By Kossi Gbêdiga

The African Magazine does not bring you only features and news analyses such as the following: When the government comes for your trans kid; Beyond Ketanji, the beautiful African name of the future first African American justice; Africa’s dangerous so-called neutrality in the Ukrainian war; or Health strategist Sheila Brown’s new book celebrates the black woman’s contributions to medicine. We also bring lighter stories to lighten up your day.

The following column comes in our category titled Oku, which means greetings in Fon, a language spoken in Benin, West Africa. The column started with the maiden issue of The African back in 1994 to poke fun, in a non-offensive way, at social practices in America. 

Enjoy, and please share similar stories with us by sending them to publisher@myafricanmagazine.com

The student advisor at the American embassy back home in Africa had warned me that I would have to adjust to American culture on and off campus. And I tried to do just that. My previous long stays in Europe had somewhat prepared me for it.

I was first impressed with the friendliness of most Americans whom I found more outgoing than the average European. Some not only say “Hi” but also gratify you with a seemingly genuine smile. But I had a slight problem with the women.

I used to live in the suburbs, having to commute to school in Washington, D.C. every morning. I always had a seat on the bus before it got filled gradually as we traveled a long way to the city. When all the seats were taken and a woman came aboard, I made it a special point to get up and offer my seat. Invariably, my offer was turned down, with a varying degree of hostility.

That bothered me quite a bit. One day, a woman was so angered by my innocent offer that she mumbled something that sounded like an insult. I was particularly confused that day, so I asked an American schoolmate what on earth was the matter. He explained to me that most American women feel offended when a man offers them his seat on the bus or on the metro. To them, he said, it is an expression of the man’s machoism and his false sense of physical superiority.

I was shocked because I knew better. I had seen women drive heavy trucks just like men. Back in Africa, I had seen female relatives chop wood while carrying babies on their backs. I was raised by my mother, a widow who did it all by herself with help from no one. But I did not think that was a reason not to show that little thing called gentlemanliness! However, I did not want to be perceived as a macho. So, I adjusted immediately.

From then on, whenever a woman came aboard after all the seats were taken, I tried to be a little more comfortable. No longer did I go out of my way to try and open the door for a woman—a classmate or a teacher—struggling with a stack of books in her hands. I also stopped offering my umbrella in the rain to any female.

But then, I was confused again when I started a family here in America and was expected to take out the trash the night before the trash truck came in our neighborhood. I was also expected to mow the lawn, to make sure the cars were in good repairs or to take them to the garage in case of a problem. I had (and still have) to carry out a rack of “heavy duties” that seem to be naturally the “man’s job” to me, and which were not necessarily harder than standing up in a crowded bus for almost thirty minutes.