The world is changing and African manhood vanquishing with it.
I grew up in a humble African background where the man was regarded highly and waited upon like a noble king every evening because he was the main breadwinner and his harvest was always sumptuous, unique, and precious.
When the chickens would stroll back to their coops, sheep and cows to their sheds, so did mothers and daughters to their cow-dung huts. It was a well-rehearsed rendition that saw all the family members back in their thatched houses before dusk, before the scurrying sounds of the cockroaches and the howling of the stray dogs as they huddled together like a pack of wolves.
This enabled the man of the house to walk in with a standing ovation because this moment was a rare one; it was a gem. See, men in those days had the option of ending up in dingy nightclubs whoring with dirty maidens sozzled in a stupor, but many chose to go back to their juveniles and to their "humble" missus.
Children sprinted to their fathers singing a hymn blissfully ready to partake of what the majesty had to offer. The wives stood up in respect and unburdened the lord from all his luggage. He sat down and was nourished with finger-licking food, quenching his thirst with well-served chilled mountain water. Stories of how the day was from each member overwhelmed the ambiance of the simple thatched house. This was the climax of the evening.
Well, those days are gone! The crescendo of the evening has seized and thrown into the valleys of forget. Children always huddled on their laptops or glued on their phones and the absence of the loving woman heavily discerned. The man walks himself into his throne and celebrates his hunt with cold leftovers if at all they are there. For some reason, the empire seizes to have hymns and the jostling for his hunt seizes to have meaning.
The world is changing and African manhood vanquishing with it.