Androphobia

“Don’t talk to any boys, okay? Just play with the girls.”

I had nodded my head at my mother without question on my first day of school, all dressed up in my ironed grey pinafore and blue cardigan. That day soon became a cornerstone of my memories as I was released into the once far away world of schoolchildren, lost scrunchies and playground boyfriends. Adulthood was practically in my grasp already; of course, I had only been five years old at the time and my idea of adulthood wasn’t exactly accurate.

The one thing I did trust was my mother’s words and the threat that escorted them so I doubtlessly obeyed. I kept my distance from the boys in class and only talked to them if I had to. Even though a few of the girls in my class weren’t the friendliest and cared more about who had a crush on who than anything else, I tried my best to befriend any girl who would take me. I wasn’t supposed to hang out with the boys.

I didn’t really know why.

As a result, my attempts at fitting in gifted me with the joy of fake friends throughout childhood. They were girls who would smile to my face before whispering behind my back, or leave me out of games with the excuse that there were too many people playing, but even then I couldn’t find the heart to blame them. They weren’t obligated to spend time with me if they didn’t want to. As long as I didn’t disobey my mother, I could put up with anything.

Of course, not all the girls were like that. Some were lovely and kind but when I tried to play with them, they didn’t like the games I liked. It seemed like they were grown ups already. While they laughed about adult shows that they’d caught their parents watching, they looked at me with awkward smiles as I babbled about wanting to do puzzles with them. Mama had always made me do puzzles - she said that was what made me so smart.

All that time, I avoided the boys as much as humanly possible. It proved a difficult feat since I’d have to sit next to them in classes and pair up for activities. Some would even invite me over to race them in their garden or offer to help decorate the finger puppets that I’d always go on about, but I had to stay away. No matter how sweet and funny and crazy they were, no matter how innocent they seemed, mama wouldn’t like it so I listened to her.

If only I hadn’t.

Before I knew it, primary school was ending and ‘big’ school had arrived. While all my friends attended a mixed public school nearby, my mother thought it better to place me in an all-girls school away from my old classmates. In a way, I was grateful for the fresh start: I no longer had to fret about boys approaching me and I didn’t have to pretend to be someone else anymore. In fact, it took only an hour for me to make my first and forever friend.

But not everyone was as kind to me as she was. Cruelty happened to be a common ingredient of all school life. I silently listened to the comments about how my skirt brushed my ankles, the texture of my skin, the grades I apparently cheated to gain, all while trying to keep a smile on my face.

But despite it all, I never confronted my classmates about it. Blame it on my dislike for conflict and sweaty palms. Even so, perhaps they had insecurities or troubles of their own; they wouldn’t be so mean without reason, would they? I had no right to judge them when I had no clue of what was going on in their lives. Kind thoughts my parents had instilled in me became my voice of reason.

I stayed quiet. I smiled at them. I hoped that one day, perhaps they could return the favour.

Unarguably, being raised in an all-girls environment meant scarce exposure to males. Even though I had my papa and uncles, those around me were freely mingling with those of the opposite sex while I was kept sheltered from the dynamics of men. It felt like I lived on another planet. I thought it was a good thing, that when the time was right (once I’d learned what mama wanted to teach me), I’d meet a man who’d take my hands and make me feel like the earth had shaken.

But what I didn’t expect was to develop a fear of them.

It happened so slowly, over such a long period of time, that I had alienated myself from them. Even passing a man in the streets became a struggle as thoughts conjured up in my mind at what they could do to me. I’d stiffen, freeze, stare.

When I was a child, I had always wondered why my parents told me to stay away from men. My questions were finally answered with a trickle of dread when my best friend admitted how a boy once tried to force himself on her after their first date.

I was scared because they could hurt me.