Tag Archives: divorce

Happily Ever After: a Disney concept or reality?

I am a huge Disney fan. My late grandmother Mamie introduced Disney to both my sister and I early. Every time she travelled abroad, she would return to Yola bearing delicious large variety boxes of chocolate and Disney Videos. She would watch the animation movies with us and being an adult, she got some of the more subtle humour and would chuckle away to herself. For us, it was about the songs and the princesses, about the girl finding her prince against all odds and getting that happily ever after. My sister and I knew all the songs and when we drew pictures, it was always of the beautiful Disney princesses with their tiny waists, long hair and dainty feet. It is not hard to see why I wholly believed then that every little girl would grow into a beauty, find her soul mate, fall in love and live happily ever after with lots of happy children. To make it worse, I was also an avid reader and there was nothing I loved more than fairy tales, all with their happily-ever-afters and when I became a teenager, I read numerous paperback romances.

Unfortunately for me, reality intruded at some point during adolescence. I was witness to women who had been beaten by their husbands, those who were practically enslaved and could not leave their homes on their husband’s say so and those who were in forced marriages, mostly young girls like me. I went from thinking that every little girl was destined to be happy to believing it was all a fairy tale and that there was no such thing as a happy relationship between a man and a woman. I still believed in romance but I believed that romance didn’t tend to last beyond the ‘honeymoon’ period of a relationship. I also learnt about the widespread deceit being enacted by adults who seemed blissfully happy in their marriages.

I could not find any aunties who could say to me that their marriages were truly happy. Even those who at face-value were living a fairy tale. I found out that many came to be content with their lot having gone through a lot of heartache and choosing to put up with the husband they got as opposed to looking for Mr Right. Most had considered leaving their marriages but on balance thought the security of a marriage outweighed their hurt and betrayal. Many had been cheated on, more than once. A good proportion were the main breadwinners in their household yet were still treated as secondary to their husband. They took the lion share of responsibility, financially and socially. They fed and clothed their children, they made sure the children attended school and did their homework. They sent the children to Quranic School and made sure they learnt to say their prayers and how to fast when the time came. They were the nurturers and disciplinarians. They did it all for little appreciation in many cases.

Unsurprising, I was quite cynical when it came to love. I had very few relationships that lasted longer than a flirtation over a week or maybe one date. Before I met my husband, I had two ‘significant’ boyfriends. I think it is pretty telling that both of those are guys I met on holiday and only gave them a chance because I was on holiday and in the mood to have some fun. The first one lasted about 7 months but the last 2 months wasn’t really a relationship. The second lasted about a year and I really did consider a real relationship with him but I had my rational hat on throughout and I could see how bad he would be as a potential life mate. It was clear to me that we were not in the same place in our lives so I broke it off, difficult though it was.

I was single for 4 years before I met George. By the time I met him, I was happy being single. Loving my space and the freedom to do what I wanted when I wanted, unlike many of my friends. I was happily alone and not at all lonely. The only thing missing in my life was children – I had always been sure that I would one day be a mother. I even had a plan for that. I wanted to take a year out to see the world then come home and work on my career for a few years. Then when I was comfortable, I would find myself a gay bestie who wanted children without the ties of a relationship and we would have a couple of children raised in harmony. Plan B was to go to a sperm bank and find myself some quality swimmers. The only concern I had was explaining to my extended family back in Nigeria who the father of my children was.

Of course, best laid plans and all. I was making plans and God had plans for me. Just before my year of travel, I met George and I was suddenly in a real relationship. George says he knew within a few days he wanted to marry me. It took me a little longer to be sure but I was pretty sure within 3 months that this was the man I would risk getting my heart broken for. We have been together for over 4 years now. We have, like everyone else, had some ups and downs. Some of the best times in my life have been in the past 4 years. Some of my worst too. Some of them because of the relationship, a good proportion nothing to do with personal life but for which I was glad I had George to lean on. I have grown up and learnt a lot about myself. I have found that I have infinite patience I could have sworn I didn’t possess. I am capable of much love despite hardship. I am capable of trusting a man. I still can get really angry but yet my capacity for forgiveness has grown immensely.

