tired of womanhood.

I am six years old. I sit on my dad's lap as he works at his laptop. Just marveling at the bright screen and experiencing the happiness a father's daughter, can only experience. My mother sits at her laptop screen as well. She holds my 2 year old brother in her hands. I watch her get up and let my brother wander free as she folds the laundry, then she irons the clothes, with going back to work at her laptop to work on a document.

Suddenly, my father turns his head to ask my mum about supper. She sends me downstairs. I pass by my uncles lounging on the couch and walk up to my aunts who are in the kitchen, I tell them that dad would like some supper. They give me his plate and I take it up to him. Mum can't get a plate because she is still working and doing chores. I take all the plates to my uncles, my aunts don't have plates in their hands, they still have to clean the kitchen.

Later, the house is quiet. It is 11 pm. I hold my little brother in my hands as he sleeps. I watch my mother still working, I can hear my dad's snoring from their bedroom. I put my brother in his bed and go downstairs, my uncles are asleep. My aunts are not, they are

washing the dishes.

I am 14 years old. I am getting ready to ask my mother to go visit my friend. I have done and dusted. I have cooked the lunch today. I have washed the clothes. As I approach my mother, I see my brother telling her, he's going out to play with his friends, he has just woken up and has left a cup and a plate, in the shiny empty sink I was just at. My mother says "okay" and goes back to watching TV. I am up next. My request is denied. I cry because that's what teenage girls do.

I am 18 years old. My brother and cousin sister are sitting for their national exams in a few months. I have nothing to do. Just watching TV. My brother is studying in the dining room. My cousin sister is washing the utensils. My brother's still studying in the dining room. She walks outside to feed the chicken. My brother is still studying in the dining room. She goes outside and gathers our shoes to wipe them down, I join her. My brother's still studying in the dining room. We place the last shoes in the sun, she sighs and walks to join our brother with her books, in the dining room.

A few months later, we are at our ancestral home. A celebration is set for the afternoon. My aunts wake us up, the female cousins, to clean. We mop and wash dishes. My uncles and male cousins are having breakfast. We prep the utensils, to use for cooking outside. My uncles are getting dressed. We round up the small children to bathe them. My uncles and male cousins are talking, watching football. We scream and run after the children in our deras. My uncles want some tea, I make them tea. I sit down on the bed after 3 hours, back hurting, after tying the shoes of my littlest cousin and watch her run away with glee. I shower and get dressed. Our co-ordinated outfits had been planned for months, my aunts talked about the colours, the material and the seamstress. My father and brother, woke up to their outfits on their beds.

I tie a leso over my avant garde, African print dress and join my female cousins and aunts, by the fire. Cooking is not my calling, so I cut and prep. I can hear my brother shouting happily as he chases his cousins on his bike. My leg has gone numb from sitting, almost on my calves, because of the short,wooden stool. My uncle asks for water, his wife leaves, her place by the fire and brings it to him.

We have all eaten. The men sit on plastic chairs and complain over politics, while toothpicks, that I had I ran to bring them, are hanging carelessly from their lips. The women, myself included, are all bent over, lesos tied around our waists, washing plates and cups. Miriam is squatting in a corner, next to a water tank, scrubbing sufurias.

I am almost 19, we get home from a night out. We've decided to all sleep at a friend's house. The guys change out of the jeans and T-shirts and jump into their sleeping bags. The girls are hogging the bathroom, different products, in their hands. Ready to take down their make-up. They have red eyes and can barely keep them open. Still they persevere, the prospect of their skin breaking out, greater than the benefits of laying their bodies to rest. After the ritual of taking off make-up, they take off the outfits, they had discussed for 2 hours prior and get into bonnets and pyjamas, and finally drift off to sleep.

I sit at my desk, studying, while thinking about how I have to mop the house tomorrow. I am afraid. Afraid that I will spend my life tired, just because I am a woman. I am terrified, that free labour, is tied to what it means to be a woman. That I will have to pull everyone's weight, as well as my own, with me. The fear of exhaustion follows me everywhere, especially on the African continent. What scares me more, is my willingness. I will find myself, automatically in the kitchen, of people's homes. I find myself, serving guests, everywhere I go. But as much as it seems like a cage, I love being a woman. I revere in my womanhood. A collective sisterhood, I will forever be a part of. Because even in labour, I will turn my head, and see a woman, I can talk to.