(Chinwe, let me catch you first.)
Let me set the scene.
I’m a 26-year-old lady. I live in my own flat. I pay my own rent. I buy my own data. I even send money home every month. By every definition that matters in this Lagos, I am an adult.
So imagine my confusion when my younger sister, who came to spend the weekend, found a pack of condoms in my bedside drawer and reacted like she had discovered a crime scene.
Her exact words: “Ah! So this is what you’re doing?”
Before I could even explain, she had called our mother. Our mother called our big aunties. And by 7pm that evening, we were having a full-blown family meeting on WhatsApp video.
Cameras on. Everybody’s face so serious. My uncle even wore his usual overused cap like it was a court hearing. The charge against me? Being prepared.
Allegations like “So you’re now doing runs.” “Ehhn? Is this what you do in your apartment?” were thrown around.
In summary, my crime was that I had condoms in my own house. Not that I was reckless. Not that I was careless. Not that I was putting myself in danger.
Let’s talk about the hypocrisy for a second. Nobody batted an eyelid when my male cousin, Kachi, moved into his own place. Nobody called a meeting when he started bringing girls around. But the moment a woman decides to protect herself, suddenly it’s a family matter. Suddenly we need to “discuss” and “counsel her.”
I am 26, single, sexually active and simply trying to be responsible about my sexual health.
Here’s what I asked them, calmly: “Would you rather I came home pregnant?”
Because let’s be honest, the same people calling meetings are the same people who would be the loudest during that time.
They will say, “Ah, see this girl, oh! No shame! No home training!”
The same aunties who are shouting now would be the first to whisper at the next family gathering.
You cannot shame me for preventing what you would shame me for having.
Condoms aren’t a sign of waywardness. They’re a sign of wisdom. They’re me saying, “I respect my body enough to protect it.” They’re me saying, “I’m not ready for a child, and I refuse to leave that up to luck.”
It is not evidence of anything except the fact that you take yourself seriously. It means you have decided that your body and your future are worth protecting. It means you didn’t leave that responsibility to chance or to someone else’s goodwill.
And if condoms aren’t your vibe? There are so many other options. The implant. The IUD. The injection. The pill. Options that don’t require a conversation with anybody you don’t want involved. Not your sister (a side eye to Chinwe), not your mother, not your uncle in his serious cap.
After doing a bit of diplomatic explanation on this being a responsible choice for my good and that of the family, the family meeting, of course, ended with a lot of silence and my aunties giving me the stinkers. Which, in Nigerian auntie language, means I have heard you, but this conversation is not over.
Ladies, all I can say is that your sexual health is yours to manage. Not your family’s to debate.
Explore contraceptive options that fit your life at yourlife.ng.
Your Life. Your Choice.
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