Question is: does happily ever after exist? I don’t have an answer. I wish I did. I know there are couples out there who give me hope. My grandmother and grandfather were not a perfect couple. I know Mamie (my grandmother) had to put up with a lot through the years and her patience had to have been great but I also know that Baba (my grandad) loved her and that she knew he did. He never forgot her birthday or their anniversary. He never passed on a chance to show her off. He loves all of his grandchildren lots but he has a special spot for the 3 of us named Aisha, after my grandmother. When she died, it was clear he was lost without her. She died just before their 50th wedding anniversary. He went into deep mourning and we were all worried for the first year after that he would self-destruct. He couldn’t bring himself to mention her name or talk about her for many months. When the raw wound finally began to heal, he would mention her with reverence and such love that it made me well up. Theirs was definitely a till death do us part affair. I cannot attest to how happy they were but I like to think it was happily ever after, at least for Mamie who died secure in her husband’s love.

As a relative newly-wed, of course I want to believe it will be a happily ever after affair. I only agreed to say I do because I had hope that it would be forever. No one goes into a marriage wanting it to fail. However, the facts speak for themselves a bit here. These are from the Marriage Foundation and the Office of National Statistics:

‘The Social Justice Outcomes Framework reports that 45% of children already see their parents separate. Unless trends change dramatically, nearly half of all children born today will not still be living with both natural parents on their sixteenth birthday.’

‘34% of marriages are expected to end in divorce by the 20th wedding anniversary.’

‘There were 241,000 marriages in 2010, near a 100 year low. Cohabitation rose from 2.1 million couples in 2001 to 2.9 million in 2010.’ Maybe because divorce rates are so high, people are opting more and more not to say I do?

There is a lot of good news though:

‘Those who marry have a far greater chance of survival as a couple than those who cohabit. 93% of parents who are still together when their children complete their GCSEs are married.’ In other words, couples that choose to marry as opposed to just living together are much more likely to stay together, have children and watch them grow to the age of 16 or older.

60% of marriages are expected to survive to the 20th anniversary.’ Isn’t that an amazing statistic?

‘16% of marriages reach the 60th wedding anniversary’ and ‘the average marriage is expected to last for 32 years.’ I think those are awesome stats, don’t you?

‘Among natural parents, 31% of those couples who were cohabiting at nine months had separated when the children were seven compared to only 12% of married parents.’ Meaning that married parents are nearly 3 times as likely to stay together for 7 years or more compared to those just living together.

‘Cohabiting couples make up only 19% of parents but account for half of all family breakdown.’ In other words, married couples tend to stay together more than couples who have chosen just to live together.

I will end with this quote:

‘Quite clearly getting married does make a difference to your life chances and your children’s outcomes.’ It has been shown to be socially advantageous. Married people are more likely to be happy than their co-habiting or single or divorced counterparts, despite the shocking divorce statistics. So let us look beyond those stats and go into marriage putting our best foot forward. Sure it is hard work but we all know that anything worth doing is worth doing well. So I remain a realistic optimist. I will work hard at my marriage and I will pray for my happily ever after. I think I deserve it.

Can You Miss What You Don’t Know or Have?

This one is a hard topic for me. If you have been following my posts, you will know by now that my mama was a single mother for a large part of my life. I also had a step-dad for a good chunk of my childhood. I do not know if I have mentioned my biological father at all. I probably haven’t because there isn’t much to say. I can summarise what there is to say about him. He was my mother’s boyfriend in University and despite a lot of reservation from third parties, my mother married him soon after graduation. He is from Malumfashi in Katsina State (Nigeria) and is academically gifted. His family has royal links (small fry I understand). He is still alive and working in Katsina. He is tall and considered good-looking. He is married with several children.

That last point is the one thing of all that does bother me a little. Because of the way I was brought up and my closeness with my immediate family, I sometimes feel sad that I have siblings that I could be supporting but do not. I have siblings (majority female I hear) who I could be a role model to. I could make a difference to their lives but I am unable to because I do not exist to them. I do wonder if they even know about my sister and me. If they do, do they care?

My mama got a divorce when she was 5 months pregnant with me so I was born outside of that relationship. I have no strong feelings over him. I have met him. Twice in my life. First when I was 4 or 5 and then again when I was 7 years old. I also met a couple of his brothers when I was 8 or 9 years old. To be honest, I remember more what we ate when we had lunch with him and where that meeting took place. I remember feeling somewhat conflicted and wondering how I was meant to feel. I also worried that if I liked him, would I be disloyal to my mama who was the love of my life? My mama, amazing woman that she is, hid her upset quite well but with hindsight, I know she was upset that it took him so long to turn up and that he was putting us through emotional turmoil. I recall her sitting my sister and me down after he had turned up unannounced the first time and confirming that he was indeed our biological father. She gave us a choice about going to spend the afternoon with him and said we could decide to go or not.

