You would think motherhood begins when you become a mother, but when you grow up as the firstborn daughter in an African family, it starts way before then. For me, it started from the moment my little sister was born – I was six years old at the time.

So, why firstborn daughters who are African, in particular?  Well, the reality is the firstborn title comes with what I would like to call “excess baggage”: unwanted, unrequested, undeserving EXCESS BAGGAGE!

Being the firstborn

For me, childhood should look childlike which is being able to make mistakes, being carefree, a little careless and having a lot of fun with friends and family. But there seems to be pressure on us firstborn African children – particularly Nigerians – to be the best, and to not fall short. We are expected to be responsible for babysitting, cleaning, tutoring, mediating disputes between our younger siblings and our parents, and occasionally even being parents to our parents. It's even more exasperating as we are also often viewed as the gatekeepers of traditional and family values; we’re expected to uphold and replicate all that is instilled in you. You’re expected to lean into your “nurturing” side before you’ve even fully nurtured, and these roles are not up for debate.

As, Giovanna White wrote in Medium, “From childhood, it is ingrained in most African girls to be selfless, deferential, and to constantly look out for others.”

The firstborn daughter is expected to mirror her mother so she can fill in for her when she is absent, and in the process, prepare herself for motherhood. It's a fast track route to maturity that robs the daughter of her innocence, freedom, emotional wellbeing, and sometimes, her finances, as well as  any chance for her to simply live for herself. This expectation is part of a cycle that has persisted throughout history, and continues to do so today.

Although this may all sound terribly negative (which it most certainly was at times), these experiences have surprisingly prepared me for the parenting chapter of my life. 

The history of motherhood

For many African societies, motherhood is widely recognised as an essential aspect of a woman’s life and is often just as important as marriage in terms of identity, social status and local, political and economic standing. As a wife and mother, you tend to receive more respect across society in general. It’s not hard to understand why as throughout history motherhood has in many places been at the heart of some of the most important historical developments, from the organisation and reproduction of lineages to the centralisation of political power and authority. It has created essential social and political connections that have transcended cultures, backgrounds, and broken borders to shape communities. For example, in many former kingdoms and chiefdoms across the continent, queen mothers were powerful officials who legitimised the power and authority kings had. Without them, a king's right to the throne would not be seen as credible.

Becoming A Mother

As I have entered motherhood, I have learnt the unique mix of challenges and joys that my mother faced in her parenting journey. And if I'm being honest, I can never fully understand them (no matter how hard I try), as our circumstances are entirely different. My mother, a single mother of two, and I, a married mother of one (for now). However, what I now know is that me being subbed in as the second mother (or should we say, her mirror), was not only to teach and equip me with the skills and lessons needed to prepare me for life now, but also to help her in the moment, and now being a parent myself, I cannot fault her for it.

I’ve come to realise in a warped way that parents are hard on us so it isn't hard for us when our time comes as first-time mums. Although we are thrown into the deep end, those experiences ripple into all aspects of our lives. It has prepared us to swim in uncharted waters, and whatever life throws at us, we can swim (thrive), we can float (make do), but one thing we can’t do is sink (fail) no matter what the circumstance is. 

Now, this can be a good and a bad thing. We should have the option to fail, but if I was to decide between failing or thriving, personally, I would choose the latter. I sometimes ask myself if I will teach my children the same things I was taught, and the answer is YES, but not in the same way as my mum taught me. I want my children to have the option to excel in whichever areas they want to; free of external cultural pressures. Furthermore, I would intentionally teach my daughter that her value as a woman is not tied to her ability to become a mother.

I am grateful for my experience as the first-born daughter in an African family; the lessons learned have shown me the good, and exposed the parts that I don’t want to carry forward. I am fully embracing this new adventure as a first-time mum. As a young African in the diaspora, I have been given the unique opportunity to shape the next generation away from home through my children. I will do so by passing on  traditions and values that are important to my family and creating a legacy that will be remembered for generations to come.

So, 

to my mother, 

and all the mothers who taught me, 

to the mothers who aren't through birth,  

and the mothers in my life that appear as friends, sisters, cousins and teachers… 

I want to say thank you for helping me get ready; the journey has been priceless.