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Explaining the Patterns
In African cultures there is a clear and structured hierarchy. You have elders and you have the youngins — people like me. You have women and you have men, and if you think Germany can be misogynistic, try some African countries. This is a fact, not an insult.
Men are the head of the household, and women’s will or ideas have to adjust to whatever the men in their lives plan — or plan not to do.
This rule can only be overwritten by being an elder. Elders, male or female, are always right. No matter the topic, no matter the day, no matter the year. You respect your elders because they carry wisdom, because they have more experience with this thing called life.
However, when it comes to boundaries, their infinite well of wisdom dries out quicker than the Sahara.
My Story
Ever since my siblings and I were young, we had to step up. As I’ve mentioned before, my father got sick early in our lives, so my sister and I — both barely teenagers — had to learn how to transfer money and pay the electricity, rent, and telephone bills on time. We marched through the coldest winters the Swabian Black Forest had to offer to get groceries. We snuggled together under thick covers when the saved money ran out, and spread a can of tuna among all five of us. Those situations — and others far more traumatic — were familiar.
So when I finally moved out at 19 or 20, I tried to enjoy the limitless freedom. That meant monetary freedom too — no more working weekends and paying for groceries. Or so I thought.
During my university years I was still paying bills. My siblings helped too, don’t get me wrong, but it felt deeply strange. Having so much responsibility while envying friends who had never once picked up the phone to hear that another bill had arrived in the mailbox. On one hand, it made me grow up faster — I knew how to navigate certain things far quicker than my fellow Gen Z peers. But the older I get, the more I acknowledge the pitfalls. A Nigerian friend of mine told me she simply doesn’t bother anymore. Sidenote: she is a queen for having boundaries and sticking to them. I genuinely admire her.
Back to the story.
When I wanted to go on a semester abroad — or start college at all — I had to rely on government subsidizing. In the end I never went, thanks to Covid, but I still had to think about every penny. Everything had to be calculated: whether I could keep working until I embarked on the journey. Worries that later turned out to be misplaced.
The Job Market and I — Eternal Foes?
After leaving school, I thought things would be different. I was earning more, right? But I had the luck of graduating into one of the worst job markets since the financial crisis of 2008. Hundreds of applications, dozens of ghost postings, and several moments of desperation, preparation, and rejection emails later — I had a job. My previous employer offered me another position, working in a team I had shadowed just a year earlier. With my luck, it was the worst shadowing I had ever done. The person on the other side was what you would nowadays call a classic Karen — domineering, short-fused — and the cherry on top was the jump from Marketing to Software and Scrum work. I hated every second of it.
But here’s the thing. I hadn’t had a free moment since 2019. I was either studying, working, or both. I would have loved a gap year — to travel to New Zealand like so many of my fellow students and friends were doing. But no. Mom’s rent. The phone bill. Last year it was the deposit for the new apartment, the furniture, the lamps. Everything. And no matter how much I saved, there was always something else. No matter how careful I was with money. The worst part is that in African households, which tend to be collectivist, there is a certain sense of entitlement. During my studies I shielded myself from certain requests by saying I was still a student — very much the truth. But now that I’m a full-time employee, there is this belief that I can miraculously afford anyone and everyone.
Mind you, I pay €300 alone just for my parents’ bills — sometimes more. Where exactly is that supposed to come from, between my rent, food, and gas at over €2 per liter1 (thank you, 47th President of the United States)? And on top of all that, I also want to live. I want to have dinner with friends, go on trips, go to concerts, restart Pole Dance, go to Hip-Hop classes, try Pilates. Do so much more. But when I do — or even when I try — I hear that I should be saving more. From the very people who rely on me to help them.
I don’t want to resent my parents. Some of what happened was out of their control just as much as it was out of mine. But I also don’t want to be 50, 60, or 70 and look back and think — well, what the hell did I do with my life?
Why the resentment lately? There are so many fights and disagreements, so I’m not only being put through the wringer financially, but also emotionally drained. As someone who wants to be in control of her own life, I often feel like I’m being kept in a golden cage. On one side, the love and compassion I have for my family. On the other, the yearning to be stricter with boundaries and finally say — I’m done.
