can better understand how patriarchal structures continue to hold them back. As a man, he can help by publically supporting initiatives that are geared to helping women and girls; he himself personally funds scholarship initiatives for girls. In male-only spaces, he makes his thoughts on women or feminism known.
Feminist parenting takes a lot of learning and unlearning for both of us. My concept of feminist mothering is seeing motherhood from a broad spectrum. By this, I mean incorporating feminist ideals in my everyday parenting, which can include correcting sexist language in everyday conversations, choosing outfits, toys, or other items for Iman, her male and female cousins, and ensuring that our oldest son learns to cook so that he doesn’t assume cooking is a craft only for women. It also means communicating that the role each individual brings to the table is not determined by their sex. For example, my husband can decide to prepare breakfast, lunch, and dinner while I do the laundry, and that does not make him any less of a man or me any more of a woman. Everyone should contribute in an equal way. Times are different, and helping our children navigate with us through life is never easy. Both of our upbringings were slightly different, but for our family of five, we build our understanding on the power of communication, boundaries, choices, and language; we see them as key to our family’s value.
Communication is important for our family. The power to listen, be heard, feel heard, and be able to express ourselves without being judged is something we constantly value. This includes between us as parents and for all of the kids in our clan, whether biological or adopted. Communication doesn’t have to always be about good grades and expectations. Sometimes it is about their best friends, favorite memories, or deeper issues. Boundaries are also paramount for us. We grew up in a society in which the parent-children relationship was like rulers and the ruled. Sometimes we are tempted to switch to that mode but quickly remind ourselves that we are all human and need a collective approach to the parent-children relationship. We are learning to keep healthy boundaries with our children and our individual selves. We are constantly learning to recognize the other beings in our family and that they too exist and their voices and privacy need be respected. But we do this without giving up our agency as parents.
Choice is a concept that has broadened our family values. Respecting the choice of our kids while differentiating what is a healthy or an unhealthy choice is a struggle we have. Sometimes it takes a lot of negotiating. For instance, sometimes it is a choice between wants and needs, what they can live with or without. Most times, it is a win-lose scenario.
Language and being open minded are also important to us, as is the understanding that people are different and everyone deserves respect, regardless of who they are, where they are from, or what they look like. We teach our kids that being a boy or a girl does not define what a person can and cannot do. We try to decolorize our minds concerning pink vs blue, Barbie doll vs Lego toys, and many others, which has been a tall order especially with influences from friends, families, school, and the media. For our family of five—that is our adopted daughter, Iman, her brother, and my husband and me—it can be a handful sometimes, but we are learning as we progress. We are hopeful yet very far from perfect. Sometimes our policy and practice are in competition with each other, but we are not giving up.
Iman is already in a league of her own in that she has already begun questioning what she thinks is wrong or right, despite being so young. She tells her dad to speak a certain way when he seems angry. For example, when she turned two, a friend got her a Barbie doll and another bought her a set of Lego blocks. She swore she would not take the doll and didn’t want to have anything to do with it, but she sprinted to get the Lego blocks and then started constructing.
My quest for education and to contribute to the world around me takes me away from home a lot. Balancing my career, family, and work is difficult and comes with a price. Missing out on some amazing milestones and conversations especially for Iman, who is the young one, is tough. I tried to make the best out of the physical time we have together when we can. Keeping in touch as much as I can and making up for lost time helps a lot—thanks to technology. My husband is the strong one here. This is the longest I have been away from home, and the struggle is real. I studied in London for a period of two years. He works in Doha, Qatar. We also have an active home in Liberia. Long distance relationships are hard, and a commitment from both partners to step up is very important. This is the toughest test for our relationship. Our commitment to making it work takes plenty of sacrificing and being considerate. Making sure the other partner stays up to date with what’s going on with the family, including the children, is essential, but it is hard to keep up to date on an hour-to-hour basis. It is okay to miss out on some. Not always feeling guilty and forgiving yourself are key. As career-driven mothers, it is instinctive to sometimes feel that we are not giving our best selves to the family; however, sometimes, the men in our lives do not feel as guilty as we do when the table turns. It is important to see the bigger picture. As much as we may want to instill feminist values in our children, there is no perfect way to do it. You learn, unlearn, and relearn as you navigate along. It may turn out that your kids may or may not be feminists.
Although there is no specific way to be a feminist parent, my experience growing up in a polygamous household with many siblings and seeing that my parents did not give any child preferential treatment and disciplined everyone equally made me realize that individuals can decide for themselves what to incorporate in their family values despite what society tells them. As a Muslim couple, we are constantly committed to working with our kids to make it work. My feminism is African, intersectional, Islamic, hijabi, womanist, and humanist.
