By Abafrom Christiana Zoakah

They say, “Why do children in Africa like their mothers more than their fathers?”

Some people say, “The mother has incited the children against their father.”

But do we ever stop to ask the children?

Do we ask what they saw, what they experienced, and what made them feel closer to one parent than the other?

Children may not understand everything that happens inside the house, but they notice much more than adults think. They pay attention to who wakes up first, who goes to work, who brings food home, who pays their school fees, who stays awake when they are sick and who it’s when they are scared.

They also see who is not there.

This is why I struggle to jump to the quick conclusion that whenever a child is close to his mother, the mother will have manipulated him against his father.

Yes, it does. Some mothers speak ill of their fathers in front of their children. There are women who knowingly or unknowingly involve children in marital conflicts. Some mothers use their children to punish a person with whom she is angry.

That is real.

But there is another side to the story that deserves equal attention.

Sometimes a child is not manipulated.

Sometimes the child is simply reacting to what he has seen.

And that’s the uncomfortable part of this conversation.

“He is your father. Respect him.”

In some African families, fatherhood comes with a kind of authority that is rarely questioned.

A child may be told, “He’s your father. Respect him,” even when no one stops to ask whether the father is forming a relationship that naturally inspires respect.

We teach children obedience. We teach them to greet their elders and not to answer to their fathers. We teach them that the man is the head of the household.

But somewhere in all this, I think we sometimes forget to teach men what it means to hold that position.

Being the head of the household should mean more than making the final decisions.

It should mean responsibility, security, appearance, and knowing when your family needs you. To be able to provide provision without using it as a weapon, to be able to lead without intimidating everyone.

We tell children, “Honor your father. Perhaps we should also say to fathers, “This is your child. Love them.”

Respect sought through fear is not the same as respect cultivated through love.

The Homes We Don’t Talk About

There are also homes where the mother bears the burden of two parents.

She works.
She cooks.
She cleans.
She takes care of the children.
She pays school fees.
She buys food.
She takes care of sick children.
She worries about rent, uniforms, exams, transportation and what everyone will eat tomorrow.

She is tired, but she is still going.

And sometimes, the father is physically present but absent in almost every way.

He may have money, but it’s spent elsewhere. He may have time, but his children rarely get it. He may have energy, but he gives it to other things.

Then he comes home and asks, “Where’s my food?”

And when there is none, he gets angry.

But where was the money for food?

Where was the responsibility?

Where was the father?

I know this is not the story of every African family, and it would be unfair to suggest that it is. There are many responsible fathers who sacrifice deeply for their families.

But these homes exist.

And the children in them are watching.

Imagine that you are a child and see your mother working tirelessly. You see her making sacrifices. You see her concern. You watch her go out so you can have something.

Then you see your father come home and demand the same things your mother is struggling to provide.

And in some homes, anger turns into violence.

Children are seeing their mother getting beaten due to lack of food.

Tell me, what exactly should that child be made to believe?

The child was there.
The child saw it.
The child heard.

They may not understand marriage or finances, but they understand fear. They
understand tears. They understand what makes their mother cry.

Years later, when that child says, “I don’t feel close to my father,” perhaps we
shouldn’t be so quick to blame the mother.

Perhaps we should first ask what happened.

Children remember more than we think

Adults sometimes forget that children are witnesses.

They may not have the language to describe emotional neglect, financial
irresponsibility, or domestic violence, but they experience its consequences.

A child can love their parent and still be hurt by that parent.

A child may respect parents because the culture demands it and still feel emotionally distant.

A child can forgive and still remember.

And when that child grows into an adult, those memories don’t just disappear
because everyone expects them to “honor their father.”

You can’t always order proximity.

You can demand obedience.

You can ask for a greeting.

You can demand that a child call you daddy.

But you can’t demand emotional intimacy.

That’s something you create.

Why mother becomes home

For many children, their mother becomes their emotional home.

When they are hungry, she feeds them.

She stays awake when they are sick.

When they are scared, they run to her.

She encourages them when they fail.

When they are confused, she listens.

She is often the person they see appearing again and again.

This does not mean that mothers are inherently better parents. There are absent mothers, abusive mothers, and mothers who manipulate their children. Some fathers are exceptional parents.

Some fathers work tirelessly, sacrifice for their families, listen to their children, love their wives, and make their children feel seen.

Those fathers deserve to be celebrated.

Perhaps the real issue is not whether mothers are better than fathers.
Maybe it’s about who is present.

Children remember attendance.

What Happens When a Girl Grows Up Without That Love?

Some girls grow up with fathers who are physically present but emotionally
unavailable.

The father gives money but gives little affection. They discipline them but don’t really listen. They know where their daughters are, but they may not know their dreams, fears, insecurities or ambitions.

Then a young girl meets someone who pays attention to her.

He tells her that she is beautiful.

He examines it.

He listens.

He makes her feel important.

And suddenly, that attention can feel like love.

Sometimes this does not happen.

Sometimes this is the first time that she has experienced the kind of male attention that she wished she got at home.

That emotional hunger can make some young women vulnerable to unhealthy
relationships. They may confuse attention with love or tolerate insults because being wanted feels better than being ignored.