My sister had a vague recollection of him and was excited to see him so I didn’t object. Off we trundled to Yola International Hotel to his suite. We each had a chapman (love that drink, bright red fizzy non-alcoholic cocktail still popular in Nigeria) and I think I had a meat-pie because they made them nice and I was a fan. He must have tried to talk to us but I really don’t remember what was said. I remember saying that ‘everyone at home calls me Diya not Aisha’ when he kept calling me Aisha. I think he felt rebuffed. My sister and I soon got bored and we went off to play with the lifts and got up to mischief. He left the next day and life returned to normal. The only evidence was that he gave us some money which we promptly deposited into our savings accounts and forgot about.

The second visit was only slightly less awkward and I remember thinking ‘what does this all mean anyway?’ I mean, after the first visit, he made no effort to promote any kind of relationship. I firmly believe he would never have visited again if he had no business bringing him to Yola. Since then, I have not seen or heard from him. My sister got a couple more visits to her boarding school and then nothing since. It has been over 20 years since I have heard a peep out of him. I do not think I ever met my grandmother but we did hear that she was still alive about a decade ago. A friend of my sister’s sister-in-law last week got word to my sister through the sister-in-law to say that our grandmother had died. Our reaction was lackadaisical to say the least. First, we thought ‘erm yes our grandma died about 12 years ago in two days’ (October 6th). Then we clarified that this was our paternal grandma. We mentioned it to each other in passing and no more was said. We went to sleep that night without a second thought and honestly, I can’t say I feel like I have lost anything.

This brings me to the question I wanted to address here. When we were little, and some people still say this, we were told that despite not knowing our father and his relatives, we would regret it if we let him die without trying to get to know him. Apparently (somewhat mystically) we would feel his death and be deeply saddened. Well, my grandma has just died and it made not a dent on my life. I felt the same as I would for any of my patient’s relatives dying. Sad for a moment then life goes on.

So will I be sad if my father dies today and I have no relationship with him? I suspect not. Would I be sad if my siblings died and I know nothing of them? Probably a little. Would I be sad if I found out that they are oppressed and in need of assistance I could provide? Yes quite sad. Would I be sad if I could save them from some desperate need like donate bone marrow or a kidney to save a life and I did not because no one thought to approach me? Yes definitely. Of course I wish I could be a sister to my sisters and brother. I wish things had worked out differently and that my mama’s love had not been misplaced. I wish she had seen through her loyalty and love and chosen a different man who would have treated her and her child better. I wish she had never fallen in love with this particular man but she did. It would be a waste of my time to dwell on what ifs on behalf of my mama. She has moved on. So will I. Such is life.

Silence is the Residue of Fear

…Says Clint Smith (find him on YouTube) on the topic of ‘the dangers of silence’. I am sure we all have had things that we have been afraid of and that we have sometimes let those fears get the better of us. I know I have but as I have got older, I have learnt to deal with it better. The way I see it: either we let fear rule us and it limits our lives or we rule our fears and find ways of neutralising them and despite them make progress in life.

I used to be scared of heights, snakes and spiders. Many children are frightened by these things too. I guess one reason is that these things are potentially dangerous so we are physiologically and psychologically programmed to have a healthy fear of them. Secondly, children listen to their parents and siblings and as these phobias are the commonest in the world, we tend to feel that if mum/dad/older sister/brother is scared of them, there must be a good reason so we copy them.

I know personally that my fear of heights came from the fact that whenever I have gone higher than 4 metres off the ground, I feel this irresistible pull to jump off the edge and that scares me. Over the years, I know that the urge to jump is weaker than my desire to live so I am not so scared anymore but honestly, there is still a seed of fear in there somewhere when I am in a glass elevator over 10 floors high.

