I am not a woman.

I am not a woman. Before splutter into your coffee or roll your eyes in derision, allow me an indulgent moment. I mean that I cannot for the life of me understand how a woman will feel when she is attacked by thugs with anyone who attempts to come to her aid fending off other attackers in the bargain. I am not going to understand why it is men who seem to have a very strong say over whether or not we can discuss menstruation and menstrual cramps at seven in the morning. I don't know how women feel about celibate men deciding what they can and cannot do with their vaginas or uteri. I don't know how women feel when they receive catcalls from boys young enough to be their sons or old enough to be their fathers or young enough to be their brothers. I am not a woman.

There are women in my life. Strong and capable each and every one of them. They are definitely smarter than I am; they demonstrate it every day they keep achieving what I desperately want to achieve: fame, wealth, joy. They are accomplished professionals. In one instance, she is so accomplished she can afford not to take on any responsibilities because even if she is not the boss, everyone will cut out her boss to get to her. Yes, she is that good. The women in my life have sat with presidents, kings and queens. They have made a mark that none can ignore. And they have done it in one of the most hostile environments, an environment of misogyny that hides behind the inadequate fig-leaves of god, culture and tradition.

I saw a man on TV saying he would murder his daughter if she chose to join the National Youth Service. He would kill his child. He wouldn't be directed to do it; he would deliberately seek her out and end her life if she chose to live outside his protective roof and became an individual woman with a career. To the best of my knowledge his is not an isolated stance. Many fathers will murder their daughters if their daughters dare to defy them. I don't know how women feel about living with the subconscious fear that their fathers - not their brothers or mothers - will murder them for doing something that is simply not on. Pregnant at sixteen? Death! Kissing a boy at fourteen? Death! Joining a university/college/polytechnic at eighteen? Death! Joining the NYS/KDF/National Police? Death! Having a menstrual cycle? Death! (OK, that last one seems unlikely, but still...) I don't know how women feel about the Sword of Damocles hanging over their heads at all times.

I know what it feels to be told that my opinion is invalid. Mostly I am reminded that my opinions are invalid because quite frequently the person saying so is a genius and who usually thinks I am an idiot. They are usually not wrong. But I have never been told that my opinion is irrelevant because I am a man. Even if I am patently unqualified to have an opinion because I am man, my opinion usually trumps the opinion of a woman because she is a woman. I don't know how women feel about that.

I know that I wouldn't stand by while men stripped a woman naked on the streets. I know I wouldn't stand for it because it is the right thing to do. I'd get my head kicked in; there are more men who would want to strip her naked than would want to defend her honour. I would intervene not because she reminded me of the women in my life, but because the women in my life would do the same for her. The women in my life have protected me since the day I drew breath and I deafened my birthing suite with my first attempt at communication. They have staved off hunger. They have conquered diseases. They have kept at bay predators large and small. They have imbued me with a vast trove of knowledge that has kept human predators at bay. They have banished loneliness. They have been a beacon of light in a very hostile world. And they have taught me love. In their honour I would die to protect the modesty of a woman, any woman, no matter the accusations leveled at her because women have protected my modesty all my life.