“ Huna Aibu?”
This question dominated my upbringing. It translates to “Have you no shame?” It was a statement used to discourage poor behaviour or behaviour generally considered outside the norm. Of course, coming from the patriarchal community in which I was raised, this sentiment was mainly directed at girls and women. It was the sign that you had crossed the line between an acceptable girl and one who deserved to be shunned.
Shame has always been a significant part of my life, as well as that of many others. Shame was what guided your actions and thoughts, preventing you from becoming a social pariah. I grew up knowing that being shameless was the worst thing I could do. This knowledge shaped the kinds of relationships I formed, my interests, and my actions.
At the same time, my religious upbringing added to the cocktail of shame-driven ‘morality’. We were indoctrinated into religion through teachings that focused on Christianity as a path to avoid hell and damnation. The most important thing highlighted as a solution to avoid shame or being condemned to hell was obedience. You were expected to be obedient without question within the social structures of authority. As a girl, this meant we were at the bottom of that social order.
A funny story my sisters tell is about the day they were asked by a distant relative to walk him home after he visited my grandma’s house. As expected, they obeyed him and walked him home, only to return to a furious grandmother. She couldn't understand why they had walked this fairly strange man home. Yet, from their perspective, they did not see what they had done wrong. Even as they were being punished, their mistake was not apparent, as they had done what had been drilled into their minds. You listen to and obey all adults without question.
This now amusing anecdote represents a larger issue with the burden of obedience wrapped in shame. Absolute obedience created an unrealistic expectation for children. You knew one thing and one thing only. However, nobody introduced you to the nuances of obedience. In the case of my sisters, this would have meant understanding that not all adults were to be trusted. I also struggled with obedience when my parents told me never to eat at strangers' homes. I consequently refused a meal at a neighbour's house. The result of this was that our neighbours, who were close friends of my parents, called my mom to explain why I couldn't eat their food. It was a funny misunderstanding when described, but to me, it was just confusion. Were there strangers whom I needed to trust?
More than learning about people and morality in general, I knew fear and shame. I was so afraid of being ashamed that part of my exploration as a child was stifled. The cost of shame was too high. I had this voice at the back of my mind that would remind me that bringing shame to myself and to my family was the worst thing I could ever do, and it was unforgivable.
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As I grew into my teenage years, shame became an even bigger issue. Before I internalised the changes my body was going through, there was an umbrella of shame around it. We were expected to hide sanitary pads from boys and men. Getting sanitary pads from your bag to your pocket and going to the washroom to change when in class was an extreme covert mission. You had to find the sleekest way of getting your stuff and moving unnoticed, because God forbid a boy found out you were on your period.
This kind of shame extended to my body and the changes it was going through. One minute I was a child, and before I knew it, I was a dangerous temptress who could lure boys and men into sin. My dressing choices were decided by how comfortable they would make the male figures around me. Many girls, especially those of us who became curvy earlier, were sexualized at ages when we were still naive children.
Now that I am older, I understand that my aunties’ obsession with our bodies and dressing was a way to protect us from potential abuse from predatory men. Unfortunately, the way this message was presented to us led me to believe I was the perpetrator. I despised my changing body and associated all the changes I was going through with shame. Why couldn’t I just stay with my childhood body? Puberty was a complicated maze to navigate, and with no reverse button to take me back to safety.
Shame and the fear of hell became the compass of my life. It was unfortunate because this belief stopped me from exploring true morality. I slowly watched as other young people fell into the cycle of shame and shaming others....