With snakes, it is simple. My mama is scared stiff of snakes. She will not wear anything with the image of a snake on it. She doesn’t want to see snakeskin shoes or bags. She can’t stand jewellery in the form of snakes. She doesn’t even like harmless cartoon snakes like the ones in Jungle Boy and Aladdin. So I was scared of them. Despite that, I loved the 2 cartoon snakes I have mentioned and I am happy to look through a glass wall in a zoo at the prettily coloured snakes and watch a documentary on them. Plus I would not turn down a ring or earrings shaped like a snake. However, I draw a line at having to handle one (God forbid someone tries to drape it over me) and I would never buy anything made up of snakeskin.

Icky spiders – I just don’t like the rough fuzzy texture of their skinny fragile legs. And they are a little stupid aren’t they? Because when you try to lead them out or catch them gently and release them outside, they run at you, try to climb all over you or cling to you and then in your irrational fear, you squash them. Oh dear!

A fear that was harder for me to deal with was my fear of commitment. My parents were divorced before I was born and I didn’t know very much about the reasons why until more recently. What I knew back then was that he must have been bad because my mama is an angel and he hurt her. Also through my mama’s feminist work and from attending feminist conferences with my mama, I heard a lot about the bad things that men do to women. Naturally I thought it was crazy that any woman would subject herself to a committed relationship with a man.

I didn’t have a proper boyfriend until I was 18 and that didn’t last long because he, rightly, wanted a girl who would keep in touch regularly (it was a little long distance, he lived about 2 hours away from London) and I resisted his requests because it felt like too much commitment to me at that stage. My next relationship was nearly 3 years later and this time, he was keen on being more intimate and yet was happy to be non-committal. I guess at 21 years, I had matured a little bit more and wanted some commitment. My fear then became that he wanted to use me and that I would fall in love with him then I would have my heart broken. So I broke it off.

I met George, my husband, when I was nearly 25 years old and he is the first to tell anyone who would listen that he knew he wanted to marry me within 48 hours of meeting me. Well, I embroider slightly. He insists he knew in the first hour of us meeting that he wanted to marry me but I think he is being rather dramatic. He did tell me on our 2nd date, 5 days after we met, that he liked me and he thought I was potentially the one he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. Wow! Honestly I wanted to run away as far as my little legs could carry me. Instead, I sat in the reception of our favourite Chinese restaurant and tried to shush him because I didn’t want anyone to hear. I also told him that he was lucky I was leaving for a year abroad in the next week because if I hadn’t been, the fear his words had struck in my heart would have sent me into self-destruct mode and I would have sabotaged that relationship too.

The time and distance made me realise that here was a man who made me laugh, who loved me for me and whose heart is good. Here was a guy with whom the chemistry was just right. Here was a man who I could be myself with. So I meditated about it for many months whilst I was away. I talked to my mama, my sister and my friends. I prayed for guidance and I realised that although I was scared, petrified even, of committing to George, I was more afraid that I would throw away the chance to be happy. So I took a leap of faith and 3 years later, I am married to him.

So are you fearless now? I hear you ask. No, not quite! I have many small fears. I have one big irrational fear and I have one proper grown up fear. The grown up fear is my fear of failure. I have been lucky never to have failed at anything I set out to do until I failed my specialist paediatric (the dreaded 1b) exam last year in June. That failure threw me for six. I knew I had to retake the exam because I cannot progress beyond ST2 year (level 1 of specialist paediatric training). But I hated every minute of it. The fear crippled me. I couldn’t sleep, eat or work properly for many months in the lead up to the repeat. My ability to deal with the normal stresses of my relationship and work was at its lowest level ever. I even got to the point that I was thinking of giving up on the career I love because I was so scared I would fail again.

I got over that fear by thinking up a plan B. There are so many things I could be. I might want to be a paediatrician first and foremost but actually the underlying love is of children. So what else could I be that would allow me to work with children? As soon as I gave myself the permission to imagine, the list of alternatives was extensive. Top was human rights activist, academic teaching medical students, author of children’s books and even babysitter. The last one was particularly tempting especially because I know from my doctor colleagues that a babysitter taking care of 2 young children full time can earn as much as I do without any of the stress of being a doctor. Food for thought.