And the painful irony is that some end up finding themselves with the same kind of man they were trying to avoid at home.

She spent her childhood saying, “I will never marry a man like my father.”

Then she finds herself in a relationship where she is controlled, neglected,
disrespected, or abused.

Maybe no one taught her what healthy love looks like.

And What Are We Teaching Our Boys?

We can’t discuss this without talking about boys.

A boy watches his mother carry everything. He sees her work, cook, clean, raise
children, and sacrifice.

Then we tell him, “Your mother is a strong woman.”
She is.

But what happens when he turns that strength into expectation?

What does he mean when he says, “I want a woman like my mother”?

Does he mean hardworking? Kind? Loyal? flexible?

Or does he mean a woman who will endure anything and never complain?

They are not the same thing.

The strength of our mothers should inspire us, not serve as an excuse to repeat their suffering.

If you saw your mother struggle, don’t look for a woman who can endure the same struggle.

If you watched her carry the entire home, learn how to carry your share.

If you watched your father fail to show up, become the father who shows up.

The best way to honor a strong mother is to never find another woman who suffers as she does. It is to become the kind of man that makes suffering less necessary.

Our generation is asking different questions

Perhaps this is why some young African women are changing.

We saw our mothers.

We saw that women remain stuck in such marriages which make them unhappy. We watched them endure infidelity because they were told, “Men will always be men.” We have seen women carry home almost alone.

And many of us quietly said, “I don’t want this.”

This doesn’t mean we hate marriage or men.

That means we’re asking if marriage should look exactly like the one we envisioned growing up.

Our generation wants partnership.

We want emotional security.
We want respect.
We want a voice.
We want to work, build businesses, dream and still have a family.

We want men who understand that taking care of their kids isn’t “helping the wife.”

They are also your children.

Maybe this is not a rebellion.

Maybe it’s just a generation trying to heal.

But let’s be fair

We can’t tell this story honestly if we only point fingers at the fathers.

Some mothers hurt their children.

Some mothers deliberately turn children against their father.

Some mothers use children as weapons during marital conflict.

This is wrong.

Children should not be forced to choose between their parents.

If a father is loving, responsible, and secure, a mother should never intentionally destroy that relationship.

But we must also learn the difference between manipulation and protection.

If a father is abusive or dangerous, protecting a child is not manipulation.

Sometimes protection is necessary.

The goal should always be the well-being of the child.

Fatherhood is more than biology

Being a father is more than giving your surname to a child.

It’s more than being African and having your name on the birth certificate.

This is more than saying, “I am the head of this household.”

Fatherhood is something a child should be able to feel.

The father who asks about your day.

The father who knows your favourite food.
The father who notices when your mood changes.
The father who comes to your school event.
The father who corrects you without humiliating you.
The father who says, “I was wrong.”
The dad who tells you, “I’m proud of you.”

You can’t just disappear from a child’s childhood and expect to become their closest friend when they are grown.

Connections are built over time.

We Need to Stop Passing Pain Down

There is a lot that we call tradition that is really just pain that is survived long enough for it to become normal.

We tell women to endure because their mothers have endured.

We tell boys that men don’t cry.

We tell girls that being a good wife means enduring everything.

We tell children to respect parents without teaching them how to relate to their
children.

But maybe now is the time to disrupt some of these cycles.

A healthy African home should not be one where the father is feared.

It should not be like where the mother carries everything.

It should not happen that children become silent whenever adults get angry.

It should be a home where people feel safe.

Where disagreement does not automatically become war.

Where the father can apologize.

Where mothers can rest.

Where children can speak.

Where love is not demanded but demonstrated.

Maybe we’re asking the wrong question

So maybe the question is not:

“Why do African children love their mothers more?”

Maybe the better question is:

“What have some children experienced that has made them feel closer to their
mother than to their father?”

This question forces us to look beyond assumptions.

It asks us to listen.

It asks fathers to consider.

It asks mothers to be honest about their actions.

And most importantly, it gives children a voice.

Before we decide that a child has been manipulated, perhaps we should ask what the child remembers.

What did you see?
Who was there?
Who wasn’t?
Who made you feel safe?
Who scared you?
Who listened?
Who showed up?

Those questions can give us answers that adults don’t always want to hear.

A Different Kind of African House

Maybe having kids was never the goal.

Children who see their father respecting their mother.

Children who see their mothers respecting their fathers.

Children who grow up knowing that strength does not require cruelty and love does not require suffering.

That is the kind of African home I hope we begin building.

Not perfect homes.

Just healthier ones.

Because our children deserve better than the wounds they never caused.
So before we say, “That mother has turned her children against their father,” perhaps we should pause.

Maybe we should listen.

Because what if some kids aren’t being manipulated at all?

What if they’re just telling us what they saw?

And what if, instead of silencing them, we finally decided to listen to them?

About the Author:

Abafrom Christiana Zoakah s a freelance writer and fashion designer based in Nigeria. She is passionate about expressing ideas through both words and design and is currently studying Business Administration at the University of the People while growing her creative journey.

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