Valentine Love Song

by Uzor Maxim Uzoatu

Some diabolical male chauvinists out there are making bad noises that because this year’s Valentine’s Day falls on Ash Wednesday women should not be romanced.

These evil men go further in their crazy desecration of womanhood by pointing out that some crunchy football matches are slated for that day and should take precedence over the celebration of the ladies.

It is incumbent on me to give a wicked sliding tackle to these vile lady-beaters by wowing the deity called woman ahead of time, that is, before even the valentine date.

I do not even know why just one day should be set aside to do the sweet dalliance with the romantic juices of nature.

All the days of the calendar ought to belong to the edification of women – I have spoken!

To be a woman is to be a god – not a goddess, mind you, for gendering the creative force in life amounts to a diminution of her immense powers.

A woman ought to be celebrated as a god, period.

The Bible says that the woman came after man, from Adam’s rib, to wit, a side issue, but when we talk of the responsibility carried by women we have to place them ahead of man and very near to God Almighty.

What with literally creating life, conceiving and nurturing human beings, and thus making sure that the wheel of life and civilization never grinds to a halt.

Just imagine what will happen when all the women of this earth decide to cross their legs, saying no creation.

Of course bad things will ensue: death, extinction, and the unstoppable madness of all men all over the world.

Any wonder then why African traditional lore salutes women with such maxims as “mother is gold” and “mother is supreme”.

Also, all wise men celebrate women and womanhood.

Great poets have waxed eloquent on this phenomenon: from Senghor to Shakespeare.

My late great friend, the South African poet Dennis Brutus, during a visit to Nigeria, was walking with me in the University of Calabar campus and we were suddenly accosted by a melee of beautiful girls such that the lionized poet instantly penned the following words in his arresting calligraphy:


African woman

With your stately walk

Your flowing garments

And your graceful form

You make my heart sing.


The irony of all this is that after all their acclaimed importance, women are still under the thumb of men.


The answers are embedded in religion, myth and history.

The sexist domination of women is propped up by the male supremacist myth of the fairer sex being naturally weaker and inferior to men.

In Ancient Greece, the first woman, Pandora, was the source of evil.

Among the Hindus, a virtuous woman was rewarded by being born again as a man.

Western law, as enunciated in the early Roman statutes, saw women as man’s possession.

In Islamic orthodoxy, a woman is either a perennial prisoner in purdah or a faceless masquerade in the street.

The barrage of sexist insults has over the years somewhat conditioned women into a helpless acceptance of hokum.

Even so, committed people have been struggling to redress this inequity in the march of civilization.

From the Renaissance era, growing human enlightenment has helped to shatter the blinkers of sexist domination of women.

The Industrial Revolution helped the cause by taking women away from the kitchen and the bedroom into the mills of the many factories where they competed with men.

The Soviet Revolution and the general growth of Marxism back then went a long way in destroying the myth of male supremacy.

The Equal Rights Amendment (ERA) movement in the United States helped to put women on the same platform with men by addressing such issues as equal pay for equal work.

The discovery of the contraceptive pill in the 1960s essentially liberated women by allowing them greater control over their bodies and lives.

Feminism as an ideology has come to stay.

Our darling sister, Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, is truly on song as she intones: “We should all be feminists.”

Pitifully though, to understand ideology is one matter, but to triumph over the forces of biology is a different matter entirely.

In its most banal depiction, a fire-eating feminist may fall in love with a foppish hip-hop singer, only to start playing tango with suicide when the singer dumps her.

Fact is the individual woman is a product of her society.

In our materialistic world, a woman, whether called god or whatever, would still be thrilled by the good things of life: the posh car, iPhone, Brazilian hair, glamour.

Call it false values or what you will, but the fair lady may be won over not by the brilliance of your brain but by the shine of your necklace.

To return to our thesis: a woman is a god.

To conquer a god ought to make a man surrender his soul and spirit, no less.

But that is not so in the scheme of matters here as some of the deities are won over by Six-pack muscles and big members!

It makes a worse than useless man to feel somewhat special when he realizes that often what he needs to ensnare this god is a ride in a car or even the exchange of phone numbers!

That is the tragedy of this deity called woman.

Now this: After this valentine love song, the bondage of the tragedy is broken!

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