The last fear I will confess to is my irrational fear of mice/rats. I love Tom & Jerry – and as a child, I would always root for Jerry the mouse over Tom the cat. However, in reality, I hate those rodents. It comes from the time we cornered a mouse in our kitchen and tried to capture it. it poked its head into the drain hole of the kitchen sink and then squeezed through that tiny aperture. That was the freakiest thing to me! How can a round mouse do that? Bleurgh!!! So now I am petrified of them. A decade ago, I was in an uncle’s house in Nigeria and went into the guest bedroom to grab something. As I turned round to leave, I spotted a tiny mouse flash past the doorway and it must have been behind the chest of drawers beside the door. I jumped onto the centre of the bed and tried to work out a route of escape. My 2 year old cousin came to find me and joined me on the bed. We tried to shout for my sister and friend to come and save us but we were too far or too quiet to be heard. My sister finally came to find us about 30 minutes after we disappeared. She still laughs about it because when she came, I could barely speak in my fear as I tried to warn her that the mouse was there. She had to coax me off the bed after proving to me that the mouse was not laying in wait. That is one I still grapple with and I am not sure I will ever outgrow my fear of mice but luckily, I rarely have the misfortune of tangling with one.

Freedom

Freedom comes in many forms. As does oppression. Before I launch into my tirade against hard-headed hard-line judgmental people and narrow-minded stereotypes, I have a confession for you. I am a feminist. And I am proud to be one. My mother is a feminist, the first in my family and I am proud to say I will carry on that tradition and pass it on as far as wide as I am capable. Feminism for me is all about freedom. People who know nothing or small bits about feminism immediately think a feminist is a woman who hates men, wants them all to suffer and is probably lesbian or at best bisexual. I am writing this to set those people straight of their misconceptions.

First of all, I know of feminist men. Misconception number 1 banished. 2nd misconception is that feminists hate men. The ones I know don’t. We all have things we don’t like about people, be they men or women or even children. We even have the odd people we hate like the wife-beaters and child rapists. Yes most of those are men but there are evil women too and we feminists hate them with as much passion as we hate the men. 3rd misconception is that we want men to suffer. That one is easy – if you read anything about feminism proper, you’ll know that what feminists actually want is for women NOT to suffer because of the things men do to them. Last misconception is that feminists are lesbians. Well, I am married and I love my husband. And I can tell you that when I go to bed with my husband, I am not looking to fondle breasts or play with his hair. My mama, despite the 1st disastrous outing with my biological father, remarried and I know it wasn’t all chat. So there. Feminists are not all women, we do not hate all men, we do not wish to harm all men and we are not all lesbian.

I was born into feminism. Like I said, my mother is a feminist so from infancy, I was exposed to a lot of grown up things. Things that she tried to shield me from but as I said in another blog, I loved to sit with my mum and would often refuse to leave or would hang around even when they wanted privacy so I heard a lot. And part of my contradictions as a child was that I listened and never forgot anything I heard. I would always come back to my mama at a later date having thought about what I heard and ask her to explain the whys and the whats. To her credit, incredible woman that she is, she would patiently explain and give me leaflets and books to read to help me understand.

One of the first things I learnt from my mama is that in a Yola marriage, a woman has to put up with a lot of crap. A lot of that is linked to the fact that in Yola when I was growing up, most women were housewives (two-thirds I would guess). Which meant that women were dependent on their husbands for all their material needs. This gave many men the license to use and abuse their wives. Women in Yola are strong, by Yola women I mean the Fulani women. They are so strong that they think crying/complaining of pain whilst in labour is a sign of weakness (rightly or wrongly). I know this for a fact because I worked in FMC Yola for nearly 5 months a few years ago and as a paediatrician, I was in the children’s wards which were right next to the maternity wards and I swear I probably only heard labour ‘sounds’ 5 times in the whole time I was there. And those women were probably not Fulani and had complicated births. I digress but you get the point. That is why I know how badly they must have been treated. Because they came crying. Weeping like they had lost a child or a parent. My mama was like the agony aunt with legal and financial aid at her NGO.

I also learnt that although the Yola community, like many others, hides behind religion and tradition, the religious and traditional leaders know what the truth is and if forced to will admit it. For example, a lot of muslim Yola women are/were under the impression that divorce was the domain of the husband and the wife was basically under lock and key unless he decided she could leave. Actually Islamically the wife has as much of a right to divorce her husband as he does her but tradition meant that the husbands were better educated which then meant 2 things: 1. The husband could write a divorce script and the wife being illiterate could not and 2. The ‘law enforcers’ in customary and Islamic courts were men so unless faced by someone in the know, feminists generally like my mama, they would rule in favour of the men. My mother asked her lawyer friends for guidance and her belief that the wife had a right to divorce as long as she had valid grounds was correct. Then we found out through her NGO’s work that a few Yola women despite being uneducated had realised this a while back and they had successfully filed for divorce. Guess the commonest reason they cited for wanting a divorce: my husband is impotent. And you know why that is? Because the husband was too ashamed to face any questions on his virility that he granted the divorce asap. Good on those women who discovered and shared the secret!

