By In every African household, the term “auntie” carries a weight heavier than tradition alone. It represents the village that raises the child — a web of women, mostly older, who surround, guide, and often shape young girls’ lives. But beneath the surface of care, cooking tips, and Sunday greetings lies a silent force that many women don’t speak of out loud: how some aunties — knowingly or unknowingly — crush dreams.
This isn’t about demonizing all aunties. Many have stood as second mothers, mentors, and fierce protectors. But it’s about calling out a quiet, generational sabotage — one masked as advice, concern, or “just being realistic.”
How many girls have heard these lines?
- “You’re getting too educated — no man will want you.”
- “Why do you want to be an engineer? That’s a man’s job.”
- “You better get married soon. That career won’t keep you warm at night.”
- “You’re too ambitious. Slow down.”
These words, often said with a smile or a chuckle, hit deeper than we admit. They make young women second-guess their goals, shrink their dreams, or settle for less. And because they come from family — from love — they’re rarely challenged.
Aunties, knowingly or not, become the gatekeepers of “acceptable womanhood.” They pressure girls into marrying early, prioritizing beauty over brains, or sticking to “safe” careers like teaching or nursing — not because those jobs aren’t honorable, but because they’re seen as traditionally “feminine” and manageable.
Meanwhile, dreams of becoming pilots, tech innovators, entrepreneurs, or presidents are labeled as “too big.” And when a girl dares to dream out loud, she’s met with a raised eyebrow, or worse, silence.
The damage isn’t always immediate. Sometimes it’s years later, when that girl becomes a woman full of “what ifs.” What if I had taken that scholarship? What if I hadn’t given up on that idea? What if I had believed in myself more than I believed in their doubts?
This cycle has to end.
We need aunties who champion girls’ ambitions — who say, “Go for it,” even when they don’t fully understand the dream. We need aunties who challenge their own biases, who praise confidence rather than calling it pride, who push girls toward boldness, not just marriage.
And we need girls — and women — to start telling these stories out loud. Because silence only keeps the cycle alive.
So, to the aunties reading this: your words matter. You have the power to build or break. Use that power wisely.
And to the girls who’ve ever felt small because of a relative’s comment — your dream is still valid. Dream louder.
