Everyone has heard it: “Black women are superwomen.” But these words make up more than just a frequently touted line. They constitute a reality that proves most true in the lived experiences of eldest daughters. Forced to grow up quicker and achieve a notable level of maturity before their siblings, the eldest daughters’ young innocence is too often shunned and scraped away as they’re promoted into the large, towering role of third parents.

This double standard of denying girls wholesome, well-rounded childhoods can often result in adult women who suffer burnout, resentment, and anxiety. Its cumulative effect on women’s psyche and development is known as the ‘eldest daughter syndrome’ but when this notion is swept into the African setting, where misogyny is the order of the day and the idea of women as divine nurturers persists rigidly, it becomes the ‘eldest African daughter syndrome.’ This is the ‘strong black woman’ trope and the ‘eldest daughter’ syndrome rolled into one and forced upon premature girls. Benita Idongesit, a 22 year-old graphic designer based in Uyo, Akwa-Ibom and sister to two siblings, has had her fair share of this. “As an eldest daughter in my home and in our part of the world,” she says, “I’m a great cook and a great housekeeper. Not by choice, but because I’m the second mother of the house.” 

“You find yourself deputy parenting – even subconsciously in every aspect of your life,” says Kirstee, a news anchor from Harare, Zimbabwe. “It’s probably why I find myself drawn to men that allow me to be sexually and romantically submissive, but even then I mentally parent them and manipulate situations to go the right way because I feel responsible for their behavior.” It doesn’t stop here for Kirstee. She adds, “I see their behaviour as a reflection of the strength and quality of my influence in their lives.”

Touching on the burden of hyper responsibility on eldest African daughters, Deborah Ayobami, a student of the University of Ibadan says, “My eyes must always be on my younger siblings, because I’ll be blamed for their mistakes. I can’t make mistakes of my own, because I’m setting an example for them. I’m expected to just know how to do things. I don’t get me-time.”

Damiel, a podcaster and cyber security advocate, talks about the difficulties she faced growing up. “Whenever I asked for things as a child, my father would make me defend why I needed them. If I got lucky, he’d shorten the list and if I wasn’t lucky, I’d get nothing at all.”

“You get used to being the giver,” says 29 year-old Adoma, a freelance writer and business owner from Ghana.

While on the one hand being generous, strong, nurturing and dutiful are not bad qualities in and of themselves, on the other hand, these groomed attributes can prove harmful to the wellbeing of women who are expected to bend over backwards, to tirelessly dedicate and bleed themselves dry while getting little to nothing in return. Adoma expands on this. “You’re expected to be available all the time to help out because you’re the eldest and you’re a woman, meanwhile your siblings can openly decline.” She goes on to talk about how being an eldest daughter can affect one’s dating life: “You’re more likely to appreciate scraps of affection from romantic partners because you’re not used to having healthy attention on you. If you’re not careful, you can be taken advantage of.” 

Aisha, a journalist in Abuja, Nigeria, buttresses this point. “Growing up,” she says, “even when I was away, my mother would call to report home affairs to me, and seek my help in making critical decisions. You also develop a compliment kink – every compliment I am given replays in my head about sixty times.”

These stories don’t stop here. Many more women have their lived experiences to tell. Yet, it becomes clear that eldest African daughters have been and continue to be dealt a great injustice. 

A critical step to fixing this foundational crisis would be to address it head-on. A problem, after all, is solved by recognizing and admitting its existence first. Then, African women must begin to take back their self-ownership and identity from society. It can be difficult to break out of a script that’s been written before one is even born, but taking actions such as setting boundaries, teaching oneself to say no to strenuous demands, taking some time to unwind, and holding painful but necessary discussions with parents and siblings might be a good place to start. We all deserve to live our lives walking the paths that we choose for ourselves, not one parents, family, or society has chosen for us.

“I’m not having children,” says Kirstee, “because I was forced to raise the ones I never had.” She says that it aged her. “My adulthood is a space for me to finally enjoy my childhood.”