One of my mama’s NGO’s main focus is empowering the girl child and preventing child marriage. Unfortunately, there is still a huge discrepancy in the achievements (economical and educational) of boys and girls in most of the world. But feminists have made huge inroads into improving the situation. I have seen dozens of girls brought to my mama and not one appeal for help was turned down. My mama and her team fought tooth and nail to emancipate every child forced into a marriage. They then tried to provide them with long-term prospects either by sponsoring them to go to school or learn a trade. Many of them have been employed by my mama at one point or the other. Many of them are now fully grown women with careers or atleast a means of making some money so they can retain some independence and support their children should their husbands fail to provide. Many of them become one of my mother’s many children and one of my many sisters and the occasional brothers (through their sisters).

One thing about being feminist is about knowing and appreciating the fact that women and men are physically and mentally different. We do not want to be like men. Most of us do not want to take over the traditional male roles that have evolved into male roles because of the physicality. That is not to say that a woman cannot do the same job but it might take longer or she might need another pair of hands and sometimes it is easier for a man to do. Just as we know that there are men who are very paternal and are very capable of nurturing and looking after a baby’s needs BUT physically it is impossible for them to be as good as the mum because they have not got a uterus to carry the developing foetus for 9 months and they have not breasts to breastfeed with. Just as we know that a woman matures mentally in her 20s to her 30s whereas many men do not get to that level of maturity until they are in their late 30s and 40s. And we know being a mother brings out the tiger in every woman so that when their babies are in danger, they are capable of superhuman feats to save them. Men in general do not have those same instincts however it is well known how protective men can be of their daughters especially. So although feminists want women to have equal (human) rights with men, we recognise and even appreciate the differences in how we are built.

The biggest thing about being a feminist is the issue of how to dress. As a feminist I believe that every woman should be able to dress as she pleases. To please herself that is. Because people accuse feminists of hypocrisy if they are dressed to impress or sexily. The point is feminists believe that the woman’s body is hers to do with as she pleases. If she wants to cover herself head-to-toe in a black Arab gown and gloves and socks, then we are happy with it as long as it is her choice. If the same woman decides that today, she would rather be in a miniskirt and vest top, then that is okay too because it is what she wants. Not what her father or brother or husband or even mother wants. It’s all about the right to choose for yourself as an adult woman. But our people are obsessed with the issue of how a woman dresses so the disagreement continues. Tragically, many uneducated people still subscribe to the fallacy that the way a woman dresses is partly to blame for them becoming a victim of rape. To that I say, why is it that a man can walk around in shorts or topless in the heat and in general no woman tries to rape the man but when the roles are reversed the rapist points a finger at his victim for enticing him? Nothing justifies that barbaric act and its almost laughable that anyone would buy that as an excuse in this day and age. Thank goodness for the Nigerian Constitution stipulating a custodial sentence for all rape and for the NGOs providing the legal aid to ensure more men are convicted of this heinous crime.

Above all to me feminism represents love and freedom. Love because we stand up for those girls and women who haven’t a voice to say no when things are being done to them that they absolutely do not want or consent to. Freedom because that is what we promote no matter what the problem a girl or woman is faced with. Freedom to be born (and not killed solely for being female), freedom to go to school (and not be kept at home to learn to be a domestic goddess whilst your brother goes to school), freedom to have a childhood (and not be raped or married off too young), freedom to learn a craft or study for a degree, freedom to marry or not, freedom to choose who you share your bed and home with, freedom to decide how many children you bear in your own womb and breastfeed and nurture for the rest of their lives, freedom not to be violated or abused, freedom to leave a bad relationship. One day the whole world will realise that feminists are not against men but they are for men and women. That what we want is the world is to be happier and for all groups to be free to live a happy life. What we want is for the world to show some love to each other regardless of faith, tradition, ethnic group, education, class, age and most importantly gender. Peace!