In the heart of bustling Lusaka, the city's vibrant streets hummed with life under a scorching sun. Amidst the chaos and cacophony, you stood on the threshold of a dilemma that would challenge the very fabric of your identity as an African man.
Your relatives, weathered by the relentless march of time, had come knocking at your door, their faces etched with a sense of entitlement. Their voices, once familiar and comforting, now carried an undertone of accusation.
'Son,' your uncle began, his gaze piercing, 'we've heard that your fortune has grown.'
You nodded reluctantly, knowing that your hard work and sacrifice had been noticed. But a flicker of unease stirred within you.
'It is only right,' your aunt interjected, 'that you share your blessings with your family. We have always been there for you.'
A wave of guilt washed over you. You knew the unspoken expectations that came with being a man in your culture. You were the provider, the one responsible for the well-being of your extended family.
But something within you rebelled. You had worked tirelessly to build a life for yourself and your family. You had scrimped and saved, sacrificed and toiled. Why should you now be obligated to surrender the fruits of your labor?
Your heart pounded in your chest as you considered your options. If you refused their request, you would be branded a selfish and heartless individual. It would be a betrayal of your cultural heritage.
On the other hand, if you gave in, you knew that it would not be the end of their demands. They would come back time and time again, chipping away at your hard-earned wealth.
A bitter laugh escaped your lips. 'Being an African man is soo cool,' you muttered to yourself. 'Once you refuse to give money, your relatives will blame your wife.'
Your words hung in the air like a poisoned arrow. Your relatives gasped in horror.
'How dare you insult your wife?!' your aunt exclaimed.
Your uncle's face darkened. 'She has turned you against your own people.'
A wave of anger surged through you. 'No, it is not my wife,' you declared firmly. 'It is me. I am the one who has had enough. I am the one who is tired of being seen as a walking ATM.'
Your relatives were stunned into silence. They had never expected you to speak back to them.
'You have always taken my money for granted,' you continued. 'You have never asked how I acquired it. You have never considered the sacrifices I have made.'
Tears welled up in your eyes as you poured out your heart. You told them about the sleepless nights and the long hours you had spent away from your family. You spoke of the sacrifices you had made to provide for them.
As you spoke, a profound realization dawned on you. You were not obligated to give away your hard-earned money. You had the right to choose how to use it.
Your relatives listened in stunned silence. They had never seen you like this before. They had always assumed that you were weak and easily manipulated.
But you had proven them wrong. You were a strong, independent man who was no longer willing to be taken advantage of.
When you had finished speaking, your relatives stood there awkwardly. They knew that they had crossed a line.
'We apologize,' your uncle said finally. 'We had no right to demand money from you.'
Your aunt nodded in agreement. 'We were wrong.'
You gazed at them with a mixture of sadness and anger. 'I hope you understand,' you said.
Your relatives shuffled their feet and then turned to leave. As they walked away, you felt a sense of both relief and regret.
You had stood up for yourself, but you knew that it would come at a cost. Your family would likely never understand or accept your decision.
But you were no longer willing to sacrifice your own well-being for the sake of others. You were an African man, and you were proud of it. But you were also a man of principle, and you refused to be taken advantage of.
As the sun began its descent, casting long shadows across the city, you returned to your home. Your wife greeted you with a warm smile.
'Everything okay?' she asked.
You nodded. 'Yes,' you said. 'Everything is better than okay.'
You took her hand and led her inside. Together, you would face whatever challenges lay ahead. You were an African man, and you had made your choice.
