Our parents across Africa survived so we could thrive. We owe them everything. But honoring them doesn’t mean repeating everything.
Parenting in Africa is not for the faint-hearted.
Our parents raised us through coups, through job losses, through moving from village to city with nothing but a mattress and prayer. Their resilience is why we are here.
My mother sold tomatoes in Kumasi market for 12 years to pay my school fees. I owe her my life. But I still remember hiding my report card under my mattress at 8 because I was scared, she would say I’m a disgrace to the family.
Last year, my 8-year-old niece in Accra told me the same thing: “Auntie, I’m scared to tell mummy I failed maths.” Shaking. Same fear, different generation.
That’s when I knew, some things we inherited were survival tools for their time, but they are hurting our children now.
We Were Taught That Strength Means Silence
Our parents went through real hardship. Their way to survive was to swallow pain and keep moving. Crying was weakness. Talking about fear was “lack of faith.”
So we learned: Don’t cry. Don’t say you’re anxious. Just pray and be strong.
I know a man in Nairobi, 34 years old, who has never told anyone he has panic attacks. His father told him at 10: “Men don’t cry. You are the first son.”
In our homes now, we do it differently. We say feelings out loud. “I feel sad today.” We tell our kids it’s okay to see a counselor, it’s not madness, it’s maintenance. My friend in Johannesburg has a small corner with pillows where her kids sit to breathe when overwhelmed.
Shame Was How They Motivated Us
“After all I have done for you, you bring me 68%? Look at Ama’s child, she had 92%. You want to kill me?”
If you grew up African, you have heard a version of this.
We worked hard not because we loved learning, but because we were terrified of shaming the family name. We became anxious adults who can’t take risks.
Instead of “You shamed us,” we now try: “I saw how hard you studied, I’m proud of the effort.” My sister in Lusaka asks her son: “What did you enjoy learning today?” not “What did you get?” The grades improved when the fear left.
Sorry Was A Word Our Parents Rarely Used
Be honest, how many of us ever heard “I am sorry” from our parents growing up? Even when they were clearly wrong, even when they punished us for something we didn’t do?
In many African homes, apologizing to a child was seen as losing authority. A parent who said sorry was considered weak, or as if they were lowering themselves.
So what did we learn from that? We learned that power means you never have to say sorry. We learned that respect only goes one way, from child to parent, never the other way around.
And we carried that into our adult lives. Now many of us struggle to apologize to our partners, to our friends, even to our own children.
Last month, I shouted at my 6-year-old nephew because I was tired after work. He went quiet. I saw his face and I knew I was wrong.
So I knelt down to his level and said: “Uncle shouted at you and that was not fair. I was tired, but that is not your fault. I am sorry. I will try to speak more calmly next time.”
He hugged me so tight. Later that evening, he told his mother: “Mummy, Uncle said sorry to me today.”
He was so surprised, because no adult had ever said sorry to him before.
That one apology taught him more about respect and strength than any lecture ever could. It taught him that a strong person can admit when they are wrong.
This is what we are choosing to do differently now. We apologize quickly, sincerely, and without excuses. We show our children that accountability is not weakness, it is true strength.
Asking Why Was Considered Rude
“Because I said so.” “Do as I say, not as I do.”
We were not allowed to ask why we couldn’t go out, why girls couldn’t climb trees.
So, we grew up not knowing how to question respectfully at work, in government, in relationships.
In many homes in Addis Ababa and Yaounde now, parents hold a small family meeting on Sunday. Children can ask: “Why is the rule no phones at dinner?” And the parent explains: “Because we want to look at each other and talk, not at screens.” The rule stays, but the child understands.
They Compared Us To Everyone
“Why can’t you be like Chidi? Chidi is already learning coding. You are here playing.”
Comparison was our parents’ motivational speaker. It destroyed us. It made siblings compete instead of support each other.
We do it differently now. My brother in Cape Town has two kids — one loves football, one loves drawing. He says: “Kofi, you ran faster than last month. Amara, your drawing has more detail than last week.” Compare a child only to who they were yesterday.
Only Three Jobs Were Allowed
Doctor. Lawyer. Engineer. That was the list in most African homes.
If you said, “I want to be a chef, a photographer, a farmer,” they said: “You want to disgrace us?”
My friend in Dakar wanted to be a photographer. His father burned his camera. Today he is a frustrated accountant who hates Mondays.
The world has changed. A 22-year-old in Kigali makes good money editing videos. A girl in Accra makes more from makeup tutorials than a bank manager. Prestige is not only in a white coat.
Now we ask: “What problem do you love solving?” not “What title will make us proud at funerals?”
What People Think Mattered More Than How We Felt
We bought new clothes for Christmas even when school fees weren’t paid. We told a daughter to stay in a violent marriage because “what will people say?”
We taught our children: What people think is more important than how you feel inside.
So now we have adults who post happy families online but cry in the bathroom.
In our homes now, we say: “We are not doing a big birthday this year, we are saving for your school trip, and that’s okay.”
Boys Never Learned How To Run A Home
In many homes, girls swept, cooked, washed, and watched babies. Boys sat and were told “go and read, you are the future leader.”
Result? Grown men who cannot boil water. Grown women exhausted doing two jobs — office and home.
In my cousin’s house in Gaborone, her 10-year-old son and 9-year-old daughter both cook on Saturdays — he cooks rice, she makes stew. Both wash plates. That’s how you prepare them for modern marriages where both partners work.
What We Are Doing Instead
We are choosing connection before correction. A child who feels connected will want to listen. A child who only fears you will obey when you are watching, and rebel when you are not.
We discipline without beating. Not because children should do anything they want, but because beating teaches that the bigger person can hit the smaller person to solve a problem. If you break a toy because you were angry, you use your pocket money to fix it. If you shout, you go to a calm corner to breathe and come back to talk.
And most importantly, we let them be real, not perfect. Come as you are. Tell me you failed. Tell me you are scared. This house is safe for truth.
Our parents gave us resilience, community, and ambition. We keep that. We are just adding something they didn’t have access to — knowledge about mental health and emotional wholeness.
We honor their sacrifice not by repeating their pain, but by giving our children a better future.
Your turn: What is one habit from your childhood you are choosing to leave behind? Share in the comments. Share this with a brother or sister who is also trying to parent differently.
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