5 Misconceptions About Manhood I Learnt The Hard Way

I was born two months earlier than my mates. I couldn’t wait to see the face of the beautiful woman that incubated me. I must have spoken to her every day from the womb, whispering all my dreams and fears, eager to feel the warmth of her arms around me.

They said I came out fighting, fists clenched, crying like a stubborn ram caught in the bush. From the beginning, I was Malik, the boy who rushed to embrace life with two hands. In our small compound, the women ululated, the men clapped, and Baba Ifa, the village priest, named me under the old Baobab tree.

Growing up, manhood was a heavy robe thrown over my tiny shoulders. As I grew, I began to see how many stories about masculinity we boys were forced to carry like secret burdens. Some were truths shaped by wisdom. Others were lies whispered so long that they began to sound like songs.

Here are five misconceptions about masculinity I learnt the hard way:

1. "Men Don’t Cry"

From the first time I fell and scraped my knee, I was told, "Inda, be strong. Boys don't cry." I believed it. I stitched up my pain behind laughter. But pain, like an unwelcome visitor, does not leave because you pretend it is not there.

In our village, when a boy lost his father or when harvests failed, he was expected to swallow the grief and move on. But at night, under the quilt of darkness, many hearts broke silently. I learnt through my own brokenness that tears are not shameful; they are the river that cleanses a man’s soul. Even the skies weep when they can no longer hold their sorrow. Real strength, I found, is in allowing yourself to feel and heal.

2. "A Man’s Worth Is in His Strength"

In my village, the strongest boys were admired. Boys who could climb the palm trees fastest, wrestle longest, carry the heaviest yams at the market. I thought muscle made the man.

I admired the hunters who bore scars across their chests like warrior medals. I wanted to be like them, to be seen, to be respected. But when the floods came one year, it was not the strongest who saved us. It was the men who could think, who could lead, who could organize others with calm and wisdom. It was Uncle Musa, with his crooked back but sharp mind, who saved half the village’s grain by thinking ahead. A man’s strength, I realized, is measured more by his mind and his heart than by the size of his arms.

3. "No One Will Love You More Than Your Mother"

This one, ah, it broke my heart.

I clung to this belief like a baby clutches a mother’s wrapper. And truly, many mothers love their children fiercely, without reason or limit. But love, even a mother's, is not guaranteed by blood alone. Some mothers, out of fear, anger, or brokenness, can walk away from their sons.

My own mother, the woman I spoke to in the womb, left when I was barely five rains old. She needed to find herself, they said. She needed peace. I do not hate her. I carry her prayers, I believe, somewhere in the folds of the sky. But I learnt that while a mother’s love is sacred, it is not always enough. Love must be nurtured. Love must be chosen, even after the blood ties are cut.

4. "Real Men Are Always in Control"

I watched many men in our village pretend to be mountains, unshaken by anything. Even when their farms failed, when their wives wept at night, when hunger gnawed at their children, they swallowed everything and smiled thinly. Control became a mask that crushed them from inside.

Being a man, I found, is not about being a stone. It is about knowing when to bend like the bamboo in the storm and when to stand firm like the iroko tree.

5. "Love Makes a Man Weak"

There was a time I believed that showing love — real, soft, messy love — made a man less. That to love was to be vulnerable, and to be vulnerable was to be weak. But ah, Malik has learnt.

I watched my grandfather, Baba, who loved fiercely and loudly, and yet stood taller than any chief. He loved his wife, his children, even the stubborn goats that always chewed his yams. He forgave easily, embraced people warmly, and wept openly when the need came. And no one doubted his strength.

Love does not weaken a man; it refines him. Love teaches patience when anger would be easier, kindness when cruelty would be quicker. It is easy to harden your heart; it takes true courage to keep it open. The strongest men are those who can love without fear.

Today, as I sit under the same Baobab tree where they first called my name, I remember the boy who rushed into the world, fists clenched, heart open.

Manhood is not what they told us, my brothers. It is not coldness, not silence, not fear hiding behind pride.

It is the courage to be fully, painfully, beautifully human.