Ganzi Isharaza
With each year that passes by, I am finding that nothing quite prepares you as a man, let alone a father, for the absolute roller coaster ride that having a daughter is. It’s like your heart gives up on beating for you, starts beating for her and somehow, you are here for it!
This year has been particularly heart-wrenching. In the good kind of way. It’s like I blinked and my girl grew a few years older.
It’s lovely.
It’s scary.
It’s a whole load of emotions that we as men-and I speak in very general terms here- are not always fully equipped to navigate.
Being a girl dad is scary, not least because, having experienced life as a boy and a man, you are now fully aware of the challenges that await your daughter.
Your heart.
The male gaze, once a theory up for discussion and debate, is now the reality you must contend with on her behalf. The inequality and inequity that once felt like an affront to you personally, now becomes a personal threat.
As she grows up and blossoms, you see her the way every girl you ever knew longed to be seen by the world.
Her intelligence.
Her character.
Her dreams and aspirations.
Her heart.
And it is those things that shine so brightly and make her beautiful in your eyes.
Her physical beauty becomes something of an affront: a shell beyond which the real beauty lies. A captivating outer layer that pales in comparison to the inner ones.
You think she’s special, of course she is.
But so are the rest of the girls in the world.
The ones you only thought of in binary terms:
Nyash or no nyash.
Beautiful or ugly.
Good or bad.
Marriage material or not.
Smash or pass.
The patriarchy begins to wobble. And with it, a lot of what you thought you knew.
The daughter vents and cries about a movie. You patiently sit through it all. No, it’s not “girls are just emotional”. It’s that my daughter is an empath and I need to help her navigate her emotions.
The daughter jumps up and down while playing.
You sit back and let her be.
No, it’s not “that girl sits badly”.
It’s look, she’s a child having fun.
Should I burst her bubble now? Should I tell her the world is a Peeping Tom, only interested in how she sits and not why she sits, just because what lies between her legs is different from her brother’s? How do you make that make sense to her?
And by the world, do you mean everyone, male and female? Or do you mean your very kind? The one that peeped at girls for fun? And then spent days discussing what they’d seen.
Is “world” code for men?
Men like you?
Surely not.
You are different. Of course you are.
But if you are, why do you know so much?
Why do you wiggle uncomfortably when your little one spreads her legs in absolute abandon as she plays in front of the visitors?
Is it because you know the “world” too well?
Or because you know yourself too well?
Yourself of course, being your man self. Your lived experience.
The daughter comes running to you for a warm embrace.
You hold her tightly for several minutes.
Anywhere else, this would be odd.
In any other man’s arms, you’d be calling the police.
But not in yours. Not in the father’s embrace.
In it is love as it ought to be.
An embrace that sees the whole of her.
It is like no other.
But should it be?
Should it be you and only you, that sees her wholly for who she is?
Not just a girl.
Not just a beautiful girl.
Not just a beautiful, intelligent girl.
Not just a beautiful, intelligent, decent girl.
Not just a beautiful, intelligent, decent girl with dreams and aspirations.
But a whole human being.
Just like any other.
No more.
No less.
And just like that, you understand what it means to be a feminist.
To be a girl dad.
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