Liberian Literary Magazine
Women Month,
Random thoughts
By D. Othniel Forte
March is designated as
the month women are
celebrated the world over.
Not that it matters much in
some segments, but women
often engage in activities
to highlight gains made in
the
struggle
for
empowerment. Of course,
feminists do all they can to
ride
point
in
these
programs, but the ‘new’
feminism is most certainly
not what women’s rights is
about in essence. The new
feminist charts an agenda
that does not necessarily
reflect that of women in
huge parts of the world.
Should
they
not
celebrate? In every way.
Not in the least am I
implying they should not.
The month calls for the
celebration of any and
everything women.
Frankly, I must admit that
there were many things I
had pegged to highlight
during
this
great
celebration but despite my
better judgment, I opted to
address mostly one issue
and sparingly
AIRPORTS.
For some reason I am
relatively comfortable in
airports.
There
is
something about the place
that makes one nervous I
will grant that. But not me.
Imagine
a
bunch
of
Promoting Liberian literature, Arts and Culture
strangers, all with little
care or attention to the
others unless necessary.
The truth is one of the most
selfish places in the
modern world is the
airport.
So it was nothing strange
when transiting in Cairo
enroute to Accra, when no
one paid any mind to me or
I equally to them. I had my
head buried in my laptop
typing away on this very
article, or at least the
version I had planned since
January.
An elderly woman sat
opposite me. Each time I
lifted my head, we locked
eyes and she turned away.
It was hard for her not to
look at me, or so I thought.
After a while, I flipped
close my laptop and looked
at her. I was about to strike
up a conversation when I
noticed she was actually
crying. Tears rolling down
her checks and something
told me she was unawares
or simply didn’t care.
Issues
She continued staring my
way but by now I had
figured it was me she was
focused on. If anything, I
was seated in her way,
blocking her line of sight. I
slowly turned and followed
her gaze. Behind me a
group of women sat, a few
stood. They were speaking
passionately- typical of
African women when they
were pissed. No! I am NOT
profiling or stereotyping,
6
okay maybe just a little.
This is not the mad-blackwoman kind of raised
voice. It is the critical one
close to the one your
mother gives you when you
have royally screwed up.
The one that is often
accompanied with some old
fashioned whopping [yes
don’t be cringing now that
the W-word has appeared].
The one meant to teach
you a life lesson. Of course
this caught everyone’s
attention. Only this time, I
failed to see the culprit.
So, I listened a found and
soon found out the object
[more
appropriately
objects] of their rage.
It turned out that they
were returning home after
serving
as
domestic
workers in parts of the
Middle East. The largest
group I later learned came
from Lebanon, Iraq, Saudi
Arabia, whilst the others
came from all over the
region- with some even
coming from Yemen.
I could not help but
wonder why would mostly
young maidens, middle aged
women and a few past-theirprime women were doing in
these countries especially
when the region was on fire.
Were they that desperate?
Did they need to make ends
meet so badly that they
would risk going to these
places?
My
thoughts
were
interrupted when the lady
opposite
